Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 56365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 282(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 282(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Is this what genuinely wanting somebody is like? It’s distracting. I need to focus on the Mafia business.
“You think I can tell you anything?” the man grumbles.
“I think you’re making a mistake if you’re more afraid of Vincenzo than me.”
I stand up, walk over to the man, and kneel down, staring into his eyes. Usually, during exchanges like this, I can separate any soft feelings. I don’t have many, but I can quickly bash the ones that arise. However, with Elena’s phantom watching me, her taste still on my lips, dammit, it’s not easy.
I lean forward, glaring at the man. “You’ve got two options. Tell us what we want to know, and we’ll keep you as a prisoner until this shit is over. After that, we’ll exile you from the city. If you keep your mouth shut, we’ll beat you unconscious. When you wake up, you’ll be inside a coffin. Do you know how long a man can survive in a coffin?”
He’s trembling all over now. I’m finding it difficult to be as cold as I should be. I don’t let it show, and I won’t let it affect my behavior, but it’s annoying. I refuse to believe that Elena is changing me or bringing out parts of me I’ve buried all my life. That can’t be the case.
“It depends on how much the man panics,” I go on, “but I’ve heard accounts claiming the person survived as long as five hours. I’m not sure if that’s true, but for the sake of argument, let’s assume it is. Are you ready to endure five hours of hell before you die, all for a man who doesn’t give a shit about you?”
“Would your men endure it?” the man replies.
I grit my teeth. It’s a fair point. “That’s not the goddamn question.”
There’s a long pause. The man sniffles, mixing tears with rivulets of blood. I feel pity for the bastard when I shouldn’t. I have to remind myself what they did. If they’d hit the charity just an hour later, several people would’ve died.
I punch the man in the gut as if trying to prove to myself I’m still the cold bastard I need to be. He gasps and coughs up blood. I hit him again, reminding myself I’m not a good man. In this life, nobody can be good.
“Please,” he gasps. “No more …”
“Then speak,” I growl, reaching into my holster and taking out my gun. I press the barrel against his forehead. “Or would you prefer I make it quick?”
The man whimpers. Then, slowly, he speaks. “I don’t know what he’s going to do next—”
“So it was Vincenzo?”
He nods, looking defeated. “I don’t know what he’s got planned, but …”
“Don’t keep me in suspense.”
“We’ve got a new bar, a new hideout. I can give you the address. Okay, man? That’s all I know. I swear.”
I stand up but keep the gun pressed against him the entire time. “You know, ending your miserable life here would be far easier. It’d be safer for everybody involved.”
His eyes water as he stares up at me. “Please, Mr. Moretti. I’m getting married. We’ll disappear, me and my fiancée. You’ll never see us again.”
I glance at Allessio. “Is this true?”
He seems shocked I’d even care enough to confirm. “Yeah, boss.”
I grind my teeth, thinking of Elena, the kiss. She won’t quit my head.
Waving a hand, I say, “Take this prick to a secure location. Make sure he’s telling us the truth. If he is, wait until the bar is empty and then destroy it. If this goes well, nobody has to die. It doesn’t have to escalate into a full-fledged war.”
Allessio nods. “Boss.”
I holster my gun and leave the storage room, walking into the empty bar and pouring myself a glass of whiskey. I’m not usually much of a drinker, but my mind feels like a mess. I should’ve had the discipline not to kiss her. From now on, I need the restraint to keep this as distant as possible.
After knocking the whiskey back, I pour another. Paolo appears at my side, eyeing the bottle with his usual air of analysis.
“It’s been a long day,” I grunt.
“Mind if I pour myself one?”
“Go ahead.”
We sit at the bar together, both sipping from our glasses.
“You were right in there,” he comments. “It would’ve been easier to ice him.”
“I was also right when I said we need to de-escalate,” I snarl. “Vincenzo knew what he was doing, hitting us when no staff were there. He might want to make a point, not start a war. We’ll make a point, too, so the city knows we aren’t weak. If we kill one of his men, there’s no going back.” After a pause, I snap, “What?”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“That’s the thing with you, Paolo. You don’t have to.”
“It’s just, back there … It was almost like you felt sorry for him.”