"Time to see what's going on with dad," Arturo murmured. He took the keys from the ignition and opened his door as Rocco watched. The way his brother moved and the tone of his voice was off, like he was still acting. Rocco didn't trust him one bit.
Both Lombardo sons exited the car and crossed to the visitor's entrance. Stonecrest wasted no time in making sure that those who came through its doors were as harmless as its prisoners. Rocco was required to take off his shoes and belt to be scanned via x-ray, and just like he was at the airport, he was asked to step through a metal detector. All guns had been left at the safe house, as had knives, files, and lighters. The cops were probably already looking for reasons to bust the both of them.
"Anything to declare, Lombardo?" the prison guard manning the metal detector asked. A nightstick strapped to her side, blonde hair swept up tight into a bun, her expression was stern. Hard lines around her eyes and at the corners of her mouth were badges of her service here. Rocco recognized her. It wasn't his first visit to Stonecrest, and he knew it wouldn't be his last.
"Nothin' but how exceptionally beautiful you look this afternoon, officer Hulsey. Is that a new shade of lipstick?"
Officer Hulsey's face did not change.
"No, Lombardo, but nice try. Get your ass through the metal detector and let's get this over with."
Arturo lingered behind him, hairy arms crossed over his chest.
"Stop flirtin' and let's go. We're wastin' daylight," Arturo grumbled. Now that they were in the penitentiary, there was no need for him to sugar coat his words. If Rocco caused a scene, there would be more security on him than a pop star at a concert. No matter what Arturo said, he had to play nice.
"Of course." Biting back on simmering anger, Rocco stepped through the metal detector. The machine did not go off. Clear. Rocco moved to collect his belongings as Arturo moved through.
"Lombardos are clear," officer Hulsey said. "Mike, you keep manning the entrance. I'm gonna take 'em to where they need to go."
Visitation. Rocco dug his hands into his pockets and waited as Arturo dressed. Officer Hulsey never left the room they were in due to security reasons, but she had no interest in eavesdropping, either. Still, communications through the glass wall were always strained. Rocco wasn't looking forward to skirting his way around the subject matter in the way his father and brother were so fond of doing. Ever since he was young he hadn't seen the point in beating around the bush. Except in situations like this.
"Gotcha, Hulsey," Mike said.
"Let's go," Officer Hulsey said. A long, barren hall attached the visitor's entrance to the visitation area. Hulsey led the way, hand never straying far from the nightstick at her belt. Around the Lombardos, all prison guards were cautious. The family reputation preceded them.
At last they arrived at the glass panel. Thick, reinforced bullet-proof panelling offered a peep into the bowels of Stonecrest. One day, these confines might be his future. It was either that, or death. Rocco wasn't sure which one he preferred.
"He's on his way, boys," Hulsey said. She stood by the door, back to the room. "Make yourselves at home."
A series of chairs lined the glass wall. Rocco and Arturo sat, side by side. The old man that came through the door looked tired. Nothing like the father that Rocco loved and respected.
Vittore was in bad shape.
From the orange coveralls that reddened his complexion to the lines of worry in his face, Rocco's father had aged ten years overnight. Blue eyes that had once sparkled now looked like dull stones, grey and defeated. Rocco's spirits sank; something was wrong. Vittore was a good actor, but he'd never performed this authentically.
"Sit," the guard who trailed behind Vittore barked. He jabbed the butt of his nightstick into Vittore's lower back to send him stumbling forward. The guard standing by the door laughed under his breath.
Rocco clenched his fists, but there was nothing he could do. Between the incident with Arturo and the guard's behavior, he needed to work off some steam. When they got out of here, he'd ask his father for a job. It was far time he redeemed himself after the Whitney debacle and proved what he was made of.
Joints stiff, Vittore sat on the stool opposite his sons. A thick sheet of glass divided them, but it might as well have been a continent. There was a disconnect in Vittore's eyes that turned Rocco's stomach.
"Dad," Rocco murmured into the slits in the glass, "you okay? You look awful."
"One of the most dangerous things a man can be left alone with," Vittore said, navigating his words with introspection, "is his thoughts. Boys, I've been on the phone with my legal team all morning, and it's not looking good. I'm not sure I'll be making it out of these walls alive."
"Don't talk like that. We're gonna get you through this. All of this was just a big misunderstanding, a series of circumstances that are gonna unravel just fine for you once the truth emerges."
As long as officers were around and cameras were recording, there was no way that they could talk overtly about the situation at hand. They had to play innocent to stick up for Vittore's best interest. The game was a delicate one.
Stony blues rose and locked on Rocco's brilliant ones. Once upon a time, friends of the family had cooed that Rocco had his father's eyes. Now the similarity was lacking.
"Rocco, your optimism is appreciated, but unrealistic. I don't think that things are going to work out in my favor this time. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time one too many times, and now..."
"We're going to sort this out, dad. Don't give up hope yet."
Arturo leaned forward to speak through the slits in the glass.
"I told you to stop hangin' with those lousy low-life scumbags. Even going over for a game night isn't safe, obviously. I just can't believe they think you're caught up in all of this."
The back and forth was one Vittore was used to, one he was fond of playing, but today the passion no longer lit his eyes. Instead, the old Lombardo dropped his head and shook it slowly.
"I'm just glad that I have Rocco to step in for me if this is going to be it. I know that I can trust you to see to whatever business I leave behind. It's a lot of pressure to step in for me, but I know that you'll excel. I couldn't have asked for a better son."
Beside him, Arturo seethed. The compliment was backhanded, meant to bolster Rocco while it diminished Arturo, and Arturo wasn't blind to its meaning. Like a balloon swelling with helium past its maximum capacity, Arturo exploded.
"Your son's a good one, alright," Arturo said. "Last night on his way home from work he met up with a girl who found herself in a bad situation, caught up in all sorts of shit she shouldn't be caught up in, and you know what he did? He brought her home."
Vittore lifted his gaze and fixed it on Rocco. A storm of emotions clouded his eyes, all hostile. Rocco scowled and clenched his fists harder. Arturo was throwing him under the bus.
"There were underlying circumstances," he said. How was he going to dance around this issue to avoid saying anything incriminating? "If I didn't try to help her out, it woulda caused me more grief than if I had left her. It's a complicated situation, but it's fine now."
"Yeah, complicated because his business deal went south," Arturo announced with childish glee. Rocco's eyes narrowed, and he fixed his brother with a pointed look. He had no right to do this. His father didn't need any more stress or disappointment in his life.
"It went south? Rocco, explain."
Behind Rocco's serious exterior, his heart raced. He could walk into a gunfight, face down the most violent men, but facing his father with bad news was a terror unlike any other.
"It went south of no fault of my own," he insisted, locking eyes with his father. Vittore did not look convinced. "Business negotiations were going as planned, and our foreign investor was listening, but something changed all of a sudden and he attempted to shut me down. I had to back out."
"Prodigal son, right here," Arturo remarked with a sly grin. "The oh so precious Lombardo who can't even walk into a simple meeting without messing it up. Isn't it a good thing you have two sons, dad? When Rocco fucks shit up beyond repair, you've got me to step in and take care of the damage."
Rocco turned to look at his brother. Take care of the damage? What was Arturo talking about?
"What is it you've been up to, Arturo?" Vittore asked, curiosity piqued. Although he was behind bars and feeling defeated, the thrill of a good mystery temporarily roused the old Don from his depression. Cunning eyes flicked to his younger son, assessing him. "Tell me what you've done to fix this situation."
"There's no saving the business deal," Arturo said, grinning with confidence, "but I set things right afterwards. That girl Rocco ended up lifting after his business was concluded? She was about as good as the guys you went to play poker with the other night, when the cops busted you for doing things you didn't really do. I couldn't have my big brother dragged down into immoral dealings, so I called someone to have her escorted off the property. She's not gonna be an issue again."