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“Baz just called and said you’re running a clean-up without him.” He has the temerity, the fucking audacity, to sound irritated and he is so lucky we are conducting this conversation over the phone because if he were in front of me I might just headbutt him.

“Why would that be any of his business?”Or any of yours given you don’t take any interest in Famiglia business.

“Because he is one of Dad’s capos and he is still advising me.”

“Advising you on what?! How to achieve an even fucking tan?” I explode, managing to make Matty’s head jolt up in surprise. He scowls and returns his focus to his tools of torture.

Pinching my nose and breathing deeply, I lower my voice so the two soldiers nearby can’t hear. “Have you forgotten your role in this is to sit still and do whatever I motherfucking tell you? Can you just show the fuck up and play pretend like you’re supposed to!”

There’s a silent pause and I can almost hear the cogs in his brain going.

“Right. Baz wound me up and was saying that Dad expected him to advise me. I’m hungover as fuck and not thinking straight,” he sighs and that is as close as I’m going to get to an apology from him.

For a smart guy, Elio is easily manipulated and Baz knows that. Fuckin’ snake.

“Next time he calls you, remind the cunt who is in charge. And stop listening to him, for fucksake. The circle of trust is us siblings now. Dad gives advice, but it’s me, you, Matty, and Massi in charge now. Don’t trust anyone else.”

He grunts in agreement. “Righto. I need to sleep this hangover off, but I’ll give you a buzz later and catch up on things.”

“Wish I could sleep my hangover off,” I mutter to myself after he has hung up.

Now even more frustrated and irritated, I stomp over to the two men tied to chairs in the middle of the room surrounded by plastic drop sheets. They have paper bags over their heads and their arms are tied behind them with zip ties.

“Didn’t you feel like stringing them up from the ceiling?” I call over my shoulder to Matty.

“Nah, I didn’t wanna waste time. I suspect this won’t take long,” he replies, pushing a trolley containing his selected tools toward me.

As it rolls over the slightly uneven concrete the steel implements clang and clatter. The sound has the trussed-up men whimpering and squirming, terrified by the approaching pain instruments they cannot see.

Matty brings the trolley to a halt and saunters over to yank the bags off their heads, crumpling each paper bag and tossing them over his shoulder. Finally able to see, they whip their heads around wildly, trying to take in their surroundings as quickly as possible.

Not only are they younger than I expected, but I quickly realise I’ve seen them before.

“You’ve been in my club, ” I don’t ask, I tell them and while one of them slowly shakes his head, the other nods keenly.

“Ooosh. Not a great start boys,” I laugh as they look furiously at each other, desperate to communicate and get their stories straight.

“Where’s your fearless leader, Billy? Why’s he left you to face the music?” I continue.

They are trading looks again, but don’t reply.

I tut. A slow click of my tongue and a shake of my head.

“What do you think I’m going to do if you don’t start replying? Huh?” My gaze lazily slides over to the tools on the trolley.

“W-w-e don’t know where Billy is,” one of them trembles as he speaks up.

“But itwasyou two and Billy who threatened Francesca Rossi while she was at work?”

No answer.

I put out my hand and Matty slaps a small hammer onto my palm. He knows I like breaking fingers.

“Y-y-es, it was us,” the same guy shouts while his buddy glares at him. We have identified the loose lips of the pair.

“Did you think it was wise to threaten a Marino? You know she is marrying into our family, yes?”

When my question is met with silence, I turn and call out to our guards. “Bring over a table and untie their hands.”