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“Okay,” she breathes as she entwines her fingers with mine. “I … I have things I need to tell you, too.”
“You mean you don’t just steal cars for fun?” I smirk at her. The comment makes her smile.
“If I did, I’d try stealing nicer ones.”
I give her a kiss before telling her to call me if she needs anything at all, and soon I’m out the door, taking the private elevator down to the building’s parking garage. Once I’m situated in my car, I think about messaging Marco that I’m on my way, but I think better of it. Better to keep everyone in suspense I think. I’m the one in charge, so they can wait as long as I deem necessary to get the show on road.
Plus, the more time the rat has to piss himself in fear, the better.
Marco is waiting for me outside a dilapidated apartment building when I finally arrive at the address he gave me. He’s standing among a few of our foot soldiers, smoking to pass the time. The knowing look he gives me when I walk up makes me think making the rat sing may be even easier than I thought.
“You won’t believe what the kid’s started saying already,” he says as he breathes a cloud of smoke out into the crisp night air. He puts out his cigarette in the apartment building’s smoking tower and follows me as I stride into the building.
“I look forward to hearing whatever little song he has to sing,” I grunt.
The murmurs of my foot soldiers follow me up the stairs. I ask about the building, whether it’s got civilians or mob affiliates in it. Someone tells me that they’ve already secured it, making sure that anyone unrelated to an organization is away for the next few hours. The rest of the brief they gives me clears up any doubts I had lingering, still. This poor fucker I’m about to interrogate got sloppy, and now he’s about to pay for it.
For once, I’m almost impressed with how prepared everyone is. Looks like the organization is finally getting close to where I want it. A clean hit like this is exactly how it should go every single time. No exceptions.
When I’m finally in the room, I let the tension wash over me. It’s been a while since I last got to be hands on like this. I’ve almost missed it, if I’m being honest.
“Oh fuck,” someone swears. I tilt my head, my eyes zeroing in on a young man handcuffed to an old wooden dining chair. He looks like he’s been roughed up already, and he’s sweating bullets now. His mouth hangs open with a mixture of terror, awe, and shock as he says, “The fucking Bianchi Beast.”
I keep my face neutral as I reply blandly, “In the flesh.”
I remove my suit jacket, tossing it over the back of a nearby chair, and start to roll up the cuffs of my shirt. The young man gives me a bug eyed look as he watches, and I make sure to flex a little, just to make sure he knows how badly he’s fucked up.
“B-boss,” he stammers, looking at me with pleading eyes. “Tell these guys they’ve got it wrong, yeah? I’m not the guy you’re looking for!”
I ignore him as I circle him in the chair. He lets out a strangled yelp when I put a hand on the nape of his neck and squeeze firmly. Just enough to scare him.
“Oh, don’t stop on my account. Please, continue to tell me more about how we’ve got it wrong.”
“Look,” he snivels at me. I watch as he weakly tries to turn his head towards me, but I’m much bigger and much stronger than he is. Hell, I could snap his neck with just this hand if I really wanted, but I want this to play out first. “You want names? I’ll give you names. What do you want to know, boss?”
I sigh into his ear, delighting in the way he squirms.
“I want to know why my shitbag uncle thinks he can run me out of town,” I say slowly, articulating every word with care. And then I press my fingertips into the pressure points on the side of his skinny little neck. He shrieks, his body writhing with discomfort.
“I’m sorry! I didn’t want to get involved, but he threatened me, okay? Said I’d do him a favor or he’d start hurting people!”
The kid blabbers on as I apply pressure, sobbing about this and that while telling me absolutely everything. My good ole Uncle Lorenzo thinks I’m too young, too unstable to run the Bianchi operation and that the fire at the warehouse is proof. He doesn’t think I have what it takes to lead.
The feeling is mutual, I think to myself, but the miserable old man isn’t worth even talking about at the moment. This was so easy, it’s almost laughable. I didn’t even have to draw blood. Regardless of if even half of what the kid said is true—though I think more of it is true than not—my uncle can’t pick good underlings to save his life.
Once the rat becomes incoherent, I nod at Marco and he follows me out to the hallway.
“I want you to verify everything he just said before we make any official moves, but we’re going to be taking Lorenzo out, and soon.”
He nods at me solemnly. “Lorenzo’s gotten sloppy, that much is clear.”
“Sloppy enough to be a liability,” I reply.
It’s useless to try to reason with the man, and we both know it. If he thinks I’m unstable, he hasn’t looked in the mirror recently.
It’s time to remind the man how I earned my reputation.
Chapter Eight
