Hello?”
“. . .”
“Hello? Hello, who’s calling?”
“Borrelli? Edoardo Borrelli?
“Yes, that’s me. Are you the one who has my grandson?”
“You no talk. You listen.”
“No, you listen to me, you son of a bitch. I’m going to kill you, you understand that? I’m going to kill you, and I’m going to watch you die slowly, you goddamn bastard, you . . .”
Silence.
“Hello? Hello?”
“You calm down? If you talk again, I hang up and I no phone back no more.”
“I . . . yes, I understand. How is my grandson?”
“He fine.”
“Listen, you bastard, if you so much as dare to touch him . . .”
Silence.
“Hello?”
“This last phone call. You shut up. Minute you talk, I not call back. You understand?”
“Yes. My grandson . . .”
“He fine, I told you. Now you listen to me.”
“Can I talk to my grandson?”
“No now. Listen me.”
“Yes. Yes, all right.”
“If you want to see your grandson alive again, without any harm being done to him, you have to procure five million euros in cash. In one day’s time, you will receive a further cumin . . . communication that will tell you where to bring the money. The communication will not be by tephel . . . telephone, so there’s no point trying to munit . . . monitor the lines. If something goes wrong, if we see even one policeman go by, even by chance, you’ll never see your grandson again. Understood?”
“Goddamn son of a bitch, you’re a dead man! You’re a dead man, you understand? You’re a dead man walking, I’ll track you down, I know people that you . . .”
“One day. Five million. You last time hearing my voice.”
“I’ll find you, you bastard! I’ll . . .”
Silence.