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The rest of my crew is standing around, waiting, watching, wondering how far this is actually going to go. I try to calm my pulse, but shit like this charges me. It makes me feel alive. Adrenaline courses through me, and tiny hairs prickle up along the back of my neck.
Some might say I’m a fucking head case, and they’d be right.
But they don’t understand why I’m this way, why this sick need to assert power and control consumes me twenty-four-seven.
Nico doesn’t get it, either. He just knows it can do a lot of fucking damage to the family, which is why he’s trying to keep me away from it.
Except sometimes, I just can’t help myself.
The thug tied to this chair isn’t just some random drug dealer or sex trafficker. He isn’t just squatting here to make a quick sale on the occasional nickel or dime bag. He didn’t just happen to find this place and think it was a good meeting spot for him and his clients.
And those drugged out, half-naked girls lying sprawled all over the foundation, moaning and writhing around because they don’t even know what fucking planet they’re on right now? They didn’t just stumble over here looking for a quick lay after getting hammered at a nearby bar.
This is a full-fledged business…operating in my goddamn backyard.
Everyone knows this is my site. And everyone knows this is the Salesi family’s territory. We own northern Jersey. So who the fuck is stupid enough to spit in our faces by running a trafficking ring on our job site after hours?
The voices tell me to call Nico, not to try to handle this myself, to forget my way of doing things.
I grip the switchblade in my pocket and pull it out. I creep toward the dark-haired man. His body language may fool everyone into believing that he’s calm, but I see the panic in his eyes. He knows what I’m about to ask, and what I’ll do if he doesn’t answer me the way I want.
Shut the fuck up, voices. I’m in charge now.
I flip the blade open and hold it to his throat. Only the slightest bob of his Adam’s apple indicates the fear knotting his insides.
Those damn voices taunt me again.
You can kill him, but it won’t free you. It won’t be enough.
It’s never enough.
“Do you know who I am?” I hiss in his ear, still holding the tip of the blade to his carotid artery. One slip of the hand, and he bleeds out on the concrete.
A brief pause followed by a quick nod.
“And do you know what I’m going to ask you next?”
Another nod.
“And you’re gonna tell me exactly what I want to hear, right?”
This time, there’s no nod.
“I don’t think you heard me,” I growl, sweat drizzling down my spine. The challenge. God, I thrive on this shit. “Should I ask again?”
He shakes his head.
“Good.” I rise to my full height and pull away the blade. “Tell me who set this up. Don’t bullshit me. I want a name, or I’ll slice your throat open like I’m gutting a fucking fish.”
Silence. I look up at my guys. They avoid my hard stare, exchanging looks with each other.
I know what they’re all thinking. I used to be the muscle of this family. If someone needed to have their kneecaps busted, Max Oriani was the guy who’d laugh as the assholes who were being brutalized would cry and beg for mercy.
But that guy sits behind a desk now. He wears a hard hat. He’s gone soft.
Rage bubbles in my veins. I can feel their eyes boring into me, waiting to see what I’ll do next…if I’m gonna own this or if I’m gonna delegate like every other fucking thing Nico has made me farm out in the past year. My guys sense weakness. They smell defeat. They think I’ve lost my edge. They think I need to call in backup to handle a problem when I used to be that backup.
Just do what you’re good at, Max. It’s what everyone expects, anyway. Show them you haven’t lost yourself. Show them you’re still strong and demand respect.
