“Start talking, Adriano,” Massimo snaps. “Now.”
Adriano thrusts the gun into the waistband at the back of his pants and takes off his glasses. His movements are almost disturbingly casual, especially once he starts wiping the lenses with a small cloth he pulled from inside his jacket.
“I don’t see how my personal matters are any concern of yours, Spada.”
Personal matters? I look at the dead woman again, and my hand flies to cover my mouth. Dear God. That’s Adriano’s wife.
“Filippa wasn’t a Family member,” Adriano continues. “Therefore, her death shouldn’t be of any interest to Cosa Nostra.”
“But you are.” Massimo surges forward, getting in Adriano’s face. “Dead bodies have been piling up the last few weeks and disposing of them requires a shitload of work. I certainly don’t need to ad
