23
DANTE
My Nonno, took the cigar out of the inside pocket of his blazer. It didn’t matter that this was Tuesday afternoon, no special occasion on the horizon, or that he was sitting in a dusty, metal modular office on a construction site.
The Don wore a suit.
He spoke in Italian so he could express himself. “So, that’s what I’m here to tell you. Orlov is pushing hard for a bigger piece of the new development, but I don’t think that’s the hill he wants to die on. A man of his stature doesn’t have to throw his weight around sabotaging a construction site. Just not his style.”
He clipped the end off of his cigar, carefully trimmed as an English hedge, then stuck the end in his mouth, lit it and puffed until grey smoke rolled angrily towards the ceiling. “Someone is trying to make a name
