Fifteen minutes later, Tommy and Sal, unaccustomed to being this late for any rodeo that would have their wives in danger, were given clearance by the cops in the hall to go into the suite.  The carnage outside was undeniable: all of their men down, and most of the intruders were down as well.

But thank God, they thought, when they saw Grace and Gemma.

Sal was so relieved that he ran to his wife and fell on his knees in front of her.  He was sobbing when he pulled Gemma into his arms.

Tommy was so relieved that he stood there, staring at Grace, as if he still couldn’t believe she was alright.  Then he went to her.  Grace rose to her feet, and ran to Tommy, and they embraced vigorously on contact.  So vigorously that Tommy lifted Grace off her feet.  So vigorously that Grace wrapped her legs around Tommy as he held her.  And Tommy had tears in his eyes as well.

For both men, their emotional release wasn’t because their wives had never been in danger before.  They were married to them.  They knew danger, unfortunately, firsthand.  But they both felt as if their wives were in danger because of decisions they made!  Had they taken their wives with them, they would have still been in danger, but at least they would have been there to protect them.  But here, alone, they had been on their own.

But after the two men sat side by side on the sofa with their wives, waiting for the cops to give them their clearance, and both men had a chance to notice the carnage inside the suite, they realized just how expertly Grace and Gemma held their own.

“Do we know who the attackers are?” Grace asked Tommy as the cops spoke Italian all around them and secured the crime scene.

“We don’t know yet,” Tommy said.  “But I’m going to find out.”

Tommy stood up and began to walk over to the man he perceived as the man in charge: a man he had been eyeing since he walked into the suite.  Sal looked at Grace.  “What’s he doing?” he asked.

“He’s going to find out who’s behind this attack,” said Grace.

“Oh,” Sal replied, nodding his approval.  If anybody could charm these cops, it was Tommy.

But Tommy wasn’t interested in charming anybody.  He was going to buy his way into the game.  He motioned if he could have a word with the boss.

The boss was no novice.  He knew who Tommy Gabrini was.  Tommy’s company, the Gabrini Corporation, had vast holdings in Rome and hired many Italians.  Tommy had his ear.

“Qual e il tuo prezzo?” Tommy asked him.  (What is your price? Tommy asked him).

“Prezzo per cosa?” asked the cop.  (Price for what? asked the cop).

Tommy didn’t respond to that.  That cop knew exactly what he was talking about.

“Cosa avevi in mente?” the cop asked.  (What did you have in mind? the cop asked).

“Centomila,” Tommy replied.  “Dollaro Americano.”  (A hundred thousand, Tommy replied.  American dollar).

The cop was astonished.  That would be more money than he ever had at one time in his life!

“Quando e dove?” asked the cop.  (When and where? asked the cop).

Tommy didn’t answer that question either.  That cop knew when and where.

The cop stared Tommy in the eye.  This was a man he knew he could do business with, and maybe on more than just this occasion.  He nodded.

And before they knew it, the head policeman cleared the suite, insisting the corridor be processed first to avoid gawking hotel guests.  Once the room was cleared of all cops, the head policeman uncuffed the only surviving gunman, and left him with the Gabrinis.  He went into the hall too, closing the door behind him.

Sal was stunned by this turn of events.  He’d heard about crooked cops, but this took the cake even in his experience!  Grace and Gemma were shocked, too.

But Tommy wasn’t.  He had a very exacting way of handling his business.  Normally, he preferred to backdoor it: no witnesses not even his family members.  But that wasn’t possible.  The head policeman had given him ten minutes tops.  Then he had to return to the suite.

“Who do you work for?” Tommy asked the gunman in Italian.

The gunman, sitting in front of the couples, spit beside his chair.  If he thought that the fact that he did not spit directly on Tommy would spare him, he was badly mistaken.  Tommy grabbed him by the catch of his shirt, pulled him up from that chair, and beat him in the face so decisively that Grace could see the concaving of the man’s cheekbone.  Gemma also knew that Tommy had another, hidden side, but even she was shocked by the viciousness.

But Tommy couldn’t worry about how it looked.  He had ten minutes!  He threw the battered gunman back into the chair.  “I will ask you again,” he said, his entire conversation with the man in Italian.  “Who do you work for?”

This time, had the gunman spat, it would have been the color of blood.  There was no spitting.  “Venetti,” he said, speaking in Italian too.  “Louie Venetti.”

“Where can I find him?” Tommy asked.

“There’s no one place.  I don’t know where.  Nobody knows where.  He never shows himself.  He gives assignments by phone, and pays by bank drafts only.  I have never seen him before.”

Tommy stared at the gunman.  He looked so defeated that everything had gone so sideways for him, that Tommy believed him.  Besides, it was the same nothing intel his people, and Sal’s people, were coming up with.

Then Tommy pulled out a pistol nobody knew he had and shot the gunman through the side of the head.  The gunman fell backwards, dead, in his chair.  Sal stood up, grabbed Tommy’s gun, and placed it beside the gunman’s chair.

When the head policemen and his subordinates ran back into the suite, on hearing the gunshot, and saw the scene, the head cop made his finding plain.  “Quindi si e suicidato,” he said.  (So he killed himself, he said).  “Buona.”  (Good).

And he ordered his men to take out the trash.  “Gli uomini come lui danno alla nostra citta un brutto nome,” he added.  (Men like him gives our city a bad name, he added).

But the Gabrinis knew better.  It wasn’t just that fool.  As far as they were concerned, from here on out, everybody was bad.