Page 42 of Wounded King

"Before any of you get clever and try to lie to my face," I continue, "let me save you the trouble—I already know who it is."

I don't, but I keep walking up and down the row like I do. Letting the silence and tenseness stretch and grow.

"Arturo," I call one of the men out. He doesn't flinch when I stop in front of him. I push my sunglasses up. He meets me with a steady gaze. "I don't think it's you," I say, slapping his cheek lightly. "You don't rattle easily. You don't leak either."

He nods once, and I move on. "Bruno."

He twitches. Sweat dribbles down his neck.

"I'd be disappointed," I murmur, "but I don't think you've got the spine to lie to my face."

"N-never, boss," he stammers.

I don't reply. Just keep moving.

By the time I reach Benny, the asshole is about to piss himself. The stench of fear permeates the air like acid.

I sigh in disappointment. "Oh, Benny."

His legs nearly buckle when I throw an arm around him. "I had such high hopes for you."

A choked sob escapes him. With a loud sigh, I steer him into the center of the warehouse, while the others silently watch. No one steps forward or tries to intervene. The stink of rat is getting stronger and has reached them too.

"Knife," I order.

Luciano places the blade into my hand without hesitation. Benny stares at it like it's already inside him. "Boss… please. I didn't mean to— They said if I didn't talk, they'd come for my family—my baby, he's only three weeks old?—"

I crouch slightly, voice still calm. "You bet on the wrong horse. You should have come to me. We would have worked it out."

He collapses to his knees.

"Who?" I ask, trying to sound gentle when all I want is to ram that damn knife down his fucking, lying throat.

Benny's shoulders shake. "I don't know his name… I swear. We met once. He asked questions. Small ones at first. Then bigger ones. Operations, schedules. Things I thought wouldn't matter."

I tap the pointed blade against his cheek a few times, waiting for him to continue. When he only sobs, I cut a thin line down from his ear to his lips. He screams.

"Let's keep it simple for now, Benny. What does he look like?"

"He's older," Benny chokes. "Well built. Graying hair. Scarred face. Eye patch. I don't know who he is—I swear it!"

I turn to Luciano, who raises a surprised eyebrow at me. I only know of one man who might have the guts to pull this off, with a scarred face and an eyepatch. Fabio Becattini.

Come to think of it, he might have the guts to pull it off, but he wouldn't have the balls to fend off the consequences of his actions. His boss and lover, however, would: Margarita Giordano. Only, for the life of me, I can't figure out why she would want me dead. She is, however, Edoardo's mother-in-law. Also, her name came up a few times in recent weeks. Someone planted Enrico's sister at the Giordano mansion a month or so back, causing Enrico to retaliate. I just can't imagine why a mother would want her son dead. I'll have to give this some serious thought later. Right now, I have to deal with this pathetic excuse for a lifeform rolling on the ground in front of me.

"You should've come to me," I reiterate loud enough for every man to hear. "You think I won't protect my own? You think I can't handle one outsider with a scar and a fucking eye patch?"

Benny's lips tremble, like I'm still talking to him, but I'm addressing the other men now—the ones who will live to remember.

"I'm sorry?—"

"You're sorry you got caught." I sneer, grabbing his hair to tilt his head back. My hip screams under the strain, but I don't let it show.

"Let's see if your blood has more answers than your mouth," I say while I drag the blade across his gut, just deep enough to make him scream. He folds forward, sobbing and clutching his stomach. I straighten and stare in distaste at the blood on my hands.

"Traitors don't get mercy," I yell. I plant my foot on Benny's chest, shove him back, then slice his throat and let him drop. The blood spurts out like a fucking geyser, hitting my suit and shoes. It's not the first set of clothes and shoes I've ruined, and it won't be the last. But damn, I liked those shoes.

"Clean it up," I mutter, flicking blood from my fingers. Then I turn to the rest of them, "This is what happens when you betray your own. I'll protect you from outsiders. But I won't save you from yourselves."