Page 25

He's right. I cock my head and pull out a knife. Its blade is long and sharp. I move into his space until we're nearly nose to nose. I peel off the remains of a bandage.I tore the one guy's cheek open. With my shoe. Unbidden, Scarlet pops up in my head again. A long, slowly healing gash moves down his cheek. I draw the blade down it, reopening it while keeping eye contact with him. The fucker is stubborn, I’ll give him that. He doesn't blink.

"So what are you suggesting?" I ask while still working on him with the blade.

Sweat dribbles down his forehead. He blinks a few times, and the pain reflects in his eyes, but he holds steady.

"Let me go, and I'll tell you what you want to know," Marco yells, dangling from a hook next to Hank.

I throw my head back and laugh straight in his face. "Do you really think you'll get out of here alive?" I turn to Igio and Berto, "This fucker is funny, eh?"

Both of their expressions remain focused and cold. They are two of my best-trained men. If I thought for one second Marco had anything important to say, I would have taken him up on his offer, well, except for letting him go, of course, but my money is on Hank knowing more about Carlos's plans than Marco.

My laughter stops dead in the middle as I face Hank again, "Neither one of you is coming out of this alive. The question is: how many parts do I have to cut off, and how many times do I have to carve you before I let you die?"

Hank's olive-toned skin turns gray.

I turn to Marco to repeat the process. He squirms and cries even more than Hank.

"Alright, who's gonna break first?" I ask Igio and Berto, holding out two one-hundred-dollar bills.

"That one." Igio nods at Hank, putting a hundred on a nearby table.

"Nah, no way. That motherfucker is tough. My money's on that asshole." Berto puts his money up, and I add mine.

"I think that one pissed himself again." Berto points at Marco.

"Hose them both down and make sure to clean their wounds; it'll be a pity if they get infected," I order and lean against the wall while I watch Berto and Igio follow through.

Normally, I would let Igio and Berto do the dirty work, but thesestronzoshave laid their hands on Scarlet, watched her get hurt, and worse, hurt her themselves. A deep, primitive part of me won't allow anybody else to mete out their just punishment. I want to see them bleed. I want to see them beg and cry. It's a pity I won't be able to do this to Carlos myself. These two will have to work as his proxy.

It takes three fucking hours for Hank to finally spills the beans, surprising me both with his intel and how long he held out before offering it up.

"Carlos has four of the jurors in his pocket," Hank yells when I deepen a carving I already did on his back.

"Names?" I move back as Hank throws up once again.

"I don’t know, man, I don't know," he wails. "Please stop. Please. I swear I don't know their names."

I step in front of him, grabbing the back of his head as if we're old buddies. "You know what? I think I believe you. But I also believe you have something else to tell me."

He nods eagerly. "I do. I do. He and Nestor are working on Kevin Jaspar."

I whistle slightly through my teeth. Now that is good information. Kevin Jaspar is the state attorney; he also happens to be in my pocket. That he hasn't contacted me about Carlos and Nestor speaks for itself.

"Good man." I pat Hank a few times on the top of his head. "That wasn't too hard now, was it?"

Tears well in his eyes, disgusting me more. What a pathetic prick. Careful not to get more blood on me, I ram the knife down his ribcage and straight into his heart.

"Your turn." I stare coldly at Marco, who begins to spin all on his own in an attempt to get away from me.

It takes a couple of hours before I'm satisfied that Marco doesn't know shit, then I end him like I did Hank.

"Clean that up," I order Igio and Umberto on my way out.

On my way home, I call Grigori from a burner phone. He answers on the second ring, "Toni, you got a target for me yet?"

"I wish, Grigori," I sigh. "The trial is still ongoing, but I have it on good authority that the target will be moved to a place of your choosing."

"Excellent." I can hear the Russian psychopath rubbing his hands together in anticipation of the hit I arranged on Carlos. I'm walking a fine line with the Peckham of the Russian mafia, but there aren't many other powerful men in this world who want Carlos dead as much as he and I do. A few years ago, I did a favor for Grigori Arsenyev, also known asbezumnyy volk—the mad wolf—a title he's rather proud of. A favor that could find me in a shallow grave if my fellow capos ever find out.