Illegal activity in Milan was dominated by an uneasy alliance between the local mob and Ukrainians. The Italian Mafiosi did not think much of their Eastern European allies. They considered them too soft in the brain from working with women. The newcomers had long since learned to smile and pretend not to hear what was said about them. Sometimes it was good to be underestimated.
The young man who entered the mob’s café outside Milan wore a silk suit cut in lines straight as a stovepipe. It exaggerated his narrow build. Even so, he swaggered a bit, like his shoulders were so heavy that shifting their weight caused his upper body to punch forward. He had obviously seen some of the muscle walk that way and thought it was cool. One of the men at the corner table said quietly, “Sbandato.” Punk.
Two gentlemen were seated at a partner’s desk by the grimy windows. The elder gentleman was known as the Prince because of his immaculate dress and manners. He was old and wizened and dressed in a black Savile Row suit and starched white shirt and black tie, an outfit drawn from the fifties. His dark eyes were fathomless, in the reptilian manner of one who had survived the Soviet years by simply doing whatever was required, no matter how lethal or terrifying.
He asked, “And who is this?”
The man who had brought him in replied, “Monti’s uncle handles the clubs in Como. They also run our security operation in that region.”
“Monti, forgive me. My Italian. What kind of name is this?”
The young man’s swallow was audible from across the room. He replied, “My given name is Montefiori, capo.”
One of the men seated at the bar by the side wall laughed. The old man glanced over. “There is nothing wrong with our guest’s name.”
“Sorry, Prince.”
“Montefiori. Hill of flowers. It is a name from beyond time. Before even the Romans, your name existed. Don’t shorten it, lad. You disrespect your heritage.”
“Sorry, capo.”
“Tell your uncle we see too little of him. Very well. I am listening.”
“We heard from a client we’ve done business with a couple of times before.” Montefiori named a certain telecommunications magnate. “They seek information about a group coming from America. But most of the group are not American.”
“Terrorists?”
“I heard they were scientists.”
“There is a reward?”
“Quarter of a million euros. The money is for information. They say, ‘Do not strike.’ ” He hesitated.
“Speak, Montefiori. You are among friends.”
“Capo, I thought, if they pay so much just for information, how much more do they pay if we deliver up the people?”
The room was intent now. “Capture them ourselves, you mean. Hold them for an appropriate ransom.”
“Yes, capo. And maybe see if we can discover what they have that’s so big. See if we can sell that as well.”
The Prince exchanged a look with the man seated next to him. The pockmarked gentleman was built like a concrete slab. He nodded once. The Prince turned back to Montefiori and asked, “Does this mean you know where the scientists are located?”
“Maybe. My uncle and I, we run a cleaning operation on the side, capo.”
“Did I authorize this?”
The young man paled. “No, capo. But, well . . .”
The man who had brought the young man in said, “Monti passed it by me.”
“Montefiori.”
“Yes, capo. Montefiori heard how we had these older women on our hands. We couldn’t use them in the houses or the clubs.”
“So you passed them on to our young friend, who sent them out as cleaners.”
“And cooks, yes, capo.”
“And if they happen to find an interesting item in one of these houses?”
Montefiori swallowed again. “Sometimes I sell the information. Sometimes me and my boys, we go in. But we always pass on your share, capo.”
The Prince glanced at the other man seated in his booth. The pockmarked man nodded once. “He pays.”
“Was this your uncle’s idea, lad?”
“No, capo. But he gave me his permission.”
“An enterprising young man who wastes nothing. I am impressed.” The Prince studied him a moment, then said, “You understand, Montefiori, much depends on our taking such a step in a discreet manner. And only if the group is truly who your contact is seeking.”
“The group arrived here a couple of days ago. They’ve rented a villa that’s very isolated. I brought the cleaner here with me, capo. I thought maybe you would want to ask her yourself.”
The Prince nodded once. A grave approval. “Bring her in.”
The woman was clearly Slavic, with broad peasant features and hands swollen from a life of hard labor. She clunked in, her black leather tie-up shoes scraping the polished floor.
“Montefiori, be so good as to give the lady your chair. Sit, sit, madame.”
She settled into the chair offered her and muttered, “My Italian no good.”
The Prince shifted to fluent Russian. “I would be so very grateful if you would kindly share with us everything you know.”
The woman responded in terse clips. Finally the Prince switched back to Italian and said, “She confirms all we have heard from Montefiori. They are indeed scientists. Some are American. Also two Asian ladies. There is one Italian woman who has only arrived this morning, apparently quite beautiful. They are all involved in some elaborate scientific procedure. They have filled most of the villa’s upstairs rooms with their equipment.” He turned back to the woman and continued in Russian. “A few questions further. When are we most likely to find them all at home together?”
“They never leave.”
“What, never?”
“They stay, they work, they meet for meals, they argue, they return to their work.”
“And what, pray tell, is this vital work of theirs?”
“I do not see. I cannot enter the upper rooms when they work. But there are many computers and wiring everywhere, and—”
“Yes, yes, thank you, madame. You have already said as much. Tell me, do you see any sign of explosives, guns, or drugs?”
“None. Some medicines, yes, but nothing else.”
The Prince translated for the others, then asked, “Are there guards?”
“A woman and a young boy. Another man arrived with the beautiful woman.”
“No professional security at all?”
“The woman and the boy act as guards, as I said. This one man who arrived today, he is different. Some do not like him.”
The Prince said, “Tell me of this man.”
“He is quiet, watchful. When he speaks, they all listen.”
“The beautiful lady is his woman?”
“I cannot say.”
The Prince translated again, then added, “So they have one guard who may be a professional, or he may simply have come for a lovely Italian woman. I think we should definitely—”
He was interrupted by the cleaner. When the woman finished speaking, the Prince translated, “She says she wants her daughter. In exchange for the information.”
Montefiori said, “Her daughter dances at our biggest club. This woman pesters me constantly with her pleas.”
“Would the daughter be missed?”
“She has started doping heavily.”
“A pity. Very well. Give this woman what she wants. But—”
The woman wailed so convulsively she toppled from her chair.
“Help her up. Shah, my dear lady, calm yourself. You must do one thing more for us. Montefiori, make certain this happens. Bring the daughter into your personal care. My dear woman, you must stay at the villa until after this is all over and done, do you understand? There can be no surprise at your vanishing, no alarm raised. And when it is over, no concern can fall upon you and thus upon us. Are we clear on this?”
The woman made as to reach out for the Prince’s hand but was kept in the chair by the man who had brought Montefiori.
“Excellent.” He waved the woman away. “Montefiori, please accept my sincere compliments. When you arrived, we all wondered if this would prove to be a waste of time. Instead, we find you are indeed . . .” He turned to his associate and said, “How should we put it?”
The heavyset man replied, “Con una marcia in più.” The expression meant he saw Montefiori as having potential.
The young man’s chest puffed out far enough to strain his suit. “Thank you very much, capo.”
“See this goes well and you shall be rewarded.” The Prince beamed at the room. “I have a very good feeling about this. Very good indeed.”