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Once at the warehouse, I felt my blood race like ice through my veins. The normal excitement I felt at these moments was absent. Today I fell into a darker place. As I hurried through the underground pathways, I could hear the whispers of those we held in our cells. We weren’t total savages, but we kept our enemies for a while before we disposed of them. Sometimes the mere idea of being trapped underground, with an unknown death date, played on the mind enough to make a man squeal what he’d been hiding.
I stood in front of a wrought iron door and watched as six Coppola rats blinked back at me from the shadows. The whites of their eyes caught the low lighting and outed their locations.
Stefano was relentless with his army. Every time we turned around, more crawled out from between the cracks and tried to burrow their way into our lives. Lately, it had become even more blatant, and I couldn’t help but wonder if he was becoming desperate or if it was just another distraction to draw our focus away from what was really going on.
“They were found sniffing around the market, near our wine vendors,” Donatello joined me, “harassing the locals and kicking up dust about the explosion your girl was involved in.”
I glanced over at him, puzzled. I had just assumed, given all that was going on, that the bomb that hit Sienna was a Coppola hit. Was it not? Or maybe they knew even before Sienna did that she was a Coppola, and wanted to remove the problem before she figured it out for herself.
“My thoughts, too.” He nodded as he read my expression. “Anyway, I figured you’d want to be the first one to question them. I’ll get out the tools.”
My patience for the Coppola family had just about run out, but I needed to keep my cool now more than ever. One slip, and I could screw everything up.
“No, dip them instead.”
“Sure, boss.” Donatello motioned for the soldiers to take the men into the other room.
The first three men were handcuffed to a pully and lifted into the air, while the other three sagged against the damp wall, their eyes fixed on their fate. A motorized system transported the dangling bodies toward a pit I’d had my men dig a couple years back when I was feeling inventive. I lifted my hand to signal to Donatello to begin. The gears grated, then very slowly, each was lowered a little until they realized they were above a pit of tar.
“Imagine thick tar coating your lungs while pushing any air left up and out of your throat.” I began to pace in front of them. “Your instinct is to kick and thrash, but you are barely able to move, leaving just your brain to fire off cold, pure fear. Finally, acceptance kicks in that you are slowly dying, drowning in thick, black sludge.” I shrugged without any emotion. “To think you could have prevented all of this by simply telling me what I need to know.” I twisted my cufflink while my words sank in. “I will make this very simple,” I commanded over the sound of the gears. “Why were you asking about the bombing in the town?”
When none of them spoke, I flicked my finger, and the gears lowered them until they were knee deep in the tar.
“I’m not in the habit of repeating myself, and I think it’s very clear that your fearless leader will not be showing up to save you. You are merely a number to him, a pebble in one’s shoe.” I stared at the one who looked like he might crack. “Speak now, and I might spare your life, or…” I glanced at Donatello, and the men were lowered to their waists.
“Because!” the one in the middle blurted and kicked out at his buddy as he snarled at him. He closed his eyes tight, clearly ready to lose his nerve.
“Because?” I repeated, taking a step closer.
“Because it—”
“Traitor!” one of the men against the wall called out and gasped as one of my soldiers punched him hard in the stomach. I pointed in the air, signaling to Donatello to release one of the men, and he dropped heavily into the thick tar. He wiggled and screamed briefly as he sank, but there was no hope. His hands were still bound, and the pit was deep.
“You were saying?” I encouraged the man who had spoken. He was now pasty white and dripping sweat. He looked over at me. The other men were silent, most likely in shock. I wasn’t interested in them.
“Will you spare my life?”
“Depends.”
“Stefano won’t!” his partner shouted. “Tar or Stefano?” He spat off to the side. “I’ll take the tar.”
“Very well.” A moment later, he too fell to his death. I was impressed; he didn’t scream like the other one did. “Now, why were you asking questions?” Silence fell over the remaining man as he twirled slowly in the air. I grew annoyed. “Donatello.” I turned to leave when the gears started to squeak.
“Because it wasn’t our hit!” The man finally finished his sentence, stopping me in my tracks.
“Tell me more,” I said over my shoulder, needing him to repeat what he had just said.
“We were told to sniff around because it wasn’t our hit.” He fought to catch his breath as the tar oozed over his shoulders. “Stefano is panicking because there is a third player after her.”
The blood drained from my head as I stood like stone. Sienna was a Coppola, and that changed things, but if there was a third party in town, how did I not know about it? Or was it my nonna and her men who wanted to get rid of her on their own?
“What else?”
“Nothing. We get told very little, just to not come home until we know something.”
“Did you find out anything at the market?”
“No,” he shook his head, “your men got to us first.”
