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Commissione.
    It had been said that Pat and Mike, or any of their lethal emissaries, had the power to ice a
capo
on their own initiative, providing they could justify it later to the mob's commissioners. And they had used that sweeping power once, to Sacco's knowledge, right there in the open city of Miami.
    That had been while Mack The Bastard Bolan was in town and kicking holy shit out of the brotherhood. A lot had changed since then, and little of it for the better, but the aces had been hardest hit of all. They were in flux, their status vague and ill-defined. Almost certainly, their sweeping powers had been radically curtailed. And yet....
    You never know about these guys.
    Damn right.
    "He give you any idea what he wants?''
    The houseman shook his head.
    "Just said he needs to see you. Right away."
    "Let's go see him, then. I wouldn't want to keep him waiting."
    Solly trailed him out along the landing, down the curving staircase to the first-floor library and den. A sentry was on station at the door. He nodded curtly at a sign from Cusamano, stood aside to let them enter.
    Sacco's uninvited visitor was standing with his back toward the door, examining a shelf of first editions. He did not turn immediately, although he must have heard them enter, and the
capo
took the opportunity to look him over.
    He was tall, broad shouldered, with dark hair and an athlete's body. He was wearing an expensive suit, the tailored jacket cut to give him room for undercover hardware.
    "What's this all about?"
    The stranger turned to face them. Despite the hour, he was wearing sunglasses, his eyes invisible behind the lenses. The face was ageless, etched in stone.
    A gravestone, right.
    "It's all about your life, Phil. Want to save it?"
    Phil?
The bastard had an overdose of nerve.
    "We know each other?"
    "I know you," the stranger said. "I know you've got a major problem on your hands."
    "That so? I musta missed it."
    "Heard from Tommy Drake tonight?"
    The
capo
frowned. That goddammed prickling of the scalp again.
    "I haven't heard from anyone tonight," he answered. "Everyone I know's asleep right now."
    "I'll give you odds that Tommy won't be waking up."
    The
mafioso
stiffened as an icy finger traced his spine. His fists were tightly clenched inside the pockets of his robe. He turned to Solly Cusamano.
    "Get Tommy on the phone."
    The houseman hesitated, glancing back and forth from Sacco to the ace.
    "Hey, boss..."
    "Go on," he snapped. "I'm covered here."
    "Okay."
    When they were alone, the
mafioso
moved to pour himself a drink, sipping it and deliberately ignoring the intruder, waiting for the liquid warmth to drive away his inner chill.
    "You're wasting time," Omega told him. "And you haven't got a lot to spare."
    "I'll take the chance."
    Omega smiled and settled on the edge of Sacco's spacious hand-carved desk. Another silent moment passed before the houseman made his reappearance. Sacco raised an eyebrow.
    "Well?"
    "No answer. Want me to keep trying?"
    Sacco thought about it, shook his head.
    "I want somebody over there. Take care of it."
    As he left, Cusamano spared another parting glance at the intruder. Phil Sacco waited for the door to close before he spoke.
    "You sure?"
    Omega nodded. "So are you."
    "All right. So what's the story? Who's behind it?"
    "You should know."
    He stiffened, biting off the first obscene retort that came to mind.
    "I give my people room to breathe. They handle any trouble on their own."
    The ace responded with a crooked smile.
    "I wouldn't say that Tommy Drake was handling it. He isn't even breathing."
    The
capo
did not have an answer and Omega was not waiting for one.
    "We've been hearing you've got problems with the Cubans."
    Sacco snorted, downed another swallow of his whiskey.
    "Everyone's got problems with the Cubans. I can handle it."
    "We hope so."
    We?
A look of puzzlement appeared on Sacco's face.
    Omega did not leave him guessing.
    "You've got friends on the commission, Phil. They're concerned