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And the truth was that I liked it.
I liked the adrenaline that coursed through my veins. The challenge. The conquest. As much as it made the blood in my veins boil, Lorenzo had created a perfect replica of himself.
A perfect monster.
“This,” I said, encircling the dank bloodstained room, “is who I am, Gabe.”
“Nico, that’s not what I meant—”
I held up a hand. “I want you to keep the information about the murders to yourself because you trust that I know what I’m doing. Not because you owe me.”
He nodded. “You know I trust you.”
“Grazie, fratello,” I said, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “Now, go on and let me get to work. One way or another, we’ll have answers soon.”
“I could help,” Gabe said, nodding at the unconscious man.
“No.” That was where I drew the line. “I’ve got this.”
I wanted to believe the need to protect my brother had me ushering him out of the room. But maybe the truth was the monster in me just didn’t like to share.
***
The man was covered in blood. A gash to his abdomen. A bone-deep slice to his left arm. A stab wound to his right thigh that had just missed his femoral artery.
“You give me a name, and this ends,” I told him, circling his swaying form. He had snagged a knife from the neat row of weapons on the cold steel table, but he’d yet to manage to get in a shot of his own.
“You’re…crazy,” he hissed, stumbling back before he caught himself.
“So I’ve been told.” I stood there, giving him the chance to recover enough to make another move.
I could still remember my first time in this room, the day after I made the deal with Lorenzo. He didn’t believe in giving a man a fighting chance. Russo had been tied to a chair, and I watched as my father carved him up until he was unrecognizable. For an hour and a half, Russo screamed and begged for his life. It didn’t stop after that. My father just cut out his tongue, which put an end to Russo’s begging.
“I tell you nothing.” The bleeding man in front of me seethed as his grip tightened around the Bowie knife in his hand.
Lorenzo’s Bowie knife. The same one he used to cut out Russo’s tongue. It was always here. Always serving as a reminder of the man who put me here and the reason I never walked away.
“Youwilltell me everything,” I said with a shrug. “What do you think is going to happen when you can no longer stand?”
I gave him a moment to picture what I could do to him when he lost the ability to sidestep me. The possibilities were endless.
“If I tell you, what do you think they’re going to do to me, huh? I’m no better off.” He tried to reason with me, but his logic was flawed.
“They’re not going to do anything to you,amico. You die today, one way or another. It’s up to you how long it takes you to get there. That’s the only choice you have left here. Make the right choice,” I cautioned him.
“You’re crazy,” he shouted, and then his arm shot forward, grazing my forearm just enough to make it sting.
I had to hand it to the guy; he was fast. The momentum combined with the blood loss left him unbalanced though, so he tumbled to the ground at my feet while the stench of defeat began to radiate from him.
Not much longer now. Soon, he wouldn’t be able to get back up.
I put my knife down on the table, leaned down, and grabbed him by his collar to drag him to his feet. He dropped the knife when he fell, but it wasn’t my fault he couldn’t keep a grip on his only lifeline.
He gasped as I shoved him back against the stone wall, but it had been less to intimidate him and more to give him something to keep him upright.
“Okay, I tell you. I’ll tell you,” he said, holding his hands out in front of him in supplication.
“Good. Now you’re making smart choices,amico.” I released him and took a step back.
