“I think it'll be better if I take him in by myself,” she said. “He seems to trust me. Having other cops there at the start might make him nervous. I can probably keep him calmer during the ride to the field office if it's just the two of us.”
Don thought about the vile sex acts Carla had probably consented to in order to gain Gio's trust, and grimaced. He hated the idea of her having to continue the charade with Gio and submit to his urges for a few more hours, and he wished she'd let him chaperone. Still, she was the agent in the field, so it was her call to make.
“Fair enough,” Don sighed. “If you think it'll make him more cooperative, then that's what counts. Just be careful out there.”
“I will,” Carla promised, ending the call.
As Don put the phone on its cradle, a fresh-faced young agent named Ives ran into his office. His face was red, and he was breathing hard.
“What's all the hubbub, bub?” Don asked. “Sit down an' have some water, you look like hell.”
“The local cops just found a body dumped in the weeds at the edge of town,” Ives said.
“So? They probably find bodies out there all the time,” Don said. “I mean, this is Chicago, after all. Murder capitol of the damn universe, last I heard.”
Ives shook his head. “It was Louie Grammatica. The Mancini lawyer. He had a dead rat stuffed in his mouth.”
Don's eyes widened. He rose from his chair slowly.
If Mario had Louie killed and a rat placed in the attorney's mouth, that meant Mario knew Louie was working with the FBI.
Which meant he'd probably had Louie tortured first to find out if he was working with anyone else undercover.
Which meant...
“Get some agents together an' get a federal judge on the phone right now,” Don said, picking up the phone and dialing it. “We need a warrant for a raid on Gio's house immediately.”
“But haven't we got probable cause to go there anyway, if we think an agent's in danger?” Ives asked.
“What probable cause, son? A mob lawyer turned up dead, an' we want to knock down a door ten miles away? That dog don't hunt. Now stop askin' stupid questions an' get a move on, before it's too late.”
As Ives scurried out, the phone kept ringing and ringing. Finally, it went to Carla's voicemail.
Don slammed the phone down angrily. “Goddamn it, Carla, where the hell are you?” he growled, heading for the door.
Chapter 27
Gio
Getting the journals from Mario's study had been easy.
Since he'd grown up in his father's house, Gio knew the best ways to sneak onto the property without the armed bodyguards seeing him. Usually he'd just walk right past them, waving and making small talk—but this time, he didn't want anyone to know he'd been there at all.
He used his spare key to gain entrance through the side-door in the garage, then checked to make sure his father's Lexus was gone before entering the main house. Mario was often gone for several hours in the middle of the day, taking meetings and picking up fresh groceries for the evening meal.
Gio hoped his father had left fairly recently. He knew he'd have a difficult time explaining himself if Mario walked in on him in the study, poking around the hidden diaries.
The only other person in the house was Jadwiga, the Polish maid. She didn't speak much English, but Gio still didn't want to risk her telling Mario he'd been to the house. He took out his billfold, peeled off three hundreds, and handed them to her, saying, “I wasn't here today. Understand?”
Jadwiga's eyes widened and she nodded, tucking the bills into her pocket before she continued dusting the bookcases.
Gio entered the study and closed the door behind him, kneeling next to the liquor cabinet. He slid the hidden panel aside and reached into the compartment, pulling out all of the journals. Then he yanked a crumpled plastic shopping bag from his back pocket and stowed the diaries in it, flipping through them as he did to skim the entries at random.
Hijacking. Graft. Murder. Extortion. Grand theft auto. Kidnapping. Murder. Money laundering. Murder. Armed robbery. Murder. Salvatore. Murder.
Salvatore.
You could've had the kid you really wanted, Papa, Gio thought bitterly as he stared at the page. All you had to do was give your little bastard his shot at the gangster life like he asked for. You'd have had a loyal soldier to take your place, and I could have had a life of my own, the life I deserved.
But no, you and your fucking Sicilian pride had to ruin everything. This is all your fault. It's exactly what you bought and paid for when you decided to murder your own son.
Gio replaced the panel on the cabinet, tied off the plastic bag, and snuck out of the house again.