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Finally, Baron spoke. “I guess you think you’re a big man while your crew has the upper hand.”
“Like how you and your men felt,” I asked, “when you crept onto the winery property after dark and torched my cottage when no one was there to fight back?”
Baron said nothing, just stared hatefully at me.
But I wasn’t done. “Or like when you poured gasoline over the grapes, dropped a match, and scurried away in the night like vermin? Is that what abig mandoes, Baron?”
“So you’re here to kill us?” Baron gestured to his men. “We’re unarmed. That’s hardly fair.”
“I don’t give a fuck aboutfair, you worthless piece of shit. You think because you wear fake leather that this is some bullshit American western, likeShane? You think we should put down our arms and fight you hand to hand?”
“We’re defenseless and you’re a coward,” said Baron.
“You’re pathetic. Italians do it better—or haven’t you seen a Corbucci movie? None of you will make it out of here alive.”
“Too much talking,” Enzo said under his breath just before raising his arm. With three rapid shots, he popped each of the three standing bikers in a knee, dropping them like sacks of flour.
Tommaso rushed over to aim the oversized barrel of his shotgun at Baron’s balls, while Cesare frisked each biker as they writhed in pain, pulling two small pistols from ankle holsters.
The screams of agony gave me no satisfaction. I wanted more pain and suffering from these three. I could taste the powder in the air as I advanced on Baron, while Giacomo descended on the nameless biker on the left. Enzo pulled a giant blade from hisbelt, smiling gleefully at the biker on the right. “This is going to be fun,” my brother murmured.
I kicked Baron’s shattered knee as hard as I could, relishing the resulting howl that fell from the man’s lips. Then I picked up a pool cue and broke it in half on the edge of the pool table with a snap, the narrow end clattering across the room. Then I used the makeshift weapon on Baron.
Again and again, I hit him, careful not to kill him. Each time he started to slip into unconsciousness, I pushed the jagged edge of the cue into his knee to bring him screaming back to life.
He begged and pleaded, spit running down the sides of his mouth and onto the floor. But I wasn’t listening. He thought he could light a match and walk away. Like the flames wouldn’t follow him. I wanted him to experience a living hell before being greeted by the devil himself.
“Mangia merda e muori!” I shouted down at him.Eat shit and die!
I hit him so many times the rest of the room became a blur. My arm ached from the blows, muscle straining as I kept raining blows on Baron’s head. I thought I heard voices, but I didn’t stop.
Suddenly, Giacomo pulled me off of Baron and then Enzo was in my face. “Didn’t you hear me calling your name?” When I shook my head, he took the broken pool stick out of my hand. “Finish this, fratello. The other two are already dead. Let’s go home.”
I glanced down at Baron. Air bubbles formed and popped at his nose with each breath, and the one eye that wasn’t swollen shut stared at me in a mixture of fear and resignation.
“I’m not done yet,” I said, and pulled out my switchblade, grabbed Baron by his ear, and sliced it off.
“See, testa di cazzo? This wasn’tShane. It’sDjango.” I crammed the mutilated ear into his mouth and, before he could try to spit it out, I shot him in the head.
“You watched too many movies on the yacht,” my brother remarked casually as he tucked the pistol into his waistband.
“What else were we supposed to do?” I grumbled as we walked to the door. “Those movies kept Maz and I sane.”
“I like spaghetti westerns,” Giacomo said. “A Fistful of Dollarsis my favorite.”
“A great movie. Leone was a genius.”
We went outside and Tommaso was standing on the sidewalk, staring at the motorcycles. “Wait,” he said. “There are five bikes here and we killed four. There was no one in the kitchen. You think the bartender was a Raider?”
I jerked my thumb toward the entrance. “You and Cesare go back in and check behind the bar, check the bathroom. Make sure no one is hiding.”
While we waited, I lit a cigarette, the last I’d ever smoke. I promised Maggie that I’d give them up and I meant to keep my word.
Seconds later Tommaso returned with a fifth biker, who looked as terrified as anyone I’d ever seen. And, in my line of work, that was saying something.
“Found him hiding in a booth, Don D’Agostino,” Tommaso said.
“What’s your name?” I asked the young man. He couldn’t have been more than seventeen.