didn’t respond. He walked back to the bedroom to get dressed. She followed him, annoyed by his silence.
“Do you want to know why I didn’t tell you the truth?” she asked, trying to restrain the angry tremble in her voice.
“Yes.” He sat on the edge of the bed while tying his shoelaces.
“Because I was afraid that you would react exactly like this. With no reaction at all. You expect honesty from me and don’t say a single word yourself.”
A shadow drifted across Sergio’s face, and when he looked up again he had dropped his mask. He was attentive and tense, and he looked surprisingly vulnerable. He grabbed her wrists.
“Alex,” he said softly, “are you really being honest with me?”
She hesitated. She had an opening to confess that she’d had an affair with Oliver because she was jealous and angry. She could choose this moment to tell him the details about Oliver’s accusations that had caused her doubts. And she could admit how much she longed for his love and his trust. But she was afraid to let her guard down, and so she let this opportunity pass by.
“I think,” she answered instead, “that I’m as honest with you as you are with me.”
Sergio sighed. He let go of her wrists and stood up. “Well then, let’s leave it at that,” he said. “But I
can
tell you one thing in all honesty: it was a wonderful night. I enjoyed it very much.”
August 15, 1999
Sergio Vitali entered his office at the VITAL Building. His oldest son Massimo and his lawyer Nelson van Mieren were already waiting for him. He smiled briefly when they wished him a happy birthday, and then he sat down behind his desk.
“So?” he asked, looking at his son. Massimo was courageous and intelligent, but his uncontrollable violent temper led him to make mistakestime and again. Fortunately, his screwups had not yet triggered any major consequences. “We have a problem at the port,” Massimo said without introduction. “Johnnie Craven—president of the dockworkers’ union—isn’t keeping his end of the bargain.”
“What did he do?”
“A shipment from Germany arrived yesterday—Russian Kalashnikovs and control mechanisms for ICBMs. They were declared as ‘cooling units’ as usual. Craven normally makes sure that the stuff clears customs, but yesterday he didn’t.”
“Did you talk to him?”
“Yes.” Massimo leaned forward. “He claims that his people somehow forgot to keep the customs officers from boarding. But he lied to me. It’s no one’s fault but his. That’s what we pay him for, and not too shabbily at that!”
“Go on…”
“Ficchiavelli was listed as the delivery address. The cops searched all the warehouses. We were lucky that the last shipment was already out for delivery, so they didn’t find anything. I claimed that they must have mixed up the cargo in Germany.”
“Nelson?” Sergio looked at his lawyer.
“They can’t prove that the weapons were meant for us. The shipping documents for the cooling units were okay. But we do have a problem in that the Port Authority Police has involved the FBI and confiscated the entire shipment.”
“Where was the delivery headed?”
“Houston.” Massimo clenched his fist. “Tommasino was mad as hell when I told him that we can’t deliver for at least three more weeks. Not only has a two-and-a-half-million-dollar deal gone down the drain, it looks as if we might also get into trouble with the dockworkers’ union.”
“Can we reason with Craven?”
“No. He said that he wouldn’t let himself be bossed around by fucking wops.”
“Is that so?” Sergio raised his eyebrows. “Then let’s not waste our time with him. Who is second in command after Craven?”
“His name is Michael Burns. He’s the up-and-coming man. The dockworkers have a lot of respect for him. And it also appears that we owe this disturbance to him.”
“Can this man be persuaded?”
Massimo understood what his father meant and shook his
“Do you want to know why I didn’t tell you the truth?” she asked, trying to restrain the angry tremble in her voice.
“Yes.” He sat on the edge of the bed while tying his shoelaces.
“Because I was afraid that you would react exactly like this. With no reaction at all. You expect honesty from me and don’t say a single word yourself.”
A shadow drifted across Sergio’s face, and when he looked up again he had dropped his mask. He was attentive and tense, and he looked surprisingly vulnerable. He grabbed her wrists.
“Alex,” he said softly, “are you really being honest with me?”
She hesitated. She had an opening to confess that she’d had an affair with Oliver because she was jealous and angry. She could choose this moment to tell him the details about Oliver’s accusations that had caused her doubts. And she could admit how much she longed for his love and his trust. But she was afraid to let her guard down, and so she let this opportunity pass by.
“I think,” she answered instead, “that I’m as honest with you as you are with me.”
Sergio sighed. He let go of her wrists and stood up. “Well then, let’s leave it at that,” he said. “But I
can
tell you one thing in all honesty: it was a wonderful night. I enjoyed it very much.”
August 15, 1999
Sergio Vitali entered his office at the VITAL Building. His oldest son Massimo and his lawyer Nelson van Mieren were already waiting for him. He smiled briefly when they wished him a happy birthday, and then he sat down behind his desk.
“So?” he asked, looking at his son. Massimo was courageous and intelligent, but his uncontrollable violent temper led him to make mistakestime and again. Fortunately, his screwups had not yet triggered any major consequences. “We have a problem at the port,” Massimo said without introduction. “Johnnie Craven—president of the dockworkers’ union—isn’t keeping his end of the bargain.”
“What did he do?”
“A shipment from Germany arrived yesterday—Russian Kalashnikovs and control mechanisms for ICBMs. They were declared as ‘cooling units’ as usual. Craven normally makes sure that the stuff clears customs, but yesterday he didn’t.”
“Did you talk to him?”
“Yes.” Massimo leaned forward. “He claims that his people somehow forgot to keep the customs officers from boarding. But he lied to me. It’s no one’s fault but his. That’s what we pay him for, and not too shabbily at that!”
“Go on…”
“Ficchiavelli was listed as the delivery address. The cops searched all the warehouses. We were lucky that the last shipment was already out for delivery, so they didn’t find anything. I claimed that they must have mixed up the cargo in Germany.”
“Nelson?” Sergio looked at his lawyer.
“They can’t prove that the weapons were meant for us. The shipping documents for the cooling units were okay. But we do have a problem in that the Port Authority Police has involved the FBI and confiscated the entire shipment.”
“Where was the delivery headed?”
“Houston.” Massimo clenched his fist. “Tommasino was mad as hell when I told him that we can’t deliver for at least three more weeks. Not only has a two-and-a-half-million-dollar deal gone down the drain, it looks as if we might also get into trouble with the dockworkers’ union.”
“Can we reason with Craven?”
“No. He said that he wouldn’t let himself be bossed around by fucking wops.”
“Is that so?” Sergio raised his eyebrows. “Then let’s not waste our time with him. Who is second in command after Craven?”
“His name is Michael Burns. He’s the up-and-coming man. The dockworkers have a lot of respect for him. And it also appears that we owe this disturbance to him.”
“Can this man be persuaded?”
Massimo understood what his father meant and shook his
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