In the guest bathroom, Cesare quickly fished out a tinfoil packet of white powder, tapped some onto a small pocket mirror that he always carried with him for that purpose, and formed two lines with a golden razor blade that hung in a case around his neck. Then he skillfully rolled up a dollar bill and snorted the powder forcefully. It burned in his nose and brought tears to his eyes. Cesare relished the bitter flavor of the cocaine at the back of his throat and took in a deep breath. The chill disappeared from his body, replaced by an intoxicating heat. A wonderful feeling of security enveloped his body. He smiled at his reflection in the mirror and opened the door.
Alex wandered through all the colossal salons until she realized that she was at the far end of the house and nowhere close to the terrace. She was just about to turn around and retrace her steps when she heard muted voices from an adjacent room. She didn’t usually eavesdrop at doors, but this repulsive man with his yellow predator eyes had sparked her curiosity. She held her breath and stopped in front of the room’s double doors. Through the narrow crack between them, she could see a library. Sergio was standing behind a massive desk made of marble and glass with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves behind him. Alex recognized three of the men. One of them was Nelson van Mieren, Sergio’s lawyer, the other Massimo, Sergio’s oldest son, and the third was Luca di Varese, one of Sergio’s confidants. The skinny man with the acne scars and yellow eyes was standing in front of the desk.
“Do you have any news for me, Natale?” Sergio asked in Italian.
“It is done,” the man responded in a coarse voice. “Zuckerman won’t utter another word.”
Alex caught her breath. At first she thought she’d misheard him.
“Bene,” Sergio triumphantly. “What about the Irishman at the docks, Luca?”
“As they say in the movies, he’s sleeping with the fishes,” Luca replied, “and no one will find him.”
“Good work.” Sergio nodded and sat down at his desk. Alex felt a wave of horror pulsing through her. Her heart was beating so loudly that everyone must have heard it. Confused thought fragments whirled around her head. The men in this room were talking about people who had been murdered! Today, on this beautiful August day, two men had died. Someone had given an order to kill them. Alex closed her eyes. This someone was no other than Sergio Vitali. He had assured her that he had nothing to do with these rumors circulating about him in the press. She had believed him because he was so convincing. She had wanted to believe him. Now she realized that he had shamelessly betrayed her trust. She remembered Oliver’s words again: His entire empire is built upon blood and crime. He is an unscrupulous and brutal gangster.
Alex’s mouth was dry from fear. She was miserable, but she couldn’t run away. Some part of her pleaded to learn the opposite of what she’d just heard was true. She didn’t want to think badly of Sergio. Maybe she’d simply misunderstood his words…
“I’m very satisfied, Natale,” Sergio said. Alex could see his face through the crack in the door. She couldn’t understand the ugly man’s response, but she certainly understood his salutation.
“I wish you a happy birthday and a joyful evening, Don Sergio.”
Don Sergio. Sergio acknowledged this man’s reverence with a casual nod. Alex felt the ground shaking beneath her, and it seemed like an ice-cold hand had grabbed her heart. None of the stories in the papers were invented. They seemed to be grossly understated. Gangster’s whore, she thought. Oliver was completely right, but she’d refused to believe him! She, Alex Sontheim, was the mistress of a Mafia boss, a man who hired killers to solve his problems. She turned around to flee from this house, but then she froze in shock. A man stood in front of her and gazed at her with frightening blue eyes.
“Are you lost?” He looked her up and down in an obscene way.
“I… err… I’m looking for the restroom,” Alex stuttered. The voices of the men in the library could be heard through the doors. She snapped out of it and tried to sneak past the man, but he grabbed her by the wrist.
“Not so fast,” he said suspiciously. “What were you doing in front of this door?”
“I told you that I was looking for the restroom.” Alex thought she might pass out any moment. “Would you please let go of me now?” she asked, with all of the assertiveness she could muster.
“Oh no, I won’t. Because I don’t believe that you got lost. And I don’t think that my father will be amused when he finds out that you’re eavesdropping at the door.”
My father…
Alex stared at the young man, and she recognized the astonishing resemblance. This is exactly how Sergio must have looked at twenty-five. The young man was Sergio’s son. She felt sick with fear. She had overheard the men in the adjacent room talking about two murders. She thought about the Mafia movies that she had seen in which accidental witnesses were thrown into the East River with a concrete block strapped to their feet. Sleeping with the fishes. And Sergio, the man she thought she knew, was Don Sergio—the godfather of New York. It would be very easy for him to make her disappear.
“Listen,” she whispered, “this is nothing but a misunderstanding.”
“We’ll see about that in a minute.” Without knocking, the young man pushed the door open and dragged Alex with him. Sergio stopped midsentence and stared at his youngest son and Alex in surprise.
“Cesare, what is this?” Sergio snarled at his son.
“Papa!” Cesare exclaimed in triumph and tightened his grip on Alex’s wrist. “This woman was standing outside the door eavesdropping!”
Sergio looked at Alex in astonishment.
“Let her go!” he ordered. Cesare obeyed reluctantly and gave her another push that almost made her lose her balance.
“I wasn’t eavesdropping at all,” Alex sputtered. “I was looking for the restroom and got lost, and suddenly this guy grabs me and drags me in here.”
“Cesare, you are a goddamn miserable idiot!” Sergio said in Italian, trying hard to contain his anger. “Why do you bother my guests? Were you snorting cocaine again?”
“She was standing outside the door, Papa!” The young man suddenly seemed insecure. “You should thank me for—”
“Thank you?” Sergio hollered so unexpectedly that Alex winced. Never before had she seen him this angry. He was truly terrifying in his rage. He spoke Italian so fast and used so many colloquialisms, she could barely understand him.
“You brought her here, you stupid, brainless idiot! She doesn’t understand a single word anyway, but what will she think now? Why the hell can’t you use your head for once? I honestly believe that you’ve boozed your brain away!”
Cesare looked hurt. He said nothing. No one in the room moved. Alex was not a fearful person, but at this moment she was overcome by a terrifying dread. Sergio was a stranger; these men were strangers. Cesare laughed hoarsely. His glassy eyes sparkled with hatred.