I drove to Fuoco.
Paolo usually dealt with life's problems the same way I did:
Alcohol and s*x.
A proven recipe.
I found Leo, the manager, buried beneath stacks of paperwork in the office.
“Is Paolo here?”
“Sir, you're early. He arrived before dawn after the wedding and stayed.”
“Who is he with?”
“No one. He's been in the VIP area drinking by himself.”
“Okay.”
I climbed the stairs leading to the restricted section and found him sitting in darkness.
I switched on a light.
Paolo was still wearing the suit from the wedding.
He was sprawled across an armchair, surrounded by empty bottles and shattered glass.
“You look like s**t,” I announced.
“Underboss!”
His voice dragged drunkenly through the room.
“To what do I owe the honor of your visit to this flea-ridden place?”
The ma
