PRESENT
The last week became a string of little victories and teeth-baring setbacks. We burned a safehouse in South Philly where we'd thought Vito hid his family, instead, we found out his associates kept false passports there. And that led us to intercept a courier for shipping crates to Milan front. Hit a dealer in LA and found more of Moretti's fingerprints.
Slippery bastard.
Two days before I boarded the plane to Cremona, my best friend handed me a laminated map. "You'll like what we've put together." He wasn't all preening, which meant it was good.
Eight hours over the Atlantic felt like punishment. The hours make enemies of you when you're stuck with your thoughts unless you give them something to do. For all of that excruciating time, my mind fed on the same delicious
