Page 2 of Caruso (Vegas Mafia #3)

Chapter Two

Matteo

T he man sniveling in his chair irritates me more than what he did. My brother Giorgio catches my eye and shakes his head in derision.

“We should cut off his hands—both of them.” Giorgio adds as an aside, and the guy—Charlie could be his name—starts to wail.

Giorgio grins, and I really believe he is the only one of us who enjoys this shit—gets off on it, in fact and I glance at the tiled flooring, wondering if the stain will be apparent.

Flooring is expensive in Vegas—they appear to charge a premium.

Then again, everything is a premium in this city, which is why we take stealing so much to heart.

I grasp a chair from the side of the room and drag it in front of the hapless thief who decided to bring his trade to The Artemis and as I sit astride it, I fix him with an evil glare. The sound of his piss hits the tile, and my other brother Tommaso hisses, “Fuck. ”

He doesn’t hesitate and removes his gun and holds the barrel flat against Charlie’s head, or did he say Charles, Chas, or is it something else entirely?

“I should shoot you for shooting your piss on our fucking floor, you miserable piece of shit.”

I shift to avoid the puddle at my feet and sigh inside. This shit is getting old real fast.

“Thirty thousand dollars.”

My voice is delivered on steel as I glare at him and hiss, “Did you really believe we wouldn’t discover it’s missing?”

He shakes his head wildly and pleads his case.

“I’m sorry, please, I’m begging you. I’ll pay it all back, every cent, I promise.”

“And how exactly will you do that?”

My voice is resigned to the endless pleading of a known criminal who will say and do anything possible to escape death at our hands.

“I have means, contacts, information.”

He is frantically searching for the magic word that will unlock forgiveness, and Giorgio laughs softly.

“I like the sound of all three. Tell us, what are your means?”

“I’m a thief, a good one. I’ll have the money returned within twenty-four hours.”

“If you’re a good thief–” I lean forward, noting the slightly glazed expression of a man who obviously inhales his good fortune with not a lot left to show for it.

“Then why are you dressed in rags and stink like shit? Why are you parading around town like a homeless man and yet booking rooms at every five-star hotel under the name Garrison Jeffery?”

The blood drains from his face as I lay his secret bare.

Tommaso laughs, but it’s the dull sound of the Grim Reaper as he prepares to deliver his latest victim to hell.

“Yes, Garrison. Once a respected banker, creator of men’s dreams and deliverer of good fortune.

Wasted in a gambling addiction that lost him his job and his family.

His fortune went with them, which made him resort to crawling the streets of Vegas in pursuit of his next fix.

Begging, stealing and gambling for more money and snorting the proceeds before turning his attention to the next hotel on the list.”

Giorgio ticks off the various hotels on his fingers one by one.

“The Hyatt, The Mirage, The Fountain and the Goldbloom. They would buy tickets to watch us end your reign of crime.”

His eyes roll back in his head as Tommaso presses the gun in deeper and hisses, “I’m interested in the information you have.”

The wild panic on Garrison’s face tells me that is as fabricated as the persona he has invented to pass by unnoticed in a town that spews its secrets like champagne at a hen do.

“We’re waiting, Garrison.”

We are silent as the sweat pours from his forehead, his eyes frantic, his mouth trembling as he searches for anything that could spare his life.

“Thirty thousand, Garrison.”

Giorgio’s voice holds all the glee of a psychopath who is assured of an interesting afternoon as he practices his craft.

“Um, Salvatore, Michael–”

His eyes blink furiously as the gun sinks deeper into his temple, and I heave a frustrated sigh.

Salvatore and Michael are easy pickings for a man desperate to survive.

They are every bit as corrupt as we are, and yet we stay in our lanes in a town that is unforgiving if you step out of it.

Mutual respect is the buzzword that is ignored at your peril, and it’s in this moment I realize that Garrison has nothing to offer us.

He is done, finished and wasting our time.

Thirty thousand dollars is now the cost of his life, and I lean back and say with resignation, “He’s all yours, Giorgio.”

My brother slaps me on the back and laughs softly.

“This is your lucky day, Garrison. I have a new method I am interested in testing out. Apparently, it can take a person twenty-four hours to die in this way, and every minute is an agonizing one. What do you say? Are you up for the experiment?”

Garrison screams, his voice shattering my eardrums, and as I stand, he is openly sobbing as Giorgio removes a large blade from the surgical tray by my side.

I step away as my brother replaces me, and as Tommaso lowers his gun and moves to my side, I resign myself to yet another invoice for more flooring, which reminds me, I really should invest in some plastic sheeting. It would be far cheaper in the long run.

We leave Giorgio to play, the screams fading inside the soundproofed room that sits at the top of the hotel we have invested our time and money in.

Tommaso groans as we move down the hallway to the living area at the end.

“Fuck, I need a drink. That shit has cost us thirty thousand dollars, not to mention a new floor.”

“Who brought this to our attention?”

“Simon. New security on roulette.”

“He’s good. I’m impressed that he possessed the ability to spot him. Level him up. Move him to the control room.”

Tommaso nods. “Good call. He can study the cameras.”

His phone rings, causing him to sigh. “We’ve got a problem in the penthouse.”

“Who is it this time?”

“Some actor from Hollywood who is living up to the hype. We may need to add a new sound system to the shopping list. He appears to have trashed his room.”

“Fuck.” I run my fingers through my hair and spy the bourbon decanter beckoning me from the bar in the corner of the room.

“Whose idea was this? It was easier running drugs and prostitution than a casino hotel.”

Tommaso chuckles softly. “We know why. Leave it with me. I’ll sort the shit out this time. You’re welcome.”

As he leaves, I bite back a smile, wondering if the actor realizes what he’s done.

One conversation from Tommaso will be enough to terrify the shit out of him, and it’s thoroughly deserved.

Nobody trashes our hotel, steals from us or takes us for pussies.

We are the Caruso brothers, and mess with us at your peril.

Ask Garrison, while he still has a tongue at least. It’s doubtful he will by the time Giorgio has finished carving his limbs from his body.

As I pour the bourbon, I think about how far we’ve come since moving to Vegas. Seeking respectability and earning it through brutality. Nothing will ever change, no matter how much I wish it were different.