Page 95 of Perfect Vengeance

A few minutes. That could mean the difference between life and death.

He gripped the wheel so tightly his hands squeaked on the covering. He stared at the front door to the house, willing Meat to show his face. Until he did, this would be the longest few minutes of Jack’s life.

* * *

The wire cutter dug deeper into Gina’s flesh. Blood oozed from the gash, dripping first onto the vise, then to the floor. She clenched her jaw, refusing to give Tino the satisfaction of crying out.

“Last chance, bitch.” He yanked harder on her hair, dragging her head back until he was face to face with her, his nose inches from hers. “Where’s the money?”

No matter what she told him, she was about to lose her finger. After that, she was going to die. The only satisfaction she’d have in what was most assuredly a short life span was to give this sick bastard the bad news. As for getting a dime of his money back, he was outta luck.

“The money’s gone!” she screamed. “I’ll never tell you what I did with it. Never.” She squeezed her eyes tightly shut and tensed so hard her entire body quivered.

“Fine.” With her eyes shut, she couldn’t see him, but Tino’s hot breath washed over her face. “I love trinkets.”

The wire cutters squeezed deeper, slowly though, as if he wanted to draw out the agony. Her finger was on fire, the pain red-hot, like someone had shoved a burning poker straight into her flesh.

“That’s enough!” a voice boomed.

“Oh, shit,” Psycho muttered. “I thought you said he was gone ’til Friday.”

Tino unclamped the wire cutter and spun. The tool fell to the bench, and Gina nearly wept with relief. Only Pyscho’s tight grip on her other arm kept her from sagging to the floor. Through the haze of pain, she blinked to clear her vision.

Franco Falzone stood on the top step with Rocco behind him. The other man, Meat, was nowhere in sight. Rocco looked from Franco to Tino, then back again. She couldn’t be sure whose side the man was really on.

The head of the Falzone crime family glared at his son as he slowly descended the stairs. He glanced briefly at Gina but made no move to free her.

“Please accept my apologies.” When the bastard bowed, she was tempted to ram her boot into his gonads. “What you’re doing for the shelter is commendable. Stealing from me, however, is not.” He gave a subtle nod to Rocco. “Get rid of her.”

“What?” Gina could hardly believe her ears.

“It’s just business.” He gave her an apologetic look. “You understand.”

“Business?” Her blood heated and not in a good way. “Just like killing my father was ‘just business’?”

Franco’s gray brows knit. “Ah. I knew you looked familiar. Tony Perotti. I liked him. And, yes. That was also just business.”

The pain in her hand dissipated until all she felt was the fury shooting out the top of her head. If it weren’t for the fact she’d leave her hand behind in the vise, she would have attacked Franco right then and there and ripped his eyes out of his head. Blaming Jack all these years suddenly seemed ridiculous. Jack wasn’t a murderer. Franco Falzone was.

“Your behavior disgusts me.” Franco spat on Tino’s shoes. “You’re nothing more than an animal that should be locked in a cage.”

Amen to that. Yet Franco did nothing to assist her, telling her one thing. He might not like what Tino intended, but it was too late. She’d seen too much, and no one would save her.

Tino didn’t say a word. His back was to her, but she could see his fists repeatedly clenching and unclenching.

Franco was several inches shorter than his son, but the power and authority exuding from the man was worth an extra half foot. “How dare you betray me?” He pointed a finger in Tino’s face. “You’re nothing but an insolent child who doesn’t know his place and refuses to obey orders.”

“I am not a child, and you’re nothing but an old man.”

The slap Franco gave his son echoed through the garage loud enough that even Gina flinched. Tino staggered back, giving her a glimpse of the rage blazing in his eyes.

“Worse,” Franco continued, “you’ve been orchestrating a coup behind my back to take over this family. Your coup failed. I’m stripping you of any authority. You are no longer my capo. You are no longer my son. You’re nothing. You’re dead to me.”

Gina could have been imagining it but could swear Franco’s voice trembled. The man—a murderer many times over—couldn’t possibly have feelings. Could he?

A low growl emanated from Tino’s throat, then he lunged for his father, clamping his hands around the older man’s neck and squeezing so hard Franco’s eyes bulged.

Rocco leaped off the top step, latching on to Tino’s arm, attempting to pull him off. Psycho grabbed Rocco’s arm, dragging him away.