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“You’ll see.”
Bass-thumping loud music instantly assaulted them when Corrado opened the door. Carmine’s ears started ringing as he stepped inside, grimacing from the stench. It smelled like stale sweat and liquor, with cigarette smoke lingering in a thick cloud. He coughed as he inhaled it, peering through the haze at the stage. Women danced around poles in platform shoes, their skin blindly glittering under the lights. Parts of them sagged as they bent over, letting men stuff dollar bills into G-strings.
No respectable human being would step foot in the place, and he realized that was likely the point.
“Stop looking,” Corrado said, leaning closer to Carmine and still having to shout to be heard. “We’re not here for pleasure.”
“Funny,” Carmine muttered, following him through the club. “If you think I’d ever have anything to do with bitches like that, then you clearly don’t know me.”
They headed into a back office and shut the door behind them to block out some of the noise. Corrado opened a cellar door in the floor and started down the stairs, but Carmine hesitated at the top when he heard a female’s piercing scream. His heart nearly stilled at the sound as Corrado groaned. “Why isn’t she gagged?”
She screamed again, the sound silenced right away.
Carmine slowly started down the steps, not wanting to aggravate Corrado by lingering behind. The thick cellar walls muffled the music from the club, a wordless vibration of bass coming from above. He looked around cautiously as the room came into view, shocked at the sight before him. Two people sat in chairs in the center of the room, handcuffed to metal chairs with burlap sacks over their heads. One was clearly a girl, wearing a gold-colored dress, while the other was clad in jeans and a t-shirt. Besides Corrado, there were two other Mafiosi in the room, watching from the sidelines just as he was now.
Carmine studied the captives, assessing the situation, when his eyes fell upon the guy’s old, gold watch. Coldness swept through him as his heart dropped into his shoes. “No,” he whispered to himself, horrified. He had seen that watch before. “God, no.”
Corrado peered back at him, hearing his quiet declaration. Their eyes locked for a moment before Corrado motioned toward one of the guys in the back, who ripped the bag off of the girl’s head. She glanced around in a frenzy, fear flashing across her face when she spotted them. Red hair fell into her face as her eyes locked on Carmine. He had to look away.
“Do you know her, Carmine?”
Carmine nodded slowly. “That’s Remy’s girlfriend.”
Corrado laughed, the bitter sound sending a chill down Carmine’s spine. “Her name’s Vanessa O’Bannon. She’s Seamus’s daughter, and apparently also the one who supplied Remy with his drugs, filtering Irish product through right under my nose.”
Corrado motioned toward one of the men, who took the bag off the other person’s head. Remy’s terrified eyes immediately sought out Carmine, tears streaming from them as he silently begged for help.
“What are the rules, Carmine? Recite them to me.”
Carmine looked away from his friend and blinked a few times when that question registered. “Stay away from drugs and stay out of the public eye.”
“Keep going.”
“Uh, our women are off limits. And children.”
“And?”
“Don’t rat on your friends,” Carmine said, regret bubbling up inside of him. “Keep your mouth shut and stay away from the police.”
“What else?”
“Don’t steal from each other. Give back to the organization. Always be available when called on, no matter what.” Carmine paused. “That’s it.”
“You’re wrong,” Corrado said. “You missed one—an important one.”
“What’s that?”
“Never fraternize with the enemy.”
Corrado reached into his coat and pulled out his gun. Without warning, a lone gunshot exploded in the cellar, the loud noise bouncing off the thick walls. Carmine jumped back as the bullet ripped through the back of Remy’s skull, blood splattering the floor and walls around them.
The air left Carmine’s lungs, his knees weak as a high-pitched, blood-curdling scream echoed through the room. Carmine couldn’t move. His eyes were fixed on the polka dots of bright red now littering his white Nike’s. His friend’s blood . . .
Suddenly, unexpectedly, flashes of Nicholas assaulted his mind. For the second time, the overwhelming guilt of getting a friend killed consumed him.
Shell-shocked, Carmine watched as Corrado pointed the gun at Vanessa’s forehead. Sobbing, tears coated her flushed cheeks as she violently shook. She squeezed her eyes shut tightly as Corrado pulled the trigger at close range, a subtle click ricocheting through the room.
Carmine felt the bile rising up and swallowed it back, not wanting to get sick. Vanessa continued to sob, her head down in defeat.
