CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN :DECEMBER, 2011
At fifty-eight, Gianni Lamancusa had never been a patient man and the news of the partially aborted drugs run to Birmingham had angered him far more than the usual petty irritations he encountered in his line of business. “Six f*****g million lost through this stupid mistake. It’s bad enough when fixers outside the family f**k up, but when it’s your own family, it’s even worse!” He coughed, a deep, throaty, retching cough, made worse by smoking heavily.
“Don’t worry so much, Tesoro. Your blood pressure is already too high! Please, try and calm yourself.” Gianni’s long-suffering wife, Carina, knew the pressure her husband was feeling, but since their flight from Italy, she knew that it had increased, significantly, thanks to their unusual way of life.
