“You’re in good hands with the Andrianis,” Isla tells me, as if she’s sensing all the emotions rioting inside me—the fear, the anxiety, the regrets.
I don’t know what to say, but thankfully, Luna saves me from having to respond.
“Let’s get to work on the lasagna,” she suggests. “We’re going to need some food if we keep drinking lemon drops, and I’m excited to try my hand at this ancient Andriani family recipe. Somehow, I managed to pry it out ofZiaMaria, and this is my first time making it on my own.”
We divvy up jobs and make short work of the lasagna, then pop the pan into one oven and the breadsticks into another. Then we start on another round of lemon drops. Like the night before, my mind slowly starts to numb, and I don’t care.
It’s just what I need—to forget.
Chapter 16
SCORPION
Cantarelli is tied to a chair in the warehouse, wrists and ankles bound. He’s blindfolded, and blood is splattered around him, dripping down his neck and hands. The stain on the crotch of his slacks makes it more than apparent that he pissed himself. We’ve intentionally forced him to wait like this for an hour, all while the same annoying-ass song was blasting through the speakers over and over.
The music is silent now. No sounds but his ragged breathing.
“Who’s there?” he demands.
Lucky and I exchange a look, and I shake my head.
Cantarelli doesn’t know who took him off the street or why. He’s been worked over by our guys. Fingernails pulled. The tip of a finger cut off. Part of his ear.
The element of surprise is important here. We need to use his fear to our advantage. To try to get the truth out of him.
I drag a chair along the concrete floor so that I’m close enough to reach him and sit.
“Who do you think is here?” I ask sharply. “I’ll give you one guess. If you get it wrong, I’m going to take the rest of your ear.”
“I-I don’t know,” he stammers. “Don Andriani?”
“Wrong answer,stronzo.” Lucky pulls out a blade and walks up behind him, holding the blade to Cantarelli’s earlobe and starting to slice.
He screams as a new bead of blood forms on the shining blade, gliding down his already bloodied neck.
“Please don’t,” he begs.
“All right, let’s play a game,” I suggest. “Tell me why you think you’re here. If you’re wrong, something will happen to you that you’re not going to like. If you’re right, we’ll take off your blindfold, and you can see for yourself who we are.”
“I don’t know why I’m here,” he blurts. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Well, fuck, Giuseppe,” I say slowly. “That just wasn’t the right answer.”
Lucky picks up a sledgehammer and swings it, hitting Cantarelli in the right kneecap. The sickening thud of metal on bone is a sound I’m more than familiar with. Cantarelli screams.
Sweat is dripping down his face. “Is this about the deal that went bad last night? I-I didn’t have anything to do with it. I wasn’t even there.”
“Now we’re getting somewhere.” I stand up, moving closer. “Why weren’t you there, Cantarelli? It wasyourfucking deal.”
“Sc-Scorpion?” he blurts, his head moving wildly toward the sound of my voice even though the blindfold is still on. “Is that you? I c-can explain. I couldn’t go. S-something came up with my wife.”
I put my loafer on his mangled knee and push, slowly applying all my weight as he cries out in agony. “We’ve already asked her if there was any reason you couldn’t do your job last night. Do you know what she said, Giuseppe?”
“Fucking fuck,” he cries out as I grind the sole of my shoe deeper into his knee and then press the barrel of my Glock to his temple.
“You’re running out of time to give me answers,” I warn him.
“Don’t shoot me, don’t shoot me,” he cries out. “I swear I didn’t do anything wrong.”
