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Angelo rotates the arm a few times, causing some drops of fluid to land on the coffee table. He makes no indication of putting the arm back in the box.
“That’s gotta be Mike, right?” Angelo says, looking at Victor.
I have no idea what’s going on except that it’s fucking disgusting. How Angelo could think to recognize a man just from his arm—
But now that I’m looking more closely, even though I really don’t want to be, I realize that what I thought was ripped flesh isn’t actually ripped. It’s tattooed on, made more visible by Angelo moving the arm and breaking the optical illusion.
Angelo recognized the work. And tattoos are… are body art. It finally clicks what Victor meant by “artwork.”
“Unless you know anybody else with that imagery on their skin, yes. A shame.” Victor sighs. “Santino, see if we can find the rest of Mike. If he’s lucky, maybe he only lost the arm.”
“I somehow doubt that,” Angelo interjects, but he also, finally, puts the arm back in the box and shuts the lid. “Now, are you gonna tell us how you knew or not?”
“It was obviously dead, rotting flesh of some sort. And without some sort of identifying mark, a limb doesn’t make a particularly impactful message, does it?” Victor looks in my direction. “This is what it means to be at the top, Lucia. It’s not going to get easier.”
“I didn’t think any of it would be easy at all,” I grumble, but my eyes never leave the box. A piece of a man’s arm is in there, and there’s a pretty good chance that whoever it belongs to is dead. “So we can probably expect other body parts,” I say, switching gears. I’m proud of myself for not throwing up, even if it had been a near thing. The last thing I need is for the men to put me even lower than them by panicking.
“Probably,” Angelo says, shrugging.
They’re so casual about this. I wonder if they’d be just as casual if it was one of the three of them being delivered piece by piece.
Probably so.
“So what do we do now? I mean, we can sort of figure my dad or Pavone is behind it, but it’s not like we have any spare body parts to return.” I blink, suddenly not sure of that. “Unless we do. But that would be a little redundant. So how do you proceed from this sort of… threat? Warning?”
Victor points in Saint’s direction. “Santino is hopefully going to find the rest of Mike before he gets delivered to us. And Angelo will put together a team to shoot those responsible.” He taps his chin thoughtfully. “If it were me, I would have dissolved the rest of the body in lye by now, but… Is your father that kind of man, Lucia? Or would he prefer to torment us some more?”
I frown, thinking about it. “It depends on whether it’s an attempt at tormenting or a threat or a warning… or whatever else it could be. I can’t really say for sure. If we still had Ricci, I’d send a piece of him back as a similar warning, probably, but then that sort of escalates things and I don’t want to tempt him into a pissing contest.” I pause, considering for another moment — and fuck, that box smells terrible — before adding, “Why wouldyousend a limb?”
“I wouldn’t send a random one to your father. In general, the idea of a gesture so crude is to terrify the recipient. This might be a declaration of war, but I’ve been making plans to take your father’s empire down for the past seven years, so it makes no difference to me.” Victor shrugs, then stands up. “Angelo, clean the mess up. Santino—”
“Track Mike and whoever the fuck did this, got it,” Saint interjects. “Mike was way too nice a guy to end like this.”
Victor nods absently. I don’t for a second believe he actually cares about this Mike.
“I have a few calls to make now, so… please see yourselves out.” He pointedly looks at me. “You too, Lucia.”
“What am I supposed to do then?” I demand. “I want to stay in here while you make your calls. If you’re going to make me a part of this, then make me a part of it.” I’m distinctly aware of the way I’m dressed, but if I’m going to be considered one of them, I need to suck it up and do what I have to to become something other than just a plaything.
Angelo suddenly comes up to me and puts an arm around my shoulder. He’s holding the box with the other arm. “Come with me, Princess. I’ll teach you a few things about clean-up.”
I twist away from him. “Angelo, you were just all over that arm with that hand. Get it off me,” I snarl at him. I don’t want to learn about clean-up. I want to find out what Victor’s up to. “I’m not going to be any good at clean-up. This, the part Victor’s doing, that’s the part I’d be good at. Let me help.”
“Lucia,” Victor says coldly. “Everybody has to know how to do clean-up. We won’t always be around to clean up your messes for you.”
I glare at him, but I finally have to concede. He’s right. If I really want to be a part of this, I need to know how to do it. All of it.
I sigh, then look back at Angelo and his amused expression. “Fine,” I grumble. “Then let’s do this.”
Saint and Angelo both usher me out the door. I give Victor one last glance before I steel myself—both for the mess to come, and the inevitable stares of the guards and staff when they see how little I’m wearing.
