Chapter 21
2288words
'Your brother's got him ready for you, Signor Vitalo," Salvatore informs me as I walk into the aluminum-cladded warehouse at the docks. He's just about bouncing on the balls of his feet.
I've long since lost enthusiasm for the darker aspects of my work, but there's a faint restless feeling in my fingers tonight, as if they're still itching for what's coming.
'Grazie, Salvatore," I say as I cross the epoxy floors to the steel-slab door at the back of the building that leads down. Down to a concrete-walled room. Down to a room I've ventured into many times before.
Salvatore follows me, then rushes ahead at the bottom of the stairs to open the door to the concrete room.
Inside, there are two chairs, one of them steel and bolted to the concrete floor that's been stained a rust color from blood. On the steel chair sits the man I've come to see, a man secured to the chair with ankle and wrist cuffs. Tommaso Barzini—one of Romario's soldiers and the man who killed Leo.
He's been stripped to his boxers, and he has a rag in his mouth. There's a nasty purplish bruise marring his left eye—that'll be the least of his injuries soon.
'I thought about gift-wrapping him for you, fratello, but I was fresh out of bows," Damon says. He's standing off to the right of Barzini, his arms crossed over his chest.
I nod and force a half-smile. 'You can go, Salvatore," I say as I look over my guest for the evening. Regardless of his enthusiasm, I'm not in the mood for an audience. Especially not Salvatore.
Salvatore's expression falters for just a moment, but he nods and leaves the room without a word.
The door closes behind him, but I barely hear it as I stare at Tommaso Barzini. Though he's glaring at me defiantly, his flabby body draws into itself, shoulders hunching, knees pressed together, calves digging into the steel legs of the chair. He's trying to hide, to escape what's coming.
I look away without a word and turn to the steel table against the far wall where every instrument a man could need is laid out. Knives. Pliers. A ball-peen hammer and three-inch-long nails. A few long, thin needles. No gun, though—that would be too quick.
'You killed a man who worked for me," I say as I cross the room to the table. There's no emotion in my tone, no rage, no satisfaction. Nothing. I've learned to hide these things well.
Barzini doesn't make a sound, but I can feel his eyes on me without looking. He's watching my every move as I run my fingers down the short hilt of a smaller combat knife nearest the edge of the table.
'So," I continue, 'You're going to die today. There's no walking away. No one is going to come for you. And you already know I am a man devoid of mercy."
I leave the combat knife that looks too much like Sapphire's to be in this cold, dank room and reach for the one beside it. It's longer and the edge is straighter, less curve to it. I pick it up and return to Barzini, where Damon is already standing behind him, his face grim. Even Damon doesn't relish this part of our lives.
'What you must decide now is how quickly you want that end to come and how much pain you're going to endure before it does."
He mumbles behind the rag as his hands grip the arms of the chair so tight, his knuckles turn white.
I remove the gag, though I know it's too early. Barzini is still rigid and unpliable right now. It'll take days of torture and starvation, sprinkled with doses of threats and cajoling to soften him. Or an extreme degree of brutality if I want him to talk tonight. Sadly, it'll have to be the latter because I don't have the time or inclination to host this man for longer than necessary.
'So, Tommaso, are you going to make this easy on yourself and tell me what I want to know?"
'Fuck you, stronzo," he curses, proving me right.
Damon heaves an exaggerated sigh. 'Here we fucking go. Fratello, let me loosen him up a little. One ear and two fingers should do. He should be good and ready by tomorrow evening."
Barzini's eyes narrow.
'Si, but what's the point of him bleeding out on our floor for a whole twenty-four hours to get the same information he would give today?" I say to Damon, but more for Barzini's benefit. Then I face Barzini. 'You can take the easy or hard route, Tommaso, but it ends the same way—your life."
Terror has seeped into his beady eyes, but his mouth remains stubbornly shut.
I shake my head and lean in closer, placing the tip of the knife against his chest, just below his left clavicle. And then I slice, one long, slow cut from clavicle to clavicle.
He groans loudly, and his whole body jerks and shakes. By the time he's finished, there's blood dripping from his mouth as well as his chest—he's bitten through his tongue.
'I'll ask you some questions. If it takes you more than five seconds to respond, the result will be the same," I explain while he pants through the pain, trying to keep his wits about him—not that it will do him any good.
'How did your boss, Romario get his claws into Leo Ricci?" I ask, tamping down the rush of anger and grief that try to well up in equal measure.
He glares at me, silent, his jaw clenched so tight, it trembles.
So, I move an inch lower on his chest and slice again from one side to the other, slow and steady.
This time, he can't hold it back. He lets out a roar that reverberates off the walls as his face turns almost purple in agony.
I lean back and wait. I'm a patient man when it serves my purpose.
'Alright, let's do this one more time," I say when Barzini has settled into the occasional pained grunt.
'How did your boss get his claws into Leo Ricci?"
He glares at me, but the answer is right there on the tip of his bleeding tongue. 'The Agua," he spits out.
I recognize the name. It's a nightclub in Romario's territory, one where patrons dance and drink the night away on the main floor while another type of carnal activity takes place beneath it.
'Go on," I say.
'The boss watched him every night for two weeks, watched him get drunk and use a different whore every night to fuck away his demons. All Romario had to do was offer him a briefcase of money and a one-way ticket to Cuba, and he caved like a pussy."
I keep my expression blank, but beneath it, I'm reeling. Leo had never said a word about struggling, about demons, not until the night he died. I hadn't suspected a goddamned thing. Maybe if I had, I might have helped Leo in some way.
I put the tip of the knife a few inches below the second slice and say to Barzini, 'After carrying out a few of jobs for Romario, Leo started to say no." I press on. 'What was it Leo refused to get for Romario, even when he knew what reneging on their deal would cost him?"
Barzini spits out a wad of bloody spittle and shakes his head. 'If I tell you that, I'm a dead man."
Damon and I chuckle. The sound carries little humor, but it still feels out of place here. 'You're already a dead man." I might be an evil motherfucker, but I'm generally an honest one. No bullshit. No false hope.
He looks away, staring down at the slices across his chest and his flabby abdomen, covered with blood. But he says nothing. It seems he needs a little more motivation.
I take the knife from his chest, grip the handle firmly, and drive it down in one savage stab, piercing his right wrist and severing his median nerve.
'Stop," he screams as I yank the blade out and raise it, preparing for a second blow. 'I'll… tell you, please, stop."
I lower the blade to my side, waiting as blood drips from the tip onto the floor.
He pants for a moment, then looks up at me. His eyes are narrowed in pain, but he's smiling. Blood covers his teeth and drips from his bottom lip, making it one of the most grotesque smiles I've ever seen.
'Leo Ricci… was supposed to kill you."
What? It feels like someone has tried to yank the proverbial rug out from under my feet.
Barzini continues, 'Romario wanted you dead, and he wanted your man to do it so that your loyalists wouldn't try to take revenge on him."
My heart beats harder. What the actual fuck?
'Ma che cazzo?" Damon swears, echoing my exact thoughts.
I force the surge of guilt and regret rising deep within me. Leo betrayed me. He did not dig himself into a deep, dark hole and then lay down his life for me. No goddamned way.
I grip the knife tighter. Barzini has given me all the information I want from him. He's useless now. And he knows it. I can see it in the helpless loathing in his eyes.
'Burn in hell, pezzo di merda," he seethes right before I drag the blade across his throat in one swift slice.
In a matter of seconds, he's gone. The man who murdered my best friend is dead. And I feel no relief because this is just the start to the whole fucking bloody war.
The knife clatters to the floor as I stare at my latest kill while a new kind of restlessness floods my veins.
'You know what this means then, Zade?" I feel Damon's hand on my shoulder.
I give him a curt nod. 'War."
Romario used to be one of my father's Capos early on in his rule, but the moment my father pulled the narcotics business from the Outfit, Romario, along with a few other Capos and dozens of seasoned men, broke off. My father was reluctant to wipe out Romario because they were childhood friends.
And now Romario wouldn't hesitate to kill the son of the man who spared him despite his betrayal. Which just proves that there really is no room for mercy in this dark world. Love only makes us think there is.
I say through gritted teeth, 'Pascal Romario has taken our tolerance for stupidity, and he needs to pay."
'Agreed," Damon rakes his hand through his too-long hair, a move that now reminds me of the brothers of Reaper Druids MC, who like to keep their hair long. And, of course, my mind goes to Sapphire, who doesn't want to identify with them, yet she can't bring herself to cut hers.
Damon's voice draws me back to the present, 'At this point, it's either kill or be killed. I hear Romario is shacking up with the Mexican Cartel."
I whip my gaze to Damon. 'Are you certain?"
'Not one hundred percent, but my informant's guesses are hardly ever wrong."
'Then he needs to be swiftly put down before he mutates into something completely unmanageable."
The Mexican cartel has a robust trafficking business, something I've strictly prohibited on my turf. Unfortunately, the business is a lucrative one. If Romario has indeed taken up with the Cartel, he's likely well-funded and supported by them.
'Take the night off, Damon. Gather my men for a briefing in a few days." I start to leave, but then I stop and turn back to add, 'All of my men."
'De Luca too?
Orlando De Luca is the oldest and most powerful Capo. Unfortunately, he's also the most disenfranchised and whose allegiance needs to be re-affirmed. I want his complete loyalty, but the one thing the man wants above all, is a Vitalo son-in-law.
'Especially De Luca, Damon," I insist. 'This is the time to get everyone aligned against our common enemy."
'Aligned, huh?" Damon cocks an eyebrow, a slow smirk spreading on his face. 'Do I hear wedding bells then, fratello?"
I shrug. After all, I'm thirty-three, in dire need of an heir, and Alina De Luca is more than a consolation prize.
Or so I thought until around three weeks ago. Until I happened upon a certain sexy, mouthy feelings guru who looks and responds and speaks to me like she was tailor-made to fuck me up.
'Wedding, War, Retribution, the bells all peal the same. We need De Luca fully on board. So, we'll give him what he wants."
A smile pulls at Damon's lips. 'Sì, fratello. Now you go on, I'll finish here." He nods toward the dead man.
I wipe my hands on a rag, spin on my feet, and leave. Emotions surge up my throat like bile and make my fingers itch for the phone in my breast pocket.
I ignore the itch, tamp it down, and squeeze my hands into fists. All through the drive home, I grip the Lambo's steering wheel in an effort to stop myself from calling out a call command for the car's Bluetooth.
I manage to resist the urge until I reach home, but as I head into my shower to wash away the blood and grime, the need surges again. I try to drown it out under the hot spray.
I just saw the woman less than twelve hours ago. How is it possible that it feels like a month already?
