“Please, don’t… don’t!”
The sound of the gunshot echoed around the warehouse, accompanied by laughter.
Mine.
“I asked you for Antonio’s routine… his death is on you.” I crouched before the man I had tied up.
He was sweating bullets, and his eyes were bulging out of his ratty face with fear.
I had three men tied up total. One had just died, and two were left. The one I was focused on was the one before me, the dirty accountant who scrubbed the De Sanctis family books. He was a man of power in the family and the first one I’d gotten my hands on. In terms of underling men, I had to be closing on nearly fifteen deaths so far. They made it too damn easy. One week after I’d gotten out of jail and I was really finding my rhythm.
The man beside the accountant grunted.
I turned to him, lowering his gag for a second. “Yes?”
“I know he goes to the golf club every Monday morning.” The man panted.
I nodded, impressed. “Now, that is real info. Well done. What’s your name?”
“T-Tommaso.”
His stutter was irritating me. I turned back to Mr. Accountant.
“Now, Tommaso has just proved that he will rat to stay alive. That means that you might be surplus, unless you give me something right now.”
I stared at the bookkeeper. His lips stayed closed in a firm line. It was fucking annoying.
I tapped my lip with the warm end of my gun, contemplating. “I know. I have a great idea.”
I jumped to my feet, and both men flinched.
“Let’s play a game, shall we? I love games, and believe me, you don’t want to be the loser of this one.”
Luckily, I had just the right gun for it. I shook out all the bullets but one and grinned at the waiting men. “You guys must be big gamblers, considering how much time you spend in Atlantic City. Let’s play… you give me something interesting, or we see how lucky you are… I always loved roulette.”
Snapping the gun closed, I spun the chamber. “Now, since Tom gave me something, we’ll start with you, Moneybags. You want to tell me something, or do you want to take your chances?”
The accountant stared at me silently.
I whistled. “You’ve got bigger balls on you than I expected. I can respect that, but it doesn’t change the rules of the game.”
I pointed the gun at him and pulled the trigger carelessly.
It clicked emptily. The accountant had gone deathly pale.
“Well done. Back to Tommaso. Anything for me, man?”
Tommaso licked his lips. “He has a mistress who lives in Trenton. He goes there three times a week.”
“It’s a good effort, but I’m not interested in the women in his life. It was a valid try, though. Now, back to you. Got something for me?” I swung the gun back to the accountant.
There was no defiance in his eyes this time. He just looked shit scared. The ravenous beast inside me devoured the man’s fear, only growing stronger and stronger. I thrived off the scent of piss and blood in the air. It was honest. Fear was the most honest thing there was.
He swallowed, his throat bobbing, then shook his head.
I pulled the trigger again. Another click.
“Tom? Your turn.”
Tommaso blanched. He looked about to cry. He was clearly out of titbits to share. That made sense. I hadn’t taken him or his dead companion for their insider info. The tail of the snake never knows what the head is up to.
“No? Tick-tock goes the clock.”
“I-I don’t know,” he mumbled.
“Too bad.” I pointed the gun at him. The sound of the shot followed my words.
“Oops. Looks like his luck ran out.”
Tommaso’s chair toppled back and hit the floor; the man in it was already dead.
I put another bullet in the gun and approached Mr. Accountant. He was completely still now.
“It’s just you and me now, Bob. Do you mind if I call you that? You look like a Bob.”
I spun the chamber of the gun and then pressed the tip point-blank against his forehead. “Tell me something I don’t know about your capo.”
Bob wet his lips. “He prefers cognac to scotch.”
“Very good, but not enough to skip a turn. Don’t fuck with me. You know what I want.” I pulled the trigger, and it clicked against his head.
He was shaking so hard I had to press the barrel tightly against his skin to keep contact.
“I can’t tell you the details of Antonio’s routine. If you hurt him, if he finds out I told, he’ll kill me and my family.”
“So, you’d rather die here. You think I won’t kill your family?”
He swallowed hard. “I don’t know if you will. I’m certain he would.”
I blew out a breath. “That puts me in a tricky position. I guess we’re done here, and you know what that means.”
I pulled the trigger again. The click was deafening.
Mr. Accountant was openly crying now. I almost pitied him, but not quite. He was part of Antonio’s inner circle and had no doubt been witness to the way his boss had treated his only daughter all her life. He deserved everything he got.
“Wait! I know something.” His sudden cry broke through his sobs.
“If it isn’t about Antonio, I’m not interested. I don’t want him investigated by the IRS.”
“Not Antonio. Sofia. It’s about Sofia.”
I stilled, everything inside me contracting to a point of controlled violence. “I don’t want to hear you say her name. You’re not worthy of it.” I ground the barrel against his forehead. I wanted to end him now, but I had to find out what he was going to say.
“What about her?”
“She… she…”
Bob was stuttering so hard now he was hard to make out. Still, it felt like the world had slowed for a moment. Like every pivotal moment in my life, I felt the weight of the seconds pass.
“Spit it out, for fuck’s sake,” I growled at him.
The world stopped turning as he spoke.
Bob looked up and finally met my eyes. “She’s not dead. Sofia De Sanctis didn’t die. She’s alive.”
