Page 39 of Enzo (Legacy of Heathens #3)

ENZO

T his restaurant in the heart of Laayoune was a shithole, but the tourists flitting in and out afforded a degree of protection.

They were attracted to its saloon-like ambience, which resembled something out of the Western movies my father used to watch.

The ground floor was packed with red dirt and peanut shells and a long wooden bar stretched along the back wall.

The upper floor had several rooms for rent with a wraparound balcony overlooking the restaurant.

I imagined it offered a great vantage point when it got rowdy.

Once upon a time, it might have been a lovely place, but today, not so much.

I wasn’t stupid enough to think Atticus would come alone. I surveyed the bar about five feet away, but it seemed to have mostly drunk tourists there.

A part of me wished my brother was at my back, hiding in the shadows, because he was an excellent shot.

Alas, I knew this was for the best. I would do it alone.

It was the only way to protect him and the rest of my family if things went south.

Although I hoped they wouldn’t. I was determined to see things through with Penelope.

“I’m starting to regret approaching you that night in Sicily,” Atticus retorted wryly. “It’s like you’ve been obsessed with me since.”

“That’s what happens when you threaten someone’s family,” I stated matter-of-factly. “You get extra—wanted or unwanted—attention.” He chuckled, but there was no amusement in that sound. “What’s your problem with the DiMauros anyhow?”

His expression darkened. “What makes you think there’s a problem?”

“You seem pretty focused on them,” I deadpanned.

“Luca took something—or rather some one —from me, so…” He trailed off, looking as if he were silently scolding himself for saying too much. “It’s sufficient to say that I don’t like him and I want him gone.”

“That won’t happen now that he’s part of my family.”

A waiter dressed in denim and leather boots appeared. “Here’s your beer. Can I bring you anything else?”

“This’ll do, thanks.” I fucking hated beer, but it would serve its purpose.

The waiter disappeared and I turned to Atticus, who raised his glass of whiskey.

I brought my own bottle to my lips, barely tasting its contents, when Atticus resumed our conversation. “So, what did you want again? Certainly you didn’t fly all the way here to discuss your in-laws.”

The old man had a death wish.

“I really hate repeating myself,” I said, tapping my fingers on the filthy table. “‘Due to your advanced age, I’ll oblige, but don’t push my buttons.”

“No buttons,” he muttered.

“I want in.”

“And if I refuse?”

“I’ll drop all the intel I’ve collected in a group chat comprised of every single criminal from here to Venezuela who wants you dead,” I drawled.

Atticus glared at me. He never expected I’d find the location of his precious setup, never mind demand to be let in on the business.

“The Omertà is against flesh trading, same with organ trafficking,” he said, his voice suspicious. “Are you telling me you’re willing to go against them?”

“I am the Omertà,” I stated coldly.

He sneered. “I’m just trying to envision how this would work. Are you telling me that your father-in-law, Dante Leone, Giovanni Agosti, and the Romeros are on board with your plans to adopt this side of the business into your territory? What about your father?”

“Don’t worry about affairs that don’t concern you. Now, what families and organizations are part of it, and is this your only location?”

I already knew everything about his operation, but I wanted to see if he’d lie. A test, if you will.

The table fell silent, and I motioned for him to start. “Any day now.”

“Like I said, it was your late mother who came up with the idea.”

I hardened my voice. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

Atticus’s expression remained unchanged. “Did you know that before your mother married your father, her family’s power rivaled that of the Marchettis?”

“So?”

“Well, she didn’t like how Enrico took it over without even consulting her.”

I shrugged. “You’re getting sidetracked, Atticus. I want a list of names and organizations working with you.”

“You mean your mama didn’t leave you the list in her will?” The sarcasm in his tone didn’t escape me. “That’s right, she gifted her lover that information.”

I flashed him a cold smile. “Great, then you agree the list is rightfully mine. Hand it over.”

His gaze flickered to the bar, and I guessed his men were ready to make a move.

“The people on it won’t trust you.”

“I don’t care.” I needed the list to eliminate them and roll out changes.

He smirked, then said, “Do you know why your mother turned into a psychotic…”

He trailed off, so I finished the thought for him: “Bitch?”

“Yeah, that.”

“Greed. Mental illness. Power play. Who the fuck knows or cares?”

“It’s your father’s fault.”

My gaze narrowed. “Let’s say I believe you, which I don’t, that doesn’t excuse her behavior.”

“What behavior?” He sneered, but I didn’t comment.

Not many people knew that my mother had lived beyond the date on her death certificate, or that she’d tried to kill her own sons.

“Your mom wanted back her claim. Even her fling with Sofia Volkov—” He broke off, catching my surprised expression. “You didn’t know.”

It made no sense denying it.

“No, and honestly, I don’t give a shit.” I was done caring about the bitch. “I want the list and my share of the organization.”

“You assume there’s an organization.”

I scoffed. “Organs of the Night.” It was his turn to be surprised. I snickered. “What? You thought I wouldn’t find out? Honestly, it was too easy. And for the record, the name screams of a really bad Broadway musical.”

He laughed humorlessly as he stood up and gave a barely noticeable nod.

The bastard wouldn’t dare. Would he?

The screams were my answer.

I lunged across the table and yanked him by his shirt, slamming him down face-first onto the filthy surface.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Amazed that I hadn’t been so much as grazed, I glanced around. Three men slumped dead on the restaurant floor. By the looks of it, they had come with Atticus.

Panic spread all around and that was when I saw it. The tip of a rifle resting on the rail of the balcony and my brother’s grin as he waved, then gave me a thumbs-up.

Not wasting time on reprimanding him for going against my orders, I nodded. I couldn’t deny I’d be dead right now if it weren’t for him.

I focused on Atticus and shoved him back onto his stool. “Last chance to come clean.”

“I have it saved on my hard drive.”

I rolled my eyes. Atticus was in his eighties, it was probably too much to ask that he take effective security precautions.

“Who’s helping you run it?” I asked.

“Nobody, it’s just me.”

Some people never fucking learned.

“Wrong again,” I stated, rising to my full length. “I don’t like being lied to, old man.”

I’d seen a woman come and go out of the camp, and my software recognition tool had picked her up. Nicki, his daughter, was just as entangled. The very same daughter who wreaked havoc on the Ashford family when she tried to have Byron Ashford’s wife eliminated.

There was no sense in reasoning with a liar.

So, I stood up, reached for the bottle of beer that sat in front of me untouched, and smashed it against his skull.

I didn’t have time for diplomacy.

I descended the steps that led to the basement of the old house I’d rented. The scent of sweat and smoke greeted me, along with my prisoner’s labored breathing.

Amadeo was already here, leaning against the cement wall, a cigarette dangling from his mouth.

“I thought I told you smoking is bad for you.”

He rolled his eyes as I closed the distance between us.

“Your wife’s words,” he corrected. “You’re just too whipped to displease her.”

It’d been three days since I last saw her and I missed her. Dio mio , how I fucking missed her. And not only because I struggled to sleep without her. I missed her smiles, our conversations, and more than anything, I missed the calming effect she had on me.

I tilted my head toward Atticus who was strapped to a chair in the middle of the makeshift cell. “He give you any trouble?”

“All quiet.”

“ Bene . Let’s make him scream.” Atticus Popov was about to learn firsthand what threatening those I loved got you.

Grinning, I dragged another chair over and sat facing him. “Shall we start over with my questions?”

“The organization won’t let you get away with this.”

“What organization?” I snickered. “The one I’m about to take over?”

He sneered at me. “The DiMauro whore means so much to you, huh?”

I lunged, my fist connecting with his mouth. The chair rocked from the force of the impact, and I let it fall. His skull hit the concrete floor with a thud, his silver hair slowly staining red.

I righted the chair as his eyes darted around, disoriented. His lips were split open and blood coated his teeth as he grinned maniacally.

It reminded me of my mother.

“Call my wife or anyone I love a whore again, and I’ll erase the last name Popov from existence.”

“You’d never hurt your aunt Athena.”

“You’re right, I wouldn’t, but she’s a Marchetti. However, I’ll be sure she learns of your despicable betrayal.”

He snarled and struggled then, trying to get at me. “What kind of man are you to hurt those you love?”

“Those I love would want to see you swiftly punished. So count your blessings that I want this one thing from you.”

“I’ll kill you for this,” he panted, his wrinkled face painted red as blood sputtered from his nose and mouth.

“You’ll never get the chance,” I remarked. “Now, what is it going to be?”

“I’m not signing it over,” he said through clenched teeth, his voice raw and filled with spite. “And even if I did, it wouldn’t save the littlest DiMauro.” A cruel smile twisted his face. “That cursed family will bleed.”

I froze.

He leaned forward in his restraints, that sick, gleeful smirk curling across his face like rot spreading through flesh. “I made sure of that.”

“Why?” I asked coldly.

“I never had anything against him,” he drawled. “Until he had to shove his nose where it didn’t belong. His action led to… something. He took from me, and now I’m going to take from him.”

My blood ran cold.

For a split second, I couldn’t speak. The world tilted sideways, my mind stuck on images of Amara in that hospital room, staring at the IV tubes and being so brave while my wife and her parents prayed for a miracle.

“Explain.”

He said nothing.

So I hit him.

My fist connected with his face and a savage crack echoed, cartilage and bone folding like paper. His head snapped back, blood gushing from his nose like spilled ink.

“Explain. Now !” I shouted, grabbing the front of his shirt and yanking him forward.

“You really want to know?” He slurred the words, his face distorted with anger and hate. “Fine. There were five confirmed organ matches for her. I made sure any potential match was… let’s just say, disqualified.”

I didn’t move, reeling from his cruelty.

“There was hope.” He paused. “Until there wasn’t. So much loss in this world. It’s time you people get a taste of it too.”

My stomach twisted, but my mind refused to admit defeat. There had to be another way, and when I penetrated his organization, I’d have all the information at my disposal.

“All that… for what?” I questioned. “What exactly had Luca done to you that warranted this?”

“He meddled into my business and ruined… something good I had going.”

It didn’t matter what it was, because whatever or whoever it was, it wasn’t as innocent and good as Amara.

“She’s just a kid,” I said, choking out the words.

His grin widened, crimson streaking his teeth, making him look more savage than smug. He thought he’d won.

But he had no idea who he was dealing with.

That was about to change.

I stood up and went over to the metal shelf by the far wall that I kept stocked with tools. I hovered my hand over the bone saw and axe before deciding on the cleaver.

Once I was back in front of Atticus, weapon in hand, I asked, “Are you left-handed or right-handed?”

His jaw was locked tight as he droned, “Right-handed.”

The corner of my lips tilted up.

“Untie his left hand,” I instructed Amadeo.

Atticus jerked as he resisted, but he was no match. Amadeo held Atticus’s hand out, fingers stretched in the air. I wanted him to watch when I severed his flesh from bone.

I began by sharpening the blade, making sure the man could clearly see the rust lining the metal. If he didn’t die from the pain, he might die from an infection. Bonus .

“Ready?”

“Fuck . . . you,” he wheezed.

I laughed. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

And then I got to work. One by one, his fingers rolled onto the filthy ground until he screamed and begged for mercy. Until I got everything I needed from him.

“Thanks for being here,” I told Amadeo. “And for… before. I owe you one.”

He scoffed. “No, you don’t. It would take me several lifetimes to repay you for all the times you saved me from Mother.”

“You’re my brother. I’d die for you.”

“Ditto.”

“What now?” Amadeo questioned. “I want to help.”

“I have one more stop to make,” I told him. “Sit this one out.”

He was already deeper in this fiasco than I wanted him to be.

“But—”

“I promise you’ll hear from me if I need you.” He opened his mouth to protest. “That’s an order, Amadeo. As the head of this family, I’m telling you to stand down.”

He nodded in resignation, and I fished out my phone and typed a message to my wife.

Me: I’ll be home tomorrow.