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Behind me, Callum growls like he doesn’t believe what he’s hearing, but there’s something about the bloke that feels genuine, and I want to get to the truth of it, so I make a subtle hand sign to my brother, and nod to the guy to continue.
“A man… I d-don’t know who he is. I never saw him before, but he came around asking questions. Wanted to know what I saw, if I recognized a bunch of people in photos. I told him I didn’t, that I keep my head down, keep to myself.”
“What did this man look like?” This is the response that could make all the difference to us and our allegiances.
“Umm…” There’s a protracted pause. Too long for Callum. There’s a flurry of movement and a guttural growl as he whirls around and brings down the leather sap he’s replaced the crowbar with, in a targeted blow to the guy’s kidneys.
“Please…” the man screams. “I’m j-just…th-thinking.”
“Then think faster,” Callum snarls, impatience clawing at his voice.
“Kay, okay…” he pants, his thin chest heaving and his face a rictus of pain. There’s no way this guy is going to withstand very much punishment. He’s obviously not regular mafia stock. There’s not a hint of training in pain resistance or the need to hold his tongue.
“He was older. N-not tall. Thinning hair and a pot belly, but not fat.”
I glance over at Callum, because if that’s not a description of Vito Rossi, then I’ll be damned to hell.
The tension that dissipates in my twin is almost visceral; the jagged intensity of the entire room changes immediately.
Thank God.
One less thing to worry about. If we’d found the Bratva had been responsible for all this, I wouldn’t need to worry about the potential for all-out war. It would have been a foregone conclusion. Callum would have torn up the city with his rage, so as disquieting as it is to realize we’re caught in the crosshairs of the Italian Mafia, it’s almost a relief. But I still want to know more.
“What did he want with you?”
“It was stupid,” the guy spits, looking annoyed now despite his circumstances. “He showed me a bunch of photos of people. People I didn’t know. And he wanted me to report back on their movements. I told him I didn’t have time for that shit. It was none of my business.”
“So, what changed?” Callum growls, getting in the guy’s face.
He visibly pales, the stutter coming back full force. “I th-thought that was it. He bitched a little, but he went off and I didn’t think anything else of it.”
His lip wobbles and it's clear he's distraught. “Then I get home from work, and he’s got my family t-tied to the seats in our dining room. My wife, my two daughters. H-he says if I don’t do what he wants, he’s going to hurt them. Take my daughters and s-sell them.”
A sob breaches his throat, and he scrunches up his face. “Oh God. What’s going to happen to my family now?”
Callum delivers a quick elbow to his gut. “Quit blubbering and tell us what happened next.”
Compassion is not a word that rears its ugly head in our world, although I do have a certain amount of empathy for this man who has obviously been coerced into doing the Viper’s dirty work. It’s not a tactic I condone. Good men will follow a strong leader and stay loyal when they’re treated with respect instead of fear, but Rossi is old-school mafia - behind the times, in my opinion, but that’s neither here nor there. This is the way he works.
“It s-seemed innocuous enough… at first,” the guy continues. “Just watch a few people and report back on their movements. It was a small price to pay to keep my family safe.”
“And what were these people doing?” I demand, although I already know the answer.
The man’s eyes skitter to the side. “Th-they were dealing mostly. Not always in drugs or the like. Sometimes, I think it was information. I don’t know. There were lots of times when I'm sure nothing changed hands. But what do I know? This stuff is all new to me.”
“And yet you ended up encroaching on our territory. Making your own deals.” Callum’s eyes are arctic as he lays out the allegation.
The guy closes his eyes and draws in a deep, stuttering breath. “I gave him the details. Provided everything he asked for…”
“This man have a name?”
He shakes his head. “None I ever knew.”
“So?”
“So, he came around again. He was there - again - in my house. And this time, he’s got my youngest daughter. Got his hands on her.” His entire expression is one of horror and dread. “She’s only fifteen. And he threatened her. Threatened me. Said he’d take her if I didn’t do what he said…” He trails off, and when he continues, his voice is a hoarse whisper. “I believed him.”
I don’t blame him. I know for a fact it wasn’t an empty threat.
