“Uh huh.”
“Well after that marsh-loco showed up and beat him to a pulp, I was running on, but kind of sore and a bit spooked. And there she was and she owed me a favor, maybe. So I got her to give me a lift to Giaccomo’s. She knew exactly where the Schiopettieri were working.”
Maria swallowed her wine. “That’s scary in itself. And that explains why she’s looking for you at Giaccomo’s. Anyway, do you know when . . . Caesare will be back?” She was irritated at herself for allowing that hesitation and hurt to show in her voice when she mentioned his name.
“Won’t be in tonight,” said Benito.
Maria was proud of her casual tone this time around. “Oh. Well, I’m pooped. I’m going to catch some shut-eye. He didn’t say where he was going, did he?”
Benito laughed. “He never does, Maria.”
She nodded and headed up the stairs.
* * *
Benito did however know where he was meeting Caesare. He had work to do for him. He felt a little uncomfortable about the evasions. Caesare had said it was best to give her time to get over it. And Benito supposed he knew. But Maria, trying to keep the misery out of her voice when she said Caesare’s name, made him feel uncomfortable. Even a little miserable himself.
“Benito, who is this ‘Kat’?” asked Marco. “And what’s bothering Maria?”
“Kat? Just a girl I know. Got the sharpest tongue in Venice. I ran into her by accident, brother, and I’m keeping clear of her. I’ll stay away from Giaccomo’s for the next while.”
“And Maria?”
Benito shrugged his shoulders. “She’s worried about competition.”
Marco pinched his lips. “Oh.” He sighed. “I don’t know what to do about it, because we owe him. But it’s not right, brother.”
Benito shrugged again. “A man’s got to do what a man’s got to do, Marco. And it’s not our affair, huh?”
Marco sighed again. “It’s not right.”
Benito felt uncomfortable—as he frequently did when Marco drew the moral line. “Yeah. Well, nothing we can do about it. It’s kind of your fault, Marco.” That was unfair and he knew it. Caesare had always played the field. Just that Angelina in the last few months had been somewhat “in-your-face” to Marco. But that too seemed to be tapering off. As if the sheer heat of it was burning it out. “Anyway, I’ve got to go out. I’ll see you later,” he said hastily.
* * *
“I don’t trust you, Aldanto.” He could see the swarthy, heavy-bodied man was ready to leap like a cat. Whether it was at Caesare’s throat or away, Benito couldn’t be certain.
By Caesare’s posture, Benito could tell that he too was keyed up. Small movements betrayed him. Benito, hiding in the deep shadows, on the roof across the alley, prided himself that he’d learned well from Caesare. He could even read his mentor. But Caesare’s voice was dead-steady. “The feeling is mutual, Francesco Aleri. But it’s business.”
“You are not welcome back.”
Caesare snorted. “I’m not coming back. And if I happen to die, some very interesting information will be forwarded to Ricardo Brunelli.”
It was the heavy-set Francesco’s turn to snort. “You’ve got nothing. We’ve changed things since your time.”
Back on the shadowy rooftop Benito squinted, trying to absorb the details of his face. So, the man was a Montagnard agent. Well, his official title was “Milanese Trade Ambassador-at-Large.” Benito knew that from delivering the initial message to the man at the German hotel next to the Rialto.
There was a flash of teeth from Caesare. “Everything?” he asked slyly. “Even your sleepers?”
Aleri gave a short bark of laughter “You don’t know who those are. You were never on that part of the operation.”
“Ah, but on the other hand—Lorendana Valdosta was,” purred Caesare. “Now, why don’t we talk business. In there. You’ve got the Dandelos in your pocket.”
The two walked into the small shrine and, to Benito’s frustration, he could hear no more than the indistinct murmur of their voices, no matter how hard he strained his ears. It had been something of a shock to hear his mother’s name. But obviously Caesare had gotten something useful out of Marco’s careful writings. Well, he was glad they’d paid something back.