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“What do they want the guns for?”
“I don't know anything else, I swear! Please! I'm sorry! I'll- I'll give the money back to you. I'm sorry!”
I shift my sight to Vincenzo. “Give the moneyback? Youlostseventy grand last night alone.” I grab his hand and yank it to me. “Withthishand, you held the cards. Yes you did. I watched the camera feed. Is this your pussy finger?” I grab his index finger tighter and use the pliers on the last knuckles, squeezing until his hand drops to his lap but I’m still holding onto his finger.
His scream fills the air.
I throw it into the bowl.
“It ain't so bad, De Luca,” I grab his other non-bloody hand, and he struggles a bit more. “At least it's me doing it. Sasha here has a thing for eyeballs. Lucky for you, his favorite ice pick has gone missing.”
Clip.
Another scream.
Sasha laughs. “Accidentally took it home. The wife put it in the dishwasher for safe keeping. Sent me a picture of it just this morning.”
Another chuckle amongst the men behind me as I cut off another finger and the finger falls to the dirty floor, but I don't reply to them. “Know what I like about these pliers, De Luca?”
He shakes his head furiously side to side, eyes squeezing out big fat fucking tears.
“They don't just cut bone. They cut muscle. Did you know our tongues are made mostly of muscle? It's one of the only muscles that works independently from our skeleton. Isn't that incredible?” I ask rhetorically, but the dumb fuck still nods along as if it’s gonna help him. Spoiler alert: it won’t. He’s inmygrasp now. There is no mercy coming.Not from me. “So, I'm going to ask. Your answer depends on whether you get to keep it or not. Ready? Good. Why did this Brodsky guy need guns?”
“I swear, I don't know. I thought he was one of your Russians. Said you gave the order. That you were the one snipping off Rossi.”
Huh.
I eyeball the ugly fuck, then twist my head to look at one of the Giordano’s oldest allies. “Rossi. You believe I'd scrape off from your business?”
“No,” he replies sternly. “If I did, I wouldn't be here right now. One of us would be very dead.”
“That's what I thought, too.” I turn my head back to look at De Luca, snot bubbles dripping down his wide toad-like lips. Pathetic. “Sasha, strap his head for me.”
He does, grabbing a belt from the table, then grabbing De Luca by the temples. Sasha puts it over his forehead and holds it while I grab the small forceps. I glance down at the bloody pliers in my hand, frowning. Nah, this fucker needs to feel it. I throw the pliers into the surgical bowl and grab the small saw from the table. “You know what happens now, don't you?”
“Please, they…” gurgle “I thought they were your guys.”
“You should've called andasked, De Luca.” I chastise. “You've been in the game long enough. Obviously it's your stupidity that's kept you from being promoted. I mean, thirty-seven and still doing security? One call would've fixed everything. Christ, theypaid youto look the other way. That was your first red flag. The issue here is, it justfeelslike you’re lying to me, De Luca, you know. We have no room for untrustworthy rats. Seeing as your mouth is as useless as your brain, we have no use for it. Therefore, you have no use for your tongue. How much was it, huh? How much were you paid?”
He opens his mouth to answer me and when he does, I take advantage and shove the forceps in, catching his tongue. I yank it back, and tip the saw forward, fighting the struggling wiggles and thrashes as I cut. They don't tell you when you cut something with a hand saw, connecting the tissues back together is more difficult because it's not a perfect cut. It's a massacre of nerve endings. Eight different muscles in the tongue.
But my father knew.
He taught me that the first time I watched him do what I'm doing now. A type of anatomy lecture. I was sixteen. When he hunted down every motherfucker that had been part of my mother's death. That's how I got so good at what I'm doing right at this moment.
I took part in every cazzo's death that had planned hers.
Fourteen tongues.
Fourteen lives.
I took fourteen lives by the time I was eighteen. I did what I had to, blended in where I needed to. Became my father's secret weapon, since my mother kept me out of the media as much as she could. The only picture that ever surfaced of me when I was young was when I was standing next to her casket beside my father.
A grainy black and white photo with my head bowed to hide my anger. My tears. My heartache. In this life, my mother was the best person in it. She was not only a good mother and wife, but she was also a pillar of the community. She gave piano lessons to children whose parents couldn't afford it, opened a women's shelter, and organized more charity drives than Angie. Even with her overflowing schedule she made it to every single one of my practices and matches at Antonio's, the boxing gym where I started training when I was thirteen.
Of course I got revenge. Of course I learned how to be the most dangerous and feared man in New York.Of course I learned how to be this city's devil.
Because when they fear you, they respect you.