Page 108 of The Savage

The man flinches when my shadow falls over him. Tries to mask it with bravado.

‘Who sent you?’ I ask quietly.

He lifts his chin. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

I smile. ‘Sure you don’t.’

I drag another chair across the stone and sit facing him, close enough to smell his fear. Close enough that he can see the blood I didn’t bother scrubbing off my knuckles.

‘You followed me,’ I say. ‘Here in Ortigia. In public. That’s either suicide or a message. I’m assuming you didn’t come to die.’

His swallow is loud.

‘Tell me who gave the order,’ I say, ‘and you walk out of here breathing.’

He laughs once – thin, broken. ‘You think you can promise that?’

‘I don’t promise.’ I lean forward a fraction. ‘I buy outcomes.’

His mouth tightens. He’s young. Too young for this confidence. Probably got handed a gun and a surname and thought that made him immortal.

Mancinellis love to breed that delusion.

‘I work for the famigghia,’ he says.

‘Which famigghia, puta?’

He hesitates. That’s all I need.

I stand smoothly, cross behind him, and set my good hand on the back of his neck. Not squeezing yet. Just resting there like a quiet prophecy.

He shudders.

‘Which famigghia?’ I repeat conversationally.

Silence. I squeeze. Just enough to remind him he’s not the one in charge of air any more.

‘Okay,’ he chokes. ‘Okay⁠—’

‘Talk.’

He exhales raggedly. ‘The order came from… Vittore.’

The name lands strange in my mouth.

I still. ‘Say that again.’

‘Vittore Mancinelli.’ His voice shakes now, speeding up. ‘He’s Matteo’s cousin. New blood. He’s… he’s running things while Matteo regroups.’

My gut goes cold. Because that is not a name I’ve heard once in my life.

And I should have.

‘Where is he?’ I ask softly.

The lapdog shakes his head in violent panic. ‘I don’t know. I swear. He moves. He doesn’t stay in one place. We get orders through intermediaries.’

‘Intermediaries like who?’