The Scorpion's Tale
ahead.”
    “We think the same gun was used in the
murders of Tony and Rosina Olivaro, his partners Tony and Sal,
their girlfriends, and your family. The killer used a Glock 234
with a silencer; not something we see every day. Obviously we don’t
have much on the killer, yet. We know he acted alone, moved very
quickly, and committed several murders. What we did learn, working
with the Manhattan Police, was that records of Olivaro’s company
showed shipments to Gia’s Pride Imports in San Remo, Italy. Does
that name mean anything to you?”
    Gia’s Pride Imports–where had he heard that
name? Steven wondered. “No. Who the hell is Gia?”
    “I have no idea. Some guy named Roberto
Milani ran the business. Some of the Italian detectives in
Manhattan have contacts in Italy who made inquiries. You want to
know the most amazing part?”
    Steven moved forward in his chair and
polished off the rest of the beer. “Tell me,” he said, interested
in the connection with Tony’s business.
    “Roberto Milani was murdered in his sleep
along with his mother and father. This happened two days after the
Westhampton murders. We’re working with San Remo Police for
ballistic comparisons. I have a strong suspicion it’s the same
guy.”
    Steven flinched. “Are you telling me the
killer went to Italy and murdered Milani’s family after killing
mine because Milani was involved with Tony?”
    Detective Johnson knew he finally had
Steven’s attention. “Exactly, although it’s possible that he may
have had help. We’re still figuring it out. We’ve got forensic
accountants pouring over Tony’s business records.”
    “Now you’re talking,” Steven said. “That’s
great work.”
    “By the way, I spoke with Teresa. She vouched
for your alibi and confirmed you were with her until 1:30 a.m.”
    Steven’s felt nauseated. He hadn’t thought
about Teresa. A surge of guilt came over him.
    “I want you to stay in touch with me. I don’t
want you going anywhere without checking with me first,” the
detective said. “Do you understand?”
    “Where the hell do you think I’m going?” he
said, fingering his e-ticket.
    “I’m here if there’s anything you need.
Everything is going to work out, you’ll see.”
    “I have to believe that. Good night,
detective.” Steven hung up the telephone. He saw Detective Johnston
as a good man who cared about doing the right thing. It didn’t feel
right to lie to him, but confiding in the detective was not an
option. Steven had already purchased another cell phone with a new
number, given only to Marco and Nick. He knew that Johnston could
only reach the voice mail on his old phone. Steven double-checked
the items in his suitcase and carry-on bag. He needed to get a few
hours of sleep since he did not know when he would next have an
opportunity for that luxury.

CHAPTER SEVEN
     
     
    Steven caught a cab at O’Hare and headed
downtown. Who was “Charlie P.”? According to Nick, Charlie was once
a high-flying, street-savvy criminal defense attorney for Chicago’s
most prestigious law firm. He had been the firm’s torrential
rainmaker, bringing untold millions into its coffers. Charlie was
the embodiment of the American Dream, rising to the top echelon of
Chicago society from his family’s humble beginnings as Italian
immigrants. He shared a mansion in Glencoe with his beauty-queen
wife and two stunning daughters. They spent summer vacations in
Europe and winter holidays at his house in Aspen.
    However, Charlie had a serious personality
flaw. He was an incurable thrill seeker, never content with his
life, constantly seeking new challenges. Charlie enjoyed mingling
with celebrated personalities, the wealthy, and the powerful. He
eventually crossed the line by taking several organized crime
figures as his preferred clientele and alienating his corporate
clients. Like a heroin addict, Charlie got a rush from these
businessmen of the night and the crimes they “allegedly” committed.
He

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