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He grunts out, “Fucking get it over with. Kill me.”
“Iamgoing to kill you. You’re right about that. But that’s once I’m done having my fun. You didn’t think you’d get off that easy, did you? Want to tell me who you’re working for?”
His one-eyed glare is a challenge. He’s not backing down.
Very well.
I stride over to the selection of tools at my disposal. My brother has quite the arsenal—an assortment of brass knuckles, pliers and drills, knives arranged by size and bluntness. I grab the pliers. His mouth is already a mess. Why not have some even more fun with it?
“Duffy, I’ve been fair. I’ve given you a few chances to spare yourself. You’ve refused my gestures of kindness. That tells me you might need to learn the hard way.”
He attempts to clamp his bruised lips shut, but I pry his mouth open with brute ease. I stick the pliers inside, clenching the metal pinchers on his front incisor. It yanks right out, popping from the root in a gush of blood.
My hand in his mouth muffles his screams. I don’t stop at one tooth. I pluck his other front tooth and then dig one from the back for shits and giggles. The teeth tap against the cement floor as they land. His mouth is a waterfall of blood as I stand back and admire my handiwork.
“Smile’s not so pretty anymore,” I say, delighting in the mess. The red liquid oozes from him; it gets everywhere, beautiful in a morbid kind of way. “Who do you work for, Duffy?”
His toughness fades for weak sobs. He mumbles his answer, sounding like he’s got a wad of taffy in his mouth. It’s really just the blood.
“Lovato,” he whines. “LOVATO!”
I glance at Fozzi from over my shoulder. “Do you believe him?”
“Not for a second,” Fozzi answers.
“Me neither. Let’s try again.” I jam the pliers into his mouth, producing a sick retching sound from him. Once I have the pinchers attached to one of his canines, I wrench it from his bleeding gums. The broken canine tooth joins the others on the floor. “This is a lot more fun than you’d think. I can do this all night. You only have so many teeth, but there’s always your tongue. How about we see what it takes to rip it out?”
Our torture session doesn’t yield the results we’ve been looking for. Duffy Salerno stuck to his claim he worked for Lovato until the bitter end. I return to the casino office without bothering to wash up. His dried blood’s still on me as I do another line.
Nothing else matters until I get my fix.
“Gianni,” Ma says, emerging from the office shadows. I haven’t bothered to turn on any lights except the desk lamp. She wears the same disappointed frown she always does when she lectures me. “You’re becoming more like him every day.”
“Don’t insult me,” I snap. The white powder shoots up my nostril and I see stars. I revel in the immediate high rushing over me, practically immobile in my desk chair.
“I raised you better.”
“Actually,” I say moodily, “you didn’t raise me. You left me alone. Youdied.”
“That was out of my hands, Gianni. You know that better than anyone.”
I scrub a hand over my face and recline deeper into my leather chair. My sick, twisted humor’s ignited when my gaze lands on her favorite wrap dress marred with long-dried blood stains. I hold up my bloody hands. “We’re twins, Ma. Except I can wash mine off.”
“Gianni, please listen to me. You need help. I’m worried about you.”
“LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!” I scream, anger imploding from somewhere deep inside me. It’s unexpected, and unlike me, even when on a coke high. The loud, guttural scream pierces through Ma’s corporeal image, causing her to disappear into nothing.
Suddenly, she’s gone and I’m alone. But I don’t mind. It’s better this way. I don’t have to deal with her judging eyes and fake concern.
There was a time in the past where I allowed her to trick me—fool myself into believing she was some sort of guardian angel who’s always remained behind to look after me. In reality, she’s a figment of my imagination. A sign I’m not as well as I pretend to be.
I can’t sit still and dwell on what’s fucked up. I wrench open my office door seeking distraction. Moments like this I’m in a deep fog as my senses spin out of control and I wander off. It’s the afternoon of the funeral all over again.
Claro had offered me a drink and a cigar. He’d even broken out his coke stash (though he mostly claims he’s clean). I’ve claimed the same until I use again and am left reeling in the aftermath. I sweated profusely that afternoon. So much so he and Pa noticed.
Now’s no different as I wander the casino floor. I end up outside the penthouse door. I don’t know how, don’t remember heading to the resort or riding up the private elevator. Yet I’m here, turning the knob to the door, letting myself inside.
The penthouse is as I left it—the dinner table’s still set. Falynn’s nowhere to be found. My legs feel unreliable as I make my way through the living area. Light glows from the bedroom. She must be relieved we never finished our dinner.
