ATONEMENT | MAFIA ROMANCE | SMUT

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

I had a private and confidential document on the desk. It was delivered at the crack of dawn by an unidentified male who worked as a representative for specific individuals at the metropolitan police department. For too long, I studied the sealed envelope. Hours of indecisiveness increased irritation. I have pondered the advantages and disadvantages, positives and negatives, benefits and disbenefits, and I am at the point where a decision must be made, as time is of the essence, yet I procrastinated and delayed with a pen in hand.

"Sixty-three-year-old Vito Colombo." Nate stood by the floor to ceiling window. He is mildly distracted by the innumerable delivery vehicles obstructing the extensive driveway. "His sojourn to London only started two weeks ago. He is due to fly home to Palermo next week. However, his confabulation with Bosqui in the hospital's car park suggested that he might stick around until Moretti is awake."

"Well, that pissed all over our theories." Brad rubbed irritation from his weary eyes. "If Colombo and Bosqui await Moretti's consciousness, it rules out feuds between their families. Therefore, the Italians believe we set them up—not that I give a fucking toss." He eyeballed me. "You, however, seek conciliation rather than war. How blissfully poetic?"

I rolled the pen across the desk. "What do we know?"

Nate opened Vito's file. "Colombo spent twenty-two years in Rebibbia Prison for narcotics trafficking and two counts of first-degree murder."

Brad sat on the leather sofa, kicking his feet onto the coffee table. "Early release?"

"He managed to evade life imprisonment." Nate tossed the file on the desk. "Never married. No children. He lives and dies by the Sicilian Mafia, the Cosa Nostra. I found no evidence to suggest he is the capo dei capi, though."

"About the sniper." Brad unwrapped a breakfast roll he had purchased en route to the Manor and went in for a large bite. "Conveniently, electrical interference damaged Hyde Park's surveillance footage at the time of the attack, so the marksman remains a mystery."

"Or markswoman," Josh added, and the men tuned in to listen. "We can never be too sure, right?"

"Don't be so soft." Brad squirted brown sauce inside the bread roll. "It's not a bird."

"How can you know that without factual evidence?" Josh debated. "I think it's Blaire."

"What?" Nate's spine straightened. "It ain't Blaire."

"Again, how can you be certain?" Josh asked, and his jaw muscle ticked. "She had a good teacher."

"Yeah, I taught her how to fire a Glock and how to taser some motherfucker. But we never practised sniper rifles. Hell, I don't even own a fucking rifle, so how could she get her hands on one?"

Brad sucked sauce off his thumb. "Did she have access to importation?"

Everyone waited for Nate's response.