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His eyes widen further. He splutters, and it takes way too damn long for words to come out, and I don’t have the time to wait, so I pull the trigger. The bullet goes through his left eye, brain matter and blood splattering the wall behind him. Always so fucking messy.
The guys drag his body into the corner, where they drop it. He slumps over, blood pouring from the wound and making more of a mess.
“Get Juan,” I tell them, and take a seat behind the desk. The metallic scent of blood fills the air, but I’m so used to it that it no longer bothers me. I remember the first time I saw so much blood I could smell it. Practically tasted it too, the scent was so strong. I was only thirteen. My father took me on my first run to one of the clubs. The manager had been stealing and harassing the women. My father didn’t hesitate in shooting him. Twice. First in the dick to prove a point, then right between the eyes. My father was always an excellent shot. Elio took after him in that regard. I’m not bad, but always a little off.
While Antonio and Rocco gather up Juan, I make a phone call.
“Miss me so soon?” Rafael answers.
“You wish. How’s my future wife?”
He chuckles. “Fine, I guess. Haven’t heard a peep.”
“Be sure to check on her,” I say.
“Check on her? Or check on her?” I hear the humor in his voice.
“You know exactly what I mean, and doing the other will result in your demise.”
He laughs deeper. “Got it. I’ll keep an eye on your girl, Vincenzo. Don’t worry.”
“An eye, Raf. Not a hand or even a finger.” I end the call and place my phone on the table.
Juan is brought to me about twenty minutes later, sweaty and with a swollen eye. His skin is covered in dirt and his arm may be dislocated.
I raise a brow as the guys bring him in. “Someone told him we were coming,” Antonio says with a shrug. “He ran.”
Great.
“Guess we’ll have to clean house.” Had I known this is what I’d be doing, I would have told Elio to go fuck himself and meant it. Rocco lets out a huff that sounds almost like a laugh. The man is sadistic. Cleaning house is his favorite. “Keep him in here for now,” I say to Antonio. “Rocco, go lock up the place and prepare to put on a show.”
He smirks as he leaves the room.
“What are you going to do? You can’t kill us all. Who will run the place? You’ll—”
“Shut him up!” I bark.
Antonio punches him square in the nose so hard the guy passes out and drops to the floor.
When Rocco returns, he tells me everything is all set, so I head out of the room. Antonio picks up Juan, tosses him over his giant shoulder, and we head downstairs for the grand finale.
“Everyone, listen up!” I shout, getting everyone’s attention by not only shouting but waving my gun around. At any given time, we have about thirty people at this specific warehouse. It’s our main one, but we keep the staff light, rotating often in 12-hour shifts. The more people we have here at once, the harder it is to manage them. “Emergency meeting. Reunión urgente!”
Everyone stops what they’re doing and gathers around, most looking annoyed that their work is being interrupted. A few look scared, others look confused. It’s possible some of these people are innocent, but that’s not my concern. My concern is making sure my product is taken care of and sold, not stolen. I’m in the business of making money, not compassion. If they valued their lives, they’d find a better job.
Antonio wakes Juan up with a few slaps to his face, then drags him over to me. I pull the pocket knife from my pocket and I tuck the gun into my waistband.
“This man is a thief,” I say. “Comprende? Un ladron.” A few nod while others look even more scared. “We don’t take well to thieves, you know this. We must take care of it.” I move behind Juan, grab a fistful of his dark oily hair, pull his head back, and slice his throat. The hot liquid gushes from his neck, down my hand and his chest. He gurgles and circles his throat with his hands, as if it’ll help. It won’t. The fear on the people’s eyes is instant, but none of them run. They know what will happen if they run.
“Handle the rest of them,” I say to Rocco as I grab a rag from one of the nearby tables and wipe my blade and hand.
“Piacere mio,” Rocco grunts as he pulls the semi-automatic from around his chest, and sprays the crowd of people with bullets that shake their bodies until they resemble uncooked ground beef.
“Leave them!” I shout as I move up the stairs. “The new ones can clean them up. Maybe it’ll instill a little fear. Let them know we don’t take it easy on thieves.”
Chapter Eighteen
Jordan
