Renato slammed the door to our father’s home, and he marched toward his office, as I trailed along, frustrated that Vincenzo texted the board, wanting updates.
“Did you see the vote?” Renato spoke to him.
He pulled out a cigar from the hidden spot in his desk and waved us to sit.
“I suspected he wouldn’t go quiet.”
“You think he’s talking to the police.”
“Tulio says you're on their radar at the FBI.”
Renato sat up straight at his comment.
“We need to kill him,” Renato snarled, nose flared.
“Renato, calm down.”
“Father, that fucker is using this to get what he wants.”
“Which is what?”
“Airtime, possibly a run for president.”
“He doesn’t have the bandwidth.”
“We should get a meeting with Alize and Tommaso ASAP.”
“That’s good. Call Carmine.”
“No.”
“I’m not asking, Sante. Do it
