Page 136 of The Enforcer

Chapter Thirty

Tino officially hated basements.

Lorenzo Campelli had a window in his, in the top corner by the stairs, and Tino was fairly certain this was the third time he watched the sun rise.

But he wasn’t totally sure.

The world had gotten a little fuzzy.

He tilted his head, watching the red streak cast a glow across the darkened stairs and, for just a moment, thought he saw Brianna. Sitting there looking at him on those stairs, elbows on her knees, legs covered in dancer spandex, hair tied up in one of those tight ballet buns that made her look like the perfect Dyker Heights girl.

She didn’t say anything; she just waited, all quiet and beautiful.

The longer he stared at her, the less his shoulder hurt, because being handcuffed to a pipe with a jacked-up shoulder got pretty fucking uncomfortable three days in.

Especially when the motherfuckers saw the scars on his back and thought a little posttraumatic stress for Tino would help Lorenzo feel better about having to blow his wife’s brains out.

Only they didn’t have quite the talent for ripping someone apart with a belt like Tino’s father did, which was a real fucking shame. Tino wasn’t going to bleed to death. Even with a hot bullet hole in his thigh, he wasn’t that fucking lucky.

Lorenzo Campelli came up with a much worse way to kill Tino.

He’d been in that basement for three days, and he hadn’t had anything to drink for at least the last two. At first they came in and let him take a piss, but now it didn’t really matter. He was so fucking dehydrated there was no need.

They just left him here to die.

Except Sicilians were hard to kill.

He thought he read somewhere forty-eight hours was the cutoff, but here he was, still fucking alive, sitting there naked with his hands cuffed behind his back.

He would give anything to be able to lie down.

Instead he just stared at Brianna, who sat on the stairs in that golden glow of light and waited for him to die. It was quiet, sort of peaceful, even if getting here had sucked.

He was still blinking heavy-lidded eyes at her, trying to keep her in focus when she started to fade out into shimmers of sunlight, but then voices echoed down the stairs.

Brianna turned and looked up to the door as the sounds seemed to fracture her image with the anger and fear.

“They’ve been raiding houses for the past day, and you didn’t think to fucking tell me you got this motherfucker in your basement!”

The door burst open, and Brianna moved aside in disgust, scooting to the edge of the stairs as highline shoes appeared, the hard thump of them echoing down the stairs.

Only because they were blocking Brianna, Tino blinked up at Lorenzo Campelli with his three goons, and standing in front of them in one of those highline suits like the kind Nova wore was a man Tino had never seen before.

Thin for an Italian, middle-aged, but confident as he folded his arms over his chest and sighed. “Cazzo.”

“He fucked my wife.” Lorenzo gestured at Tino. “He made me kill Rosie.”

“You killed Rosie? The De Lucas’ Rosie?” The suit’s voice was sharp, incredulous as he turned to glare at Lorenzo. “I don’t think I can save you, motherfucker.”

“I’m a made man! He fucked my wife! I could’ve killed him at the house!”

“He’s sixteen.” The suit pointed at Tino. “Your wife was fucking a teenager, and she was paying for it. I don’t think you’re worth saving. There’s a fucking war going on out there. The Morettis have raided houses in four families looking for this little shit, and you just put us in the middle of it.”

“He’s not sixteen,” Lorenzo argued as he looked at Tino. “Is he?”

“Coglione.” The suit got down on his knees and reached out to grab Tino’s face, but Tino jerked away, looking to the corner instead. The suit grabbed Tino’s face anyway and studied him with a critical eye. “What the fuck is wrong with him? He’s burning up with fever.” He looked at Tino’s leg with a grimace. “He’s just got the one bullet hole?”

“The fuck if I know.” Lorenzo sounded genuinely mystified.