Page 78

It was rage.

You didn’t fuck with Sal’s family and expect to get away with it.

If you fucked around, Sal always found out.

“He give you anything?” I asked, leaning against the worktable next to my boss.

“Bullshit excuses.”

Oscar backhanded Kelley, and his head turned so far to the side, I expected his neck to break.

“Ok, Ok. Stop!” Kelley cried.

Nolan Kelley was fifty-seven years old. One year older than Sal. Unlike Sal, Kelley didn’t take care of himself. His hairline was receding, his stomach had begun to hang over his belt, and his arms that had once been muscular flapped like a bird trying to fly.

He believed he was untouchable.

Kelley hadn’t realized the closer you got to the top, the more you had to stay in shape. You didn’t stay on top without putting in the work.

Though, being honest, Kelley had never been on top. It was all a show. A show Sal should have ended after Eamon was gone. And would have, had Kelley not been married to Sal’s baby sister.

Sal stepped forward and stood before Kelley.

“Why did you do it?” Sal asked.

Kelley knew what he was asking, but like everyone who sat before us tied to a chair, or strung up on a hook, he used stall tactics in an attempt to prolong his life.

It wouldn’t work, though. It never did.

“Do what?”

Sal shook his head. He removed the cigarette from Ronan’s mouth. Flipping it round, he pressed it against the skin right below Kelley’s eye. That soft tender spot that hurts like hell.

Kelley’s scream echoed through the warehouse. No one but the men standing here and the gators heard it though. One ofthe first things Ronan did when he took over down here was to purchase this warehouse and the surrounding swampland.

“Why did you hand Valentinetti over to Petrovich? What did you hope to gain by killing your grandson’s father?”

Kelley threw his head back and laughed. “I don’t have a fuckin’ grandson.”

Sal’s hands clenched into fists. To hear Kelley deny his daughter’s child was a slap in the face. But Sal held back. He wanted to kill Kelley and be done. But we needed answers.

“Why would you want your daughter’s husband dead?” Sal growled, his patience wearing thin.

“That fuckin’ Italian had it coming. He was playing both sides,” Kelley sneered. “He deserved everything he fuckin’ got.”

“Oscar,” Sal said, then stepped back.

Everyone stared as Oscar removed the knife from the sheath he kept on his belt. It was just barely legal for him to carry at all times. Not that we cared all that much about legalities, but Oscar already had two strikes against him. One more and he would be inside for a long time. He couldn’t afford to be caught with more than a pocketknife.

Unlucky for Kelley, Oscar was damn efficient with that pocketknife. He sliced the skin between Kelley’s fingers, severing the nerves. Kelley was doing more screaming than talking. He always was a stubborn fuck.

“Why, Kelley?” Sal asked again.

“I was ordered to,” he said between clenched teeth.

“Who ordered it?”

Kelley’s head shook from side to side. He didn’t want to give up the man pulling the strings.