Page 79 of Dirty Mafia Torment

The knife pulls away, and I drop to my feet.

“What is this about?” I sway, trying to get a better read on them. “In English.”

A fist slams into my gut.

I double over, dramatically, then grunt and look up. “Who sent you?” If a few punches get me answers, I’ll take them. What intrigues me more is their restraint. They’re holding back. Orders are to rough me up without serious harm. Whoever’s in charge believes I’m worth more intact.

“He wants to speak to you privately.”

Bing-fucking-go.

I squint at them, assessing each. All three are muscled and dressed like they’ve stepped out of a mob flick. Definitely made men. Cosa Nostra written all over them. Then I catch it, a black and red tattoo peeking from under a cuff. The base of a cross I recognize.

The Grassi crest.

Massimo sent them?

That’s a surprise. The man has my number. He could’ve called. So why send muscle? Why the theatrics?

A sinking feeling drags through me, an answer that gives me pause. I test my theory. “Tell Massimo I send my condolences on his father’s passing.”

The silence resonates loudly. The big one tightens his grip on the knife. The other two look ready to pounce.

Holy shit. They think the Eleven killed Don Grassi.

“If we hear anything about who was involved, I’ll be in contact.”

Their laughter is bitter, sharp.

“He knows who did it,” says the tattooed one, voice rough with contempt.

Well, fuck. That tone says it all. Things have turned sideways.

“Massimo believes my family murdered his father?”

The largest man steps in, his breath brushing my face. “My brother, as well.”

It’s been years since I prowled the streets with Massimo. We were close, brotherly, with common interests. Yet affiliated with different famiglie with different agendas.

“You’ll live if you deliver two messages to Massimo.”

They don’t expect my calm.

“Live, motherfucker?”

“One,” I say, voice even. “I’ll meet with Massimo. Anywhere. Anytime.”

They’re listening, but words won’t be enough. Massimo put hands on me, and no one, not even an old friend or a rival mafioso capo, threatens a Beneventi without repercussions.

I won’t disappoint my father by being insulted this way.

This needs to be a message they’ll remember. Then they can crawl back to Massimo and tell him exactly who I am.

I lower my voice, luring them closer. “Two. Tell Massimo…”

That’s when I see her out of the corner of my eye.

Fina.