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“I want my family to receive two months of what you guys were paying me,” Johnny shot back.

“All your kind does is take.”

I could make him talk, but Benito said no playtime. And right now, I might lose myself to the blood, missing any information he may or may not hand over.

“One.” I held up my hand, stopping his negotiations. “It’s already being generous. Unless you’re willing to sell your wife to us, I’d stop negotiating for more money they won’t be able to pay off.”

Johnny shut his mouth and nodded. He let out a sigh as he leaned back. The scrape of the chair against the concrete floor echoed around the room as he pushed it back.

“There were whispers about the new mayor wanting to bring down a crime family in order to get re-elected.” Johnny shook his head. “Fucking politicians. As far as I know, the chief shot down the idea of a task force for now.”

I stared at him, waiting to see what else he had for me. Johnny’s tough-guy act dropped as the minutes ticked by.

“The last bust on Bedford Ave? The tip came from some junkie. He was cracked out on meth. We let him go, but I heard he was picked back up.”

“Name,” I demanded.

Johnny looked everywhere but at me. It was like he could tell his time was nearly up. His leg began to bounce.

“I don—”

“Think. Remember, your family’s lives depend on your answer.”

He stopped moving and finally met my gaze. Anger flashed in his eyes as his brows dipped and his lips turned down in a frown.

“It was Carter, no, Clark, maybe Carl. It started with a C.”

I nodded, and two men moved forward at my signal. Johnny attempted to jump up, but they held him down. He’d put on a brave face only to chicken out now.

He was a disappointment, but they all were. I pulled my Staccato XC 9mm out and aimed for his head. Johnny gritted his teeth and met my gaze, his mouth opening, but no words could be heard over the bang of the bullet leaving my gun and piercing the air.

My hand snapped back slightly from the recoil, and I steadied once more before lowering it. Johnny’s head flopped back before rolling forward. Empty eyes looked back at me.

Blood dripped from the hole in the middle of his skull. The bead slid down around his slender nose and over his thin lips. It was mesmerizing as more joined it creating their patterns on his face before falling to his clothes or the ground to be soaked up.

I watched, basking in peace for another second before I went about the cleanup. We had people who did most of the work, but I preferred to make sure there was nothing left behind.

Sound trickled in. It was like a bubble had popped, and I heard the men around me talking and moving.

I stripped out of my clothes and wiped my face clean, getting rid of all evidence. One of our men walked in, holding a fresh pair of clothes. I’d prefer to shower, but it would have to wait. I’d have to deal with the way my clothes clung to my sweat-slicked skin and the way the warehouse stench wafted off me.

“Send it to the butcher,” I said as I slipped the beige slacks on.

The material wasn’t new, yet it grated against my flesh with every touch, setting my teeth on edge. This is not right.

Irritation settled in the pit of my stomach, turning over and over again as I forced myself to push past it. The shirt was no better, a light blue button-up I made sure to tuck in. I was handed the Aosta Italian melton topcoat and glasses that I normally wear.

Everything that normally made me feel calm was doing the opposite.

“Sir?” one of the men called.

I turned to see what he needed. A tiny voice in the back of my head screamed for me to rip my clothes off and burn them. I audibly swallowed and ignored as much as I could.

“Wife is calling.”

The retired cop’s wife. I sighed. Taking the phone, I forwarded the call.

“Make sure she knows to keep her mouth shut.”