The night was cloudy, dark like ink...
...and the rain drizzled on Chelsea. As Big Ben struck the eleventh
hour, Dino and the American arrived at the eighth floor apartment
of the safe house and knocked on the door. Three sharp raps
followed by another two, as agreed upon earlier.
“Who is it? Is it you Angelo?” a deep voice queried in Italian
from inside. The old man knew Dino as Angelo.
“It’s me, it’s me. It’s urgent, Signor Rossi,” Dino responded in
English.
“Uno momento, uno momento, Angelo. You‘re supposed to call
before you disturb me,” the deep voice retorted, and the two men
could hear a quick, heavy shuffle.
Dino made an obscene gesture at Rossi’s door then turned to
the blond, “Getting his pea shooter, that idiot. Does it every time.”
Dino made them stand on opposite sides of the doorway,
although the door had no peephole that the banker could see
them through.
Only a few days before, Dino had brought Rossi to this safe
house. The old man had been—and still was—quite agitated
after his narrow escape to London. Dino understood…half the
Brotherhood was gunning after Rossi, not counting the banks and
some powerful lodge in Florence. The old man was shitting in his
pants, which explained the millions he was wasting on Dino, his
new and only protector.
Finally, the door half-opened and a pudgy man in his sixties,
still in pajamas and clutching a small revolver in his hand,
appeared.
“This better be good, Angelo,” he barked out. Then he noticed
the young blond on Dino’s left. “And who’s this?” he grumbled
nervously.
“Not to worry, Boss. That’s why we’re here. We need to talk. We
might have some good news for you,” Dino replied, nudging the
blond into the room. Rossi backed away from the door, although
reluctantly.
Dino shut the door behind them without locking it, for he
knew that would have upset Rossi. The small room was in total
disarray he quickly noted. The bedspread was half on the floor,
food wrappers were all over, and a half empty wine bottle sat on
the nightstand. As he glanced around some more, Dino noticed
the black, leather briefcase on the floor next to the bed. He would
have to come back later to retrieve it. It was worth a fortune.
“Boss, this is Signor Duval, from a bank in Bern. I’ll let him talk
now. Nothing to worry about.”
