any idea what you’re after?”
“Any information about the killers of your father,” Astorre said.
Valerius leaned back in his chair, puffing on a cigar, his only vice. “Don’t bullshit me, Astorre,” he said. “Let me tell you something. I did an analysis. It could be a gangland act of retaliation or revenge. And I thought about you being in control of the banks. The old man always had a plan. I figure it like this. The Don made you his point man for the family. What follows from that? That you are trained, that you were his agent in place to be activated only at a crucial moment in time. There is an eleven-year gap in your life, and your cover is too good to be true—an amateur singer, a sporting horseman? And the gold collar you always wear is suspicious.” He stopped, took a deep breath, and said, “How’s that for analysis?”
“Very good,” Astorre said. “I hope you kept it to yourself.”
“Certainly,” Valerius said. “But then it follows that you are a dangerous man. And that therefore there is an extreme action you will take. But some advice: Your cover is thin; it will be blown before much longer. As for my help, I live a very good life and I’m opposed to everything I think you are. So for now my answer is no. I won’t help. If things change, I’ll get in touch.”
A woman came out to guide Astorre into Nicole’s office. Nicole gave him a hug and a kiss. She was still fond of him; their teen romance had left no bitter scars.
“I have to speak to you in private,” Astorre said.
Nicole turned to her bodyguard. “Helene, can you leave us alone? I’m safe with him.”
Helene gave Astorre a long look. She was impressing herself on his consciousness, and she succeeded. Like Cilke, Astorre noted her extreme confidence—the kind of confidence shown by a card player with an ace in the hole or a person holding a concealed weapon. He looked to see where it could be hidden. The tight trousers and jacket molded her impressive physique—no gun there. Then he noted the slit in her trouser leg. She was wearing an ankle holster, which wasn’t really that smart. He smiled at her as she left, exerting his charm. She looked back at him blankly.
“Who recruited her?” Astorre asked.
“My father,” Nicole said. “It worked out very well. It’s amazing how she can handle muggers and mashers.”
“I’ll bet,” Astorre said. “Did you manage to get the old man’s file from the FBI?”
“Yes,” Nicole said. “And it’s the most horrible list of allegations I’ve ever read. I simply don’t believe it, and they could never prove any of it.”
Astorre knew that the Don would want him to deny the truth. “Will you let me have the file for a couple of days?” he asked.
Nicole gave her blank-faced lawyer stare. “I don’t think you should see it right now. I want to write an analysis of it, underline what’s important, then give it to you. Actually, there’s nothing that will help you. Maybe you and my brothers shouldn’t see it.”
Astorre looked at her thoughtfully, then smiled. “That bad?”
“Let me study it,” Nicole said. “The FBI are such shits.”
“Whatever you say is OK with me. Just remember, this is a dangerous business. Look after yourself.”
“I will,” Nicole said. “I have Helene.”
“And I’m here if you need me.” Astorre placed his hand on Nicole’s arm to reassure her, and for a moment she looked at him with such longing he felt uncomfortable. “Just call.”
Nicole smiled. “I will. But I’m OK. I am.” In fact, she was really looking forward to her evening with an incredibly charming and attractive diplomat.
I n his elaborate office suite lined with six TV screens, Marcantonio Aprile was having a meeting with the head of the most powerful advertising agency in New York. Richard Harrison was a tall, aristocratic-looking man, perfectly dressed, with the appearance of a former model but the intensity of a paratrooper.
On
“Any information about the killers of your father,” Astorre said.
Valerius leaned back in his chair, puffing on a cigar, his only vice. “Don’t bullshit me, Astorre,” he said. “Let me tell you something. I did an analysis. It could be a gangland act of retaliation or revenge. And I thought about you being in control of the banks. The old man always had a plan. I figure it like this. The Don made you his point man for the family. What follows from that? That you are trained, that you were his agent in place to be activated only at a crucial moment in time. There is an eleven-year gap in your life, and your cover is too good to be true—an amateur singer, a sporting horseman? And the gold collar you always wear is suspicious.” He stopped, took a deep breath, and said, “How’s that for analysis?”
“Very good,” Astorre said. “I hope you kept it to yourself.”
“Certainly,” Valerius said. “But then it follows that you are a dangerous man. And that therefore there is an extreme action you will take. But some advice: Your cover is thin; it will be blown before much longer. As for my help, I live a very good life and I’m opposed to everything I think you are. So for now my answer is no. I won’t help. If things change, I’ll get in touch.”
A woman came out to guide Astorre into Nicole’s office. Nicole gave him a hug and a kiss. She was still fond of him; their teen romance had left no bitter scars.
“I have to speak to you in private,” Astorre said.
Nicole turned to her bodyguard. “Helene, can you leave us alone? I’m safe with him.”
Helene gave Astorre a long look. She was impressing herself on his consciousness, and she succeeded. Like Cilke, Astorre noted her extreme confidence—the kind of confidence shown by a card player with an ace in the hole or a person holding a concealed weapon. He looked to see where it could be hidden. The tight trousers and jacket molded her impressive physique—no gun there. Then he noted the slit in her trouser leg. She was wearing an ankle holster, which wasn’t really that smart. He smiled at her as she left, exerting his charm. She looked back at him blankly.
“Who recruited her?” Astorre asked.
“My father,” Nicole said. “It worked out very well. It’s amazing how she can handle muggers and mashers.”
“I’ll bet,” Astorre said. “Did you manage to get the old man’s file from the FBI?”
“Yes,” Nicole said. “And it’s the most horrible list of allegations I’ve ever read. I simply don’t believe it, and they could never prove any of it.”
Astorre knew that the Don would want him to deny the truth. “Will you let me have the file for a couple of days?” he asked.
Nicole gave her blank-faced lawyer stare. “I don’t think you should see it right now. I want to write an analysis of it, underline what’s important, then give it to you. Actually, there’s nothing that will help you. Maybe you and my brothers shouldn’t see it.”
Astorre looked at her thoughtfully, then smiled. “That bad?”
“Let me study it,” Nicole said. “The FBI are such shits.”
“Whatever you say is OK with me. Just remember, this is a dangerous business. Look after yourself.”
“I will,” Nicole said. “I have Helene.”
“And I’m here if you need me.” Astorre placed his hand on Nicole’s arm to reassure her, and for a moment she looked at him with such longing he felt uncomfortable. “Just call.”
Nicole smiled. “I will. But I’m OK. I am.” In fact, she was really looking forward to her evening with an incredibly charming and attractive diplomat.
I n his elaborate office suite lined with six TV screens, Marcantonio Aprile was having a meeting with the head of the most powerful advertising agency in New York. Richard Harrison was a tall, aristocratic-looking man, perfectly dressed, with the appearance of a former model but the intensity of a paratrooper.
On
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