The rain came hard on Mulberry Street as Marco pushed open the door of Il Tramonto, Giacomo's private restaurant. Two men in leather jackets searched him for weapons, then let him pass.
Inside, cigar smoke curled under the ceiling fans. Giacomo sat at the back table, wide shoulders draped in a black suit, silver hair slicked back. His voice was gravel.
"Marco. Sit."
Marco obeyed.
"There's a problem," Giacomo said. "A ledger. One of ours. It went missing last week."
Marco's pulse quickened. Another ledger.
"You're sure it's not misplaced?"
Giacomo's eyes hardened. "Do I look like I misplace things? This book had names. Judges. Cops. Half the city. And now it's gone. You know what that means."
Marco nodded slowly. It meant someone had leverage. It meant everyone was exposed.
"I want you to find it," Giacomo said. "And Marco…" His heavy hand landed on the table like a hammer. "…don't disappoint me. You've seen what happens."
Marco remembered his father's body in the snow. He swallowed. "Yes, Don Giacomo."