Chapter Sixty
Dario Conti II
Leila's eyes drifted back to the envelope.
Nicolai handed her a short-handled pistol rolled up in cloth. "Make it tidy."
Leila took it, weighing it in her hand. Lightweight, compact, easy to conceal and most importantly silent. "And what if he fights?"
Nicolai laughed. "Then you fight back."
Leila stepped out of the car and smoothed her dress, steadying her breath.
She walked toward the largest caravan which has its paint peeling in thin strips. Nobody thought to glance her way or give her a second look.
She hesitated at the threshold, fingers tightening around the pistol wrapped in cloth.
Then she pushed it open.
Inside, the air was thick with the scent of dust, old books, and something faintly medicinal. A single lamp cast just enough glow to illuminate the space.
Dario Conti sat hunched in a wooden chair, wrapped in a heavy wool blanket despite the summer heat. His skin was pale, almost translucent, stretched thin over sharp bones. Liver spots dotted his hands, which trembled slightly as he turned the page of a yellowed book. He didn't look up.
Leila swallowed. This wasn't what she had expected.
The man before her wasn't some ruthless threat. He was old and fucking weak to the bones.
Dario finally spoke, his voice dry, brittle. "Ah. You're here."
Leila tensed. He hadn't even glanced her way.
He turned another page, exhaling a quiet chuckle. "Took him long enough."
She unwrapped the pistol, her grip tightening around the handle. "You knew this was coming?"
Now, he looked up, his gaze sharp despite the frailty of his body. "Of course."
"I don't understand," Leila said. "Why would Vincenzo come after an old man?"
"Old, please?" Dario murmured, setting his book aside. "This old man shook all of Naples last year and took out half his empire."
Leila's grip tightened on the pistol. "You?"
Dario nodded slowly. "Yes, me."
Leila hesitated, her finger resting just outside the trigger guard. How could this old man take out the Vincenzo empire? He was barely clinging to life.
Dario sighed, as if reading her thoughts. "Listen, we all own our various regions. I'd die peacefully now, knowing that Vincent is no longer in charge of Naples. I told my friend, Don Matteo, I guess your husband's father now, that Vincenzo wasn't fit to rule, but no he didn't listen to me. I'm glad now that he has finally come to reason."
Leila's stomach twisted.
"You know who I am." It wasn't a question but a statement of fact.
He chuckled weakly, running a trembling hand over the blanket draped over his shoulders. "Leila Crawford. I don't condone the violence done to your family. But Makros, he's a good man."
Leila scoffed, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. "A good man? You expect me to believe that after everything he's done?"
Dario sighed, his frail fingers tightening slightly on the fabric. "Set the records straight with him. Vincenzo is not who you should be siding with, though I can understand your reason."
