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ChapterTwenty-Five
Enzo
Intrusive thoughts rattled around in my head as I tried to focus on the task at hand: doing business with one of Silvio’s old clients. I could only think of Gia. That was the problem with driving alone. I could only interact with my own mind. I wasn’t kidding when I told her I’d stop having sex with her. I would withhold what she wanted most until she made a decision. I’d done horrible things for her, and all I wanted in return was...well, her. All of her.
I shouldn’t have killed Ugo, and I probably hadn’t needed to torture him, either. It didn’t really matterwhyhe put the hit out on Gia’s father, but I knew she’d ask. She’dneedto know, and I wanted to be able to tell her. I could have guessed—a large chunk of her father’s business revolved around gambling, and it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that he’d take down his competitor—but was it really worth that bounty on his head? I wasn’t sure. I also didn’t know how her father would react to the news that I’d gotten rid of the hit for him. For Gia, actually. Would that be enough for him to give me his blessing to marry her? Sylvester was a wildcard. Even so, I had to tell him I’d saved his ass before someone else could take credit for my work.
Something else made me nervous about that, though. Once I told him who I killed and why, there would be little to keep him quiet about it. He could take me down with what I’d done to protect him. He could use that to destroy me and protect his daughter. But I had to try. I couldn’tnottry. I’d never wanted anything more in my life than to make Gia a Viglione. I wanted it even more than my desire to become a don. Now it felt like one couldn’t happen without the other, and I wasn’t willing to let go of either.
I’d get it over with and talk to Sylvester after I finished the little transaction with one of the usuals. There were certain clients who would only do business with Silvio. Now they’d only do business with me.
My phone chimed and I looked at the message. It was from Bullseye’s sister, checking in on my search for information. Which wasn’t happening. I knew all I needed to know, and they were all things I couldn’t let her find out. I sighed and put down the phone.
The sun edged across the horizon as I pulled into the familiar parking lot. Something felt off. Different. I parked and looked around as I got out of the car. There was nothing out of the ordinary, even if it felt like it. Cars dotted the lot the same way they always had. I started toward the door of the swanky dance club set back from the road. I had to get going if I wanted to talk to Sylvester before the old man went to sleep at fucking eight o’clock. I wiped a hand through my hair and told myself to stop being so paranoid.
Nothing was out of the ordinary...aside from the metal barrel prodding my back.
“Hands up,” the voice said behind me, calm and cool.
I had no intention of putting my hands up. I didn’t show weakness. If I ended up dead, it’d be with my goddamn dignity intact. “Fuck off,” I said through clenched teeth. “Who are you?” I had ideas—it could have been so many people—but I didn’t recognize the voice.
A gloved hand reached out and disarmed me, taking my beloved revolver off my hip. “You’ll find out.”
Footfalls landed behind me. It sounded like it was just the two of them. If they put the guns down and fought fair, I was pretty certain I could take them.
“Pussies,” I snarled.
They placed a dark hood over my head. I would have fought, but the barrel was still pressed into me, reminding me that I was in an unwinnable situation. They bound my wrists in front of me with tape and pushed me into the backseat of a car. The men got in, and the car lurched forward. Road noise rumbled louder and clearer with my sense of sight gone.
I was fucking pissed. The longer we were in the car, the more I seethed, but I had to keep my composure. I was a don. I couldn’t let myself seem weak. But how could I fight? Even before they disarmed me, it was a pistol against a goddamn rifle, and he already had one up on me.
“You’ll regret this,” I told them. They’d have no choice but to kill me, because if I got a fraction of a chance, I’d kill them.
* * *
I lookedaround an unfamiliar basement as they removed the hood. Tools and machinery cluttered the space, but nothing gave any indication of who had taken me, and they didn’t seem inclined to tell me why.
Ransom? Marco would let them keep me.
Retribution? That hardly eliminated anyone from the list of suspects.
Yeah, those were pretty much the two options. I’d pissed someone off. But I’d pissed off a lot of people over the years.
Blood stains painted the floor. They’d been cleaned up, of course, but blood didn’t come out of concrete like this. That’s why we started covering the floor with plastic drop cloths. It took some of the cleanup out of our crimes. Also, the moment someone walked into a plastic-clad room, they knew their blood would be shed. It made them more willing to talk. Mental warfare.
A man wearing cargo pants and a dark, long-sleeved shirt greeted me. A mask obscured his face, so I had no fucking clue who he was. I assumed it had something to do with the O’Rileys. I never took the time to figure that situation out because I’d been too busy fucking around with Gia. If it was the O’Rileys, I had no one to blame but myself. I’d executed Bullseye, and it had been my idea to bring the car to Jameson. When Gia had offered to sleep with him for his silence, I couldn’t handle it, and I killed the Irish prick. I’d been too preoccupied with Gia to deal with the aftermath of such a stupid political move.
Yeah, if it was the O’Rileys, I deserved to be in this situation.
“Be a man and show your face,” I said.
“In good time, Mr. Viglione. Once you see my face, you’ll know your time is nearly up.”
“Killing me is probably a wise choice,” I snapped. I sank back against the wall and kicked my feet out with a heavy sigh. It wouldn’t solve a damn thing if I panicked. As Gia would say, such is this life. When our victims panicked and begged, it was that much more delicious. You almost didn’t want it to end. But all good things must.
The man walked to the far wall. He pushed his thumb into a keypad, and a metal fence rode along a track to the other side, sealing me off from the rest of the basement and eliminating any chance to get my hands on the tools.
Who the hell are these people?
