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“Riggs vomited all over the carpet.”
“What?”
“How the hell should I know, Salvatore? It looks like hair and half-digested cat food.”
“I was expressing my irritation. Not asking for the cat vomit analysis.”
“You need to work on expressing meaning through your voice. Your intonation sucks. I have to go and clean this up.” She cuts the call. Apparently, she took the fact I told her it didn’t matter what she talked about literally.
I put the phone back in my pocket and find Aldo and Stefano gaping at me. “We adopted a cat. It’s defective,” I say and turn toward the door just as Cosimo and Arturo come in. “Get that chair and bring Tomaso. Tie him nice and tight.”
* * *
It takes fifteen minutes for everyone to arrive. Nino instructs them to stand along the wall opposite the chair where Tomaso is sitting, tied and gagged. After Arturo nods, signaling that all twelve people we’ve been waiting for are present, I walk over to Tomaso and turn toward the group of capos and team leaders for our ranks of soldiers.
“Tomaso here thought it was a good idea to cozy up to the authorities and leak information regarding our drugshipments,” I say, looking at the men who are standing around in utter silence.
I take off my jacket, put it over the back of the chair behind me, and roll up my shirtsleeves. “Nino, remove the gag and open his mouth. And keep it open.”
Tomaso whimpers and shakes his head left and right, trying but failing to avoid Nino’s hands. Once Nino succeeds in opening the guy’s mouth, I take the pliers and the shears off the table and stand in front of the snitch.
“People tend to forget things, so I figured it might be a good time to remind everyone what we do with snitches,” I say.
It takes me a few tries to catch Tomaso’s tongue with the pliers. When I have it in my grip, I pull it out and cut it free from his treacherous mouth with the gardening shears. Blood sprays all over the front of my white shirt as Tomaso screams. I turn around to face the group—every man staring at the screaming Tomaso—and throw the pliers, along with the still-attached pink lump of flesh, onto the floor in front of them.
“I don’t tolerate traitors,” I say. Walking around the chair until I’m standing behind Tomaso, I place my right hand below his chin and my left one on top of his head. “Remember that.”
With those words, I force Tomaso’s mouth closed and keep it that way. He flails, choking on his own blood, and I wait until his body goes still before letting go of him.
I grab a rag off the table to wipe my hands. The blood comes easily off my right hand, but the glove on my left is completely saturated. I take it off and drop it on the ground, right into the puddle of more blood pooling beneath the dead man.
“You’re dismissed,” I say and reach for my jacket.
* * *
Milene is already asleep when I get home. I lean my shoulder on the doorjamb and just watch her for what seems like hours. Would she look at me differently, if she saw me doing all those obnoxious things so I can keep this organization standing? Would she let me touch her with hands that were soaked in blood barely two hours earlier? I know she’s aware of how things are handled in Cosa Nostra, but I don’t think I can risk having her witness it. It should concern me, the fact that her opinion matters this much. I don’t give a fuck that people are calling me a monster behind my back; it goes with the job description. But not her. I grip the doorway with all my strength, ignoring the pain that shoots from my left hand all the way to my head. Never her.
I feel a light touch on my chin, followed by a finger tracing the line of my jaw. Firm lips soon find my own. I smile sleepily and turn my head toward the heat I feel at my side. Opening my eyes, I discover Salvatore looking at me as he lounges in bed.
“You talk in your sleep,” he says.
“I know.” I reach out to stroke his hair. “I hope I didn’t spill any secrets.”
“You don’t get to keep any secrets from me, Milene.” Hisfinger moves down my neck, lower and lower. “I’ve already told you that you owe me everything.” His palm slides between my legs. “And that includes any secrets you might have.”
I smile, then gasp as his finger enters me. “You can’t demand that.”
“Yes, I can.” Another finger slides inside. “I own you. Your body. Your mind.” His thumb presses onto my clit and he teases me with his masterful fingers. “Your smile. And your secrets.”
“You don’t get to own a person.” I grab at his shoulders and ride his hand. The things he can do with his fingers defy all logic and reason.
“I don’t?” He thrusts his fingers so deep that I choke on my breath and whimper when he curls them inside me. He hits the sensitive spot on my upper wall, and I come in an instant—violently.
I’m still panting, trying to catch my breath, when he covers me with his body, pressing me into the bed.
“You weigh a ton, Salvatore,” I choke out, then gasp when his fingers are replaced by his steel-hard cock.
“Who...”—he slides the tip inside, but so very slowly I want to groan in frustration—“owns you, cara?”
