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To tell the truth, I kind of believed him. I was beginning to worry I’d gotten it all wrong.
The Widow held out her hand to one of the bodyguards standing next to her. The man placed his pistol in her palm –
And she aimed it at Giotto.
“Tell me who you’re working for,” she said in a cold voice.
“Signora, I swear – ”
The Widow sighed in annoyance, lowered the gun slightly –
BANG!
Giotto’s right kneecap erupted in a spray of blood.
I jerked back a little in surprise.
Jesus – this old broad isn’t fucking around…
Giotto’s shrieks echoed through the cavernous room.
I couldn’t blame him. I’ve been told by old-timers who experienced it that getting kneecapped is one of the most painful injuries you can suffer.
But the Widow was only getting started.
“I’ll repeat the question one more time,” she said crisply. “The next shot I fire won’t be at your other kneecap, but your balls.”
It was the first time I’d heard a crude word pass her lips.
When she threatened to shoot his balls off, though, it was chilling – because you knew she meant it.
Every guy in the room winced in sympathy – especially the two gangsters holding Giotto in place.
“Who paid you to betray me?” the Widow asked.
Giotto’s face was a mask of pain. He was sweating profusely; big droplets were sliding down his cheeks.
Or maybe they were tears.
“Signora, please – ” he begged.
BANG!
Every man in the room flinched.
Giotto shrieked and closed his eyes –
Then opened them slightly when he realized his family jewels were still intact.
“Missed,” the Widow deadpanned. “I’ll aim a little higher this time.”
She raised the gun about two inches –
“Fausto Rosolini!” Giotto screamed. “Fausto Rosolini paid me to do it!”
My guts twisted inside me and my blood ran cold.
It was the first confirmation – the first real proof – of Fausto’s treachery.
