Chapter Eighty-Three.
The mid-day sun prickled the skin of Don Giovanni Belloni as he ascended the steps of his private Jet. A row of black SUV’s sat along the side of the runway of Dovizioso’s private airfield. He watched as the boss of bosses himself stepped out of the centre vehicle, dressed in a black suit, with black shirt and black skinny tie, his sunglasses in place. The only thing missing was the billow of cigar smoke, which meant only one thing: his wife was with him. Giovanni did not know if that was a good or bad thing. He had never met Comare Eva before, but he had heard from trusted sources that she wore the trousers in the relationship, and given how ruthless Marco Dovizioso had been, she was clearly a formidable woman, and not one to mess with, even if it was widely known
