I do the same. It’s interesting to compare the two brothers. Cosimo is all business with his pressed suit, crisp white shirt, and combed back dark hair. Put him in khakis and a polo, and he’d fit right in at Harvard or Princeton.
Alessio, on the other hand, wouldn’t fit in… well, anywhere.
The man’s covered in tattoos, all the way from his neck to his fingertips, and he’s got the kind of energy that makes anyone remotely sane want to skedaddle. There’s very little human hiding behind those freakishly light-gray eyes. He’s wearing a dark pair of jeans, a leather apron tied around his waist, and no shirt.
There are red streaks on his hands and arms.
Blood.
“Is this my new errand boy?” His voice has a rasp to it. He’s not as tall as me, not as wide either, but there’s a glint in his eyes that immediately puts me on edge.
It’s one thing to be willing to torture and kill for the job. It’s another to take pleasure from it. Don’t get me wrong, there have been times when cracking someone’s bones has brought me pure joy, but it’s rare, and only when it’s personal. Like it was with those fucking Iron Raptors. I enjoyed every bit of killing those fucks.
Alessio’s different. He’s extreme. Unhinged. He makes a meal out of every kill. He’s famous for it.
Cosimo nods. “In the flesh.”
Alessio doesn’t offer me his hand. His eyes bore into me as he steps aside and lets us pass through the doorway.
A chemical smell immediately invades my nostrils. Disinfectant mixed with something else. The hallway Cosimo leads me down has a slope to it, like we’re moving underground.
I try to piece together what the Ferraros might be doing. Rafe told Gino I’d make a good asset, but Gino’s not going to give me any power in his organization. That’s obvious. It doesn’t matter how smart I am, or how experienced, or how quickly I think on my feet. This business is all about trust, and the Ferraros don’t trust me.
So what kind of work is Alessio going to give me?
We take a turn, then another. The wall on the right is lined with steel cage lights that give off an eerie yellow glow. The chemical smell only gets stronger the longer we walk.
We’re definitely underground now. There are no sounds coming in from the outside, but I pick up on a strange noise up ahead.
Moans.
I frown. I’m not afraid—I came back to New York ready to die—but this is just fucking creepy.
Alessio’s steps are steady behind me. “We’re here,” he announces just as the hallway opens up to a large room, and we step inside it.
Fuck me.
The scene is straight out of a slasher flick.
There’s a big cage with a naked man inside it. He’s holding a pair of pliers in his hand, and by the look of it, he’s been hard at work pulling out his own teeth.
For whatever reason, the sight of me gives him hope. “Please help!” he calls out in a Russian accent.
I ignore him and glance back at Alessio, waiting for him or his brother to tell me what the fuck I’m doing here.
“Heeelp!”
Jesus, read the room.
Alessio doesn’t seem to register the man’s cries. He scans me with a detached look. “The Bratva’s pakhan has scores of men, and he’s not shy about sending them on suicide missions. Most are too junior to know anything, but you never know, so we’ve got to bring them in.”
“Can’t cut any corners,” Cosimo adds.
“I delegate everything I can to other people in the organization, but I do the interrogations myself.”
“Alessio’s the best,” Cosimo says thoughtfully, his eyes on the man with the missing teeth.
“This is your second chance,” Alessio says. “You don’t get any more. One fuckup, and you’re out for good. You understand?”
