sophisticated, the sort of thing they’d charge you ten billion dollars for in New York. “It’s Reed Treston.”
“I know who it is,” Emmanuel says, still whispering. “What do you want?”
“I need a name,” I say. “Of the guy who’s being sheltered.”
I can almost hear him shake his head over the phone. “I can’t … I mean …”
“Fine,” I say. I anticipated this. I got the sense from Emmanuel that in his previous life, squealers were not looked upon favorably. “I guess I’ll just have to expose Fintan O’Niall on my own, then.”
There’s a predictable moment of shocked silence. “How did you know?” he asks at last.
I take it easy on him and spare him the whole truth that he’d just confirmed it for me. “I ran across him earlier today. Nasty guy. He’s definitely doing some criminal stuff.” Yes, I tricked a priest. At least I knew his power wasn’t telepathy.
“I find no relief in this,” Emmanuel says. “I would rather have been proven wrong.”
“What made you suspect him to begin with?” I ask.
There’s a moment of silence on the phone. “I caught him coming in one night over the wall, and his hands were red with blood.”
I think about it for a beat. “Are the metas not allowed to come and go as they please?”
“No,” Emmanuel answers. “Sanctuary comes with the price of secrecy. Once they leave, they are out for good.”
I chew that one over for a second. “You could just tell on him.”
“He has … connections,” Emmanuel says wearily. “I just don’t want to …” His voice trails off.
“Yeah,” I say, and somehow I know what he means, even though it’s a pretty vague statement. “Blowback and all that. Well, he’s definitely into something outside your walls. He’s teaming up with some unsavory folks.”
“How unsavory?” Emmanuel asks. Now I’ve piqued his curiosity. “Like mafia?”
That one triggers a thought that I hadn’t really considered before. “Maybe,” I say. “I don’t know how organized they are, but it seems like they’ve got a plan and a purpose to what they’re doing.” I kick myself for not thinking it earlier. This is the country where La Cosa Nostra came from, after all. Italy has a mafia. It has a huge damned mafia. Which would probably love to have a super-powered enforcer on hand. God knows they were up to their eyebrows in meta help with Omega before that organization got snuffed. That left humans in charge of organized crime in Italy again, and Lorenzo—
That bastard.
“I’ll look into it and get back to you,” I say abruptly, hanging up on Emmanuel before he can say anything else. I want to crawl inside my own head—or at least the internet—and start figuring this out. It’s all supposition, sure, but what the hell job connects Lorenzo to Fintan, who’s hiding in the Vatican? Why is he still hiding? Who are they working for? Could it be related to organized crime?
My gaze swivels to Dr. Perugini, who is watching me from the couch, one eyebrow cocked. She’s not got her sunglasses on anymore, but I’m still wondering what she’s thinking. “Tell me everything you know about the mafia in Italy,” I say, and pocket my phone.
Her eyebrow climbs even higher. “You might want to take a seat,” she says and makes a faint gesture to the sofa across from her, “because this subject? This could take all night.”
21.
She runs me through a laundry list of organized crime families so long I can barely keep up. It’s detailed, and yet it’s still pretty surface level. I stop her after ten minutes, holding up my hand as my head swims. Names like, “Sacra Corona Unita,” “Camorra,” and “’Ndrangheta” stick in my head like parsley in teeth. “Okay,” I say to her, “so there really is a pretty big mob tradition in Italy. The movies didn’t get that wrong.”
She shrugs. “It’s not all bad, but they are certainly here, as they are everywhere. Things have gotten better since
“I know who it is,” Emmanuel says, still whispering. “What do you want?”
“I need a name,” I say. “Of the guy who’s being sheltered.”
I can almost hear him shake his head over the phone. “I can’t … I mean …”
“Fine,” I say. I anticipated this. I got the sense from Emmanuel that in his previous life, squealers were not looked upon favorably. “I guess I’ll just have to expose Fintan O’Niall on my own, then.”
There’s a predictable moment of shocked silence. “How did you know?” he asks at last.
I take it easy on him and spare him the whole truth that he’d just confirmed it for me. “I ran across him earlier today. Nasty guy. He’s definitely doing some criminal stuff.” Yes, I tricked a priest. At least I knew his power wasn’t telepathy.
“I find no relief in this,” Emmanuel says. “I would rather have been proven wrong.”
“What made you suspect him to begin with?” I ask.
There’s a moment of silence on the phone. “I caught him coming in one night over the wall, and his hands were red with blood.”
I think about it for a beat. “Are the metas not allowed to come and go as they please?”
“No,” Emmanuel answers. “Sanctuary comes with the price of secrecy. Once they leave, they are out for good.”
I chew that one over for a second. “You could just tell on him.”
“He has … connections,” Emmanuel says wearily. “I just don’t want to …” His voice trails off.
“Yeah,” I say, and somehow I know what he means, even though it’s a pretty vague statement. “Blowback and all that. Well, he’s definitely into something outside your walls. He’s teaming up with some unsavory folks.”
“How unsavory?” Emmanuel asks. Now I’ve piqued his curiosity. “Like mafia?”
That one triggers a thought that I hadn’t really considered before. “Maybe,” I say. “I don’t know how organized they are, but it seems like they’ve got a plan and a purpose to what they’re doing.” I kick myself for not thinking it earlier. This is the country where La Cosa Nostra came from, after all. Italy has a mafia. It has a huge damned mafia. Which would probably love to have a super-powered enforcer on hand. God knows they were up to their eyebrows in meta help with Omega before that organization got snuffed. That left humans in charge of organized crime in Italy again, and Lorenzo—
That bastard.
“I’ll look into it and get back to you,” I say abruptly, hanging up on Emmanuel before he can say anything else. I want to crawl inside my own head—or at least the internet—and start figuring this out. It’s all supposition, sure, but what the hell job connects Lorenzo to Fintan, who’s hiding in the Vatican? Why is he still hiding? Who are they working for? Could it be related to organized crime?
My gaze swivels to Dr. Perugini, who is watching me from the couch, one eyebrow cocked. She’s not got her sunglasses on anymore, but I’m still wondering what she’s thinking. “Tell me everything you know about the mafia in Italy,” I say, and pocket my phone.
Her eyebrow climbs even higher. “You might want to take a seat,” she says and makes a faint gesture to the sofa across from her, “because this subject? This could take all night.”
21.
She runs me through a laundry list of organized crime families so long I can barely keep up. It’s detailed, and yet it’s still pretty surface level. I stop her after ten minutes, holding up my hand as my head swims. Names like, “Sacra Corona Unita,” “Camorra,” and “’Ndrangheta” stick in my head like parsley in teeth. “Okay,” I say to her, “so there really is a pretty big mob tradition in Italy. The movies didn’t get that wrong.”
She shrugs. “It’s not all bad, but they are certainly here, as they are everywhere. Things have gotten better since
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