Page 23 of Dirty Mafia Sinner

He—singular. Which of Benny’s men would enjoy viewing my murder the most?

“What were your orders?” I grind out through clenched teeth.

“To violently kill Sebastiano Beneventi’s sons.” He pauses in indecision, while his words ring in my ears.

For the second time today, fear sets in for someone other than me.

Sons. Plural.

Renzo.

“Who? Who ordered the hit?” Except I know the answer.

“We don’t directly work for him…” His eyes grow into saucers. “But he’s a big-time mafioso from the South.”

Everything slides into place. “How far south?”

“Georgia.”

“Atlanta?”

Dead Man Two / Last Man Standing nods.

A low-ranking member of the Eleven Famiglie orders the hits. A man my father ousted from Atlanta. The man whose uncle I murdered, and whose business partner my fathersawed into pieces.

Emilio Conti.

“Where is he?” The room sways. The adrenaline spike’s fading, but I push on. “Where is Conti?”

“Don’t know.”

“And he paid that rat Cigorelli to report on me?”

Last Man Standing swallows hard. “Well, yeah…”

I pick up the chain saw and grab Last Man Standing by the neck, my vision clouding as dark shadows move to overtake me.

Not yet.

Not fucking yet.

I drag Last Man Standing out of the room onto the basement landing and start up the chain saw. We Beneventi will have quite the reputation after I’m done.

He recoils in terror. “You promised not to kill me.”

“I promised”—I lean in to yell in his face—“you’d walk out of that room alive. Now shut up so I can go buy that celebratory cup of coffee.”

Blood covers me from head to toe by the time I’m done. Then, I escape into Brooklyn’s mean streets. Only for darkness to drag me under a few blocks away.

RILEY

“It’s a miracle you survived.”

Emily tosses her purse onto the counter, and then drops into a seat at the kitchen table. My hands shake as I stirmayonnaise into the shredded chicken, celery, and almonds mixture. They haven’t stopped shaking, not during the cab ride to her apartment, not during my troubled sleep on her couch, not during this morning’s police interview. I nearlydied.

If it hadn’t been for that phone call …

“I missed your chicken salad.”