With Billy Kovich down at the morgue, Joe was surprised to wake up feeling less safe, not more. So when Dion called to convince Joe that no matter how many of Rico’s bodyguards he hired, he still didn’t live in a gated house, Joe put up far less of a fight than his friend would have expected. He set off with Tomas an hour later and they drove out of Ybor and headed for Dion’s. Tomas spread the morning paper out, the top half resting on the dash, the lower half on his lap. Above the fold—the battle of the Bismarck Sea. Below it, right-hand corner—the death of Billy Kovich, taxi dispatcher with suspected ties to underworld figures. “What’s an archipageo?” Joe looked at his son. “A what?” Tomas nodded at the newspaper. “An archipelago?” This time he pronounced it “archeep lagoo.” “An archipelago,” Joe said. “Yeah.” “Try it.” Slowly. “An archipelago.” “First try.” Joe bounced his fist lightly off his son’s knee. “Well done. It’s what they call a group of islands.”
