Hearing my father's voice on the phone, I could tell when something had gone wrong and the intensity of its wrongness. It had a much different quality to it when something had gone wrong and could not be undone. Not loud. Never loud. Antonio Salvatore did not raise his voice when things were serious. He lowered it. He spoke the way a man speaks when he wants you to understand that the words are the least dangerous thing in the room.
"The guard's name was Ferretti," he told me almost in a murmur. "Twelve years with the family. We found him in the east gatehouse at six this morning. He had used his own weapon." A short frustrating pause. "Before we could reach him."
I stood in the elevator with Alana beside me looking at the doors and kept my voice completely level. "How much did he give t
