Dark hair, perfectly slicked back as if he wasted an hour in front of the mirror just to tame every single strand. A custom-made black suit that shows not a single crease on it. The immaculately pressed black shirt underneath, with the two top buttons undone, offers a glimpse of the gold chain around his tanned neck. He’s wearing a f*****g cross, like a good Catholic boy. And on his left wrist, a shiny gold Rolex.
“If there’s nothing else that we need to discuss, Don Spada, I’ll have our lawyer prepare the paperwork. My boss will bring the contract with him when he visits Boston to inspect the venues we’re buying.”
I raise an eyebrow. “I assumed that you, as his underboss, would handle all the bureaucratic crap.”
“Most times, that would be true. In this particular case, however, Don Aje
