wife would be shocked. And if you’re just a civilian with wholly legitimate business interests, that’s the end of the story. You buy your wife a nice piece of jewelry to apologize, ditch the boy toy, and life goes on as normal. But if you’re a man of honor , that’s not the end of it. Your friends, your associates, your underboss, every made man in this city and anywhere else will get triggered in their ugly little homophobic heads. As a boss , you’d be ruined.”
Marino closed his eyes and blew out a long breath, thinking for several moments. The moments stretched into a minute, and Sebastiano took a sip from his lukewarm coffee.
“You’d get slapped with the mother of all lawsuits if I end up harassed or injured because you disclosed my sexual orientation.”
He did have a good working knowledge of the law. Certainly better than expected. Marino was good; like any wild horse about to be broken, he first tried every escape plan he could think of. “We both know that injury or harassment are fairly mild scenarios at that point. And who will bring the lawsuit? Your wife? The one you’ve been cheating on? She might actually be quite happy when you vanish. No body means no funeral.”
Well, okay, he was pressing the Joey D’Amato button a bit hard now.
“I understand.” Marino groaned and stared at the photo, lips pressed together. What was he thinking? That his lover had destroyed him? Or maybe that the kiss had been worth the price.
“So, I’m here at a really early stage in my investigation. The press isn’t involved yet. Nobody really is. It’s just you and me. And the little guy there. What’s his name?”
“No name yet,” Marino said and shook his head. “You would leak this to the press and see me killed.”
Sebastiano nodded. “I would. Saves the state a lot of money, too.
I know you’re guilty as sin. If you’d kept it in your pants, you’d be safe.”
“Yeah, so it’s my own goddamned fault. You’re a cold bastard, Beccaria.” Marino rubbed his face. “Shit.”
Time to offer the horse a bit to chew on and a rein. “It doesn’t have to happen. Your secret, your marriage . . . can all be safe. While I know what you are, I don’t have to destroy you.”
Marino lifted a hand and looked on the verge of getting up. “I shouldn’t listen to anything. Not without a lawyer.”
“I promise, all this is just a friendly chat. No wires, no witnesses, just you and me talking about your life.”
Marino cast him another stare that would have seared the fuzz off a peach. “What’s the offer?”
“You come to me, voluntarily, with all the evidence, names, all the dirty secrets, everything. Where the money went, how it got there, who earned it for you. The names and identities of everybody involved in your operation. You sell the whole damn thing, and you’ll walk away free.”
Marino whispered something that looked suspiciously like “Fuck you.”
“Think about the alternative. Let’s assume your people leave you alive long enough, you’ll be around as a witness. Now, that is big news.
National news, maybe even international news. Stefano Marino, so far blameless young playboy, dragged out of his villa, giving evidence in a big mafia trial. They’ll dredge up everything. Everything your father ever did. That your grandfather was on the Commission. Your wife, everybody you rubbed shoulders with. That’s going to be a huge trial, big media presence. Every journalist out there is going to try to dig up more embarrassing little details about you. They’ll find everything—they’ll pick you apart like vultures. Even if you survive all that, your reputation won’t. Trust me, that kind of scrutiny would make everybody look bad, probably even me.” He smiled again.
Marino looked sickened. And who wouldn’t, in that situation?
Sebastiano leaned back, let the man breathe, think, allowed him to absorb everything, every sordid little scenario, allowed him to feel the
Marino closed his eyes and blew out a long breath, thinking for several moments. The moments stretched into a minute, and Sebastiano took a sip from his lukewarm coffee.
“You’d get slapped with the mother of all lawsuits if I end up harassed or injured because you disclosed my sexual orientation.”
He did have a good working knowledge of the law. Certainly better than expected. Marino was good; like any wild horse about to be broken, he first tried every escape plan he could think of. “We both know that injury or harassment are fairly mild scenarios at that point. And who will bring the lawsuit? Your wife? The one you’ve been cheating on? She might actually be quite happy when you vanish. No body means no funeral.”
Well, okay, he was pressing the Joey D’Amato button a bit hard now.
“I understand.” Marino groaned and stared at the photo, lips pressed together. What was he thinking? That his lover had destroyed him? Or maybe that the kiss had been worth the price.
“So, I’m here at a really early stage in my investigation. The press isn’t involved yet. Nobody really is. It’s just you and me. And the little guy there. What’s his name?”
“No name yet,” Marino said and shook his head. “You would leak this to the press and see me killed.”
Sebastiano nodded. “I would. Saves the state a lot of money, too.
I know you’re guilty as sin. If you’d kept it in your pants, you’d be safe.”
“Yeah, so it’s my own goddamned fault. You’re a cold bastard, Beccaria.” Marino rubbed his face. “Shit.”
Time to offer the horse a bit to chew on and a rein. “It doesn’t have to happen. Your secret, your marriage . . . can all be safe. While I know what you are, I don’t have to destroy you.”
Marino lifted a hand and looked on the verge of getting up. “I shouldn’t listen to anything. Not without a lawyer.”
“I promise, all this is just a friendly chat. No wires, no witnesses, just you and me talking about your life.”
Marino cast him another stare that would have seared the fuzz off a peach. “What’s the offer?”
“You come to me, voluntarily, with all the evidence, names, all the dirty secrets, everything. Where the money went, how it got there, who earned it for you. The names and identities of everybody involved in your operation. You sell the whole damn thing, and you’ll walk away free.”
Marino whispered something that looked suspiciously like “Fuck you.”
“Think about the alternative. Let’s assume your people leave you alive long enough, you’ll be around as a witness. Now, that is big news.
National news, maybe even international news. Stefano Marino, so far blameless young playboy, dragged out of his villa, giving evidence in a big mafia trial. They’ll dredge up everything. Everything your father ever did. That your grandfather was on the Commission. Your wife, everybody you rubbed shoulders with. That’s going to be a huge trial, big media presence. Every journalist out there is going to try to dig up more embarrassing little details about you. They’ll find everything—they’ll pick you apart like vultures. Even if you survive all that, your reputation won’t. Trust me, that kind of scrutiny would make everybody look bad, probably even me.” He smiled again.
Marino looked sickened. And who wouldn’t, in that situation?
Sebastiano leaned back, let the man breathe, think, allowed him to absorb everything, every sordid little scenario, allowed him to feel the
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