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“He started it,” I cough, trying to get my breath back.
“I’ve got an interrogation to undergo,” Angelo says, dusting imaginary lint off his suit.
“What did you already find out?” I ask, turning to Rocco.
“Just like we suspected, the employees know nothing, so we let them run back to Il Diavolo to spread the news,” Rocco says, his face stoic. I can tell he’s disappointed he hasn’t gotten to kill anyone yet today. “This may or may not flush out more weasels, but we will see once the soldiers check in.”
I look through the two-way. “So, who are they?”
A small smile plays on his lips. “Associates.”
I whistle low. “How did you find them?”
Rocco nods to Darko. “He drives a hard bargain.”
I smirk.
Darko is about as big as Rocco, he’s thick in the shoulders and a mean looking son of a bitch. Like Rocco, men cower and spill their guts just with a glance from either of them.
People know what the Medici soldiers are capable of, what we stand for. Death is a blessing if you are the unfortunate recipient of being our prisoner.
“They claim they don’t know who Il Diavolo is,” Darko says when we turn to glance at him. “But I think they just need a little reminder of who runs this city.”
“You’ve got that right,” Enzo grunts, his arms folded across his chest. “Angelo? How do you want to handle this.”
He looks directly across at Darko. “They won’t talk?”
“Not yet.”
I guess that’s why they’re strung up by their hands, their feet not touching the floor. There is at least a dozen of them.
“It’s hard to imagine this many men would betray us on our own turf,” Marco says, rubbing his chin. “They need more than a lesson, more like a fucking bullet between the eyes.”
Angelo glances at him. “That’s a very good idea.”
All eyes are on Angelo as he takes the handgun from the back of his pants and removes the safety off.
Oh shit.
He turns, exiting through the side door that leads into the interrogation room, and walks along the line of men strung up. We follow behind. Dante gives me a look, and I nod once.
We know our brother, and this ain’t gonna be pretty.
He walks to the very end of the row, circling around and walking back again.
“Some of you may have heard of me,” he booms. “My name is Angelo Medici. I run this city. And all of you have been conspiring against me and my family. The time for talking was when my soldiers found you. That would have been the wisest move, but now you’ve left me no choice.”
“Fuck,” I mutter.
He rips the gag off the first man, and says, “Speak.”
The man spits on Angelo’s shoes. I close my eyes and shake my head.
Marco clenches his fists, and Dante steels his jaw.
“That was fucking rude,” Angelo goes on, holding the gun to the man's head, right between his eyes. “Disrespect me, you disrespect all the Medicis.” He fires, blood splattering all over his crisp white shirt.
Some of the men jump, and one man pisses himself. Angelo turns to Rocco and holds out his hand. Rocco passes him a hand towel as he begins to wipe the blood spatters from his face and hands.
