“What do you mean, where’s Alfie? I left him in the hallway, Cesare. What the fuck are you waiting for? This dirtbag took your brother, or knows who did it.”
Cesare stepped slowly towards the man and squatted on the ground, bringing them face to face. “Hey!” He shouted. “Snap the fuck out of it!”
The incoherent mumbling stopped as the man looked wide eyed, though barely coherent, from Cesare Jr. to Cesare Sr.
“What’s your name?” Cesare asked.
The man started to cry again. The pressure of being upside down had turned his face purple and his eyes were visibly beginning to bulge. Cesare estimated he had a few minutes before blood vessels burst and he died of internal bleeding… if his father didn’t finish him off sooner.
“What’s your fucking name?!” Cesare demanded.
“Anthony. Anthony Ferraiolo.” He mumbled through a swollen tongue.
“What were you doing in Enzo’s car?” Cesare demanded.
“Iborrowedit, that's all. I swear, just ask Enzo.” Tony wheezed, jerking back when Cesare Sr. advanced.
“He’s a fucking liar, Cesare. Where is my boy?! He’s been missing for weeks!” Cesare’s father screamed.
Cesare called Enzo again, with no answer. He called Rafael. A moment later, Rafael answered.
“When was the last time you saw Enzo?” Cesare demanded.
“Is this a trick question?” Rafael asked.
“When was the last time you fucking saw Enzo?” Cesare demanded.
“We’re literally driving in my car right now. Do you need to talk to him?” Rafael asked.
Cesare stilled and counted to three in his head before turning back to face his father, phone still pressed to his ear. “I have an update, Pops. Let’s talk outside.”
Cesare gave a meaningful nod towards the man hanging from the chain and then gestured towards the hall outside.
“Fucking Damasco. Can’t trust anyone that isn’t family.” Cesare Sr. muttered as he stalked out of the room.
Cesare cast a glance at the hanging time bomb behind them, and then at his father’s retreating back, and spoke quietly into the phone.
“I need you and Enzo at my house as soon as fucking humanly possible.” Cesare spoke, urgency lacing his tone. “Pops thinks Enzo was kidnapped.”
There was a brief pause on the other line, and Anthony Ferraiolo chose that of all moments to scream for help.
“Let me go!” He screamed. “I won’t tell anyone, I swear!” He begged.
“Why does Pops think Enzo was kidnapped?” Rafael asked, his voice so calm it was clinical.
“His head,” Cesare swallowed. “I don’t know. You’re the doctor, Raffi. He thinks Alfie Donatelli is still alive.”
There was a beat of silence before Rafael responded in the same even tone. “We’re on the way.”
Cesare hung up the phone and took a step towards Tony. “I’m going to let you down.” Cesare muttered as he lowered the chain from which the young man hung. “You’re going to breathe while your blood returns to your extremities. It’ll sting like hell, but you’ll be fine. Sit tight and I’ll be back.”
Cesare shut the door behind him and turned to face his father, who was pacing in the hallway, muttering to himself. “He thinks he can get away with this? He thinks he can…”
“Pops.” Cesare spoke, but his father continued as if he hadn’t heard him.
“I’m going to take his thumbs first. Motherfucker took my boy, and I’m going to take his thumbs. And then his balls...”
“Pops!” Cesare shouted.
