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But I hear his words. I move a little closer down the bleacher. “We need to figure out who is at the top of this. That’s the only way this ends.”
“Thank you for telling me that. Seriously. After working this job for fifteen years, I have no idea how any of this works.” The agent removes a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from his jeans pocket, but he doesn’t light one up.
Fucking cigarettes.I hate the things.
The fight ends with The Bull declared the winner, and I return to my seat. I don’t like how easily the agent disrespects me. He’s normally wiser, but with this arrangement ending, his mask is slipping, and that is a dangerous thing. I think a reminder is needed. “If you did, you would know not to talk to me like that.”
“Omerta, pretty boy. We are each other’s greatest assets and liabilities right now.”
Fuck Omerta.The Mafia code of silence.
I clench my fists. It’s one thing to pay off the police; it’s something else altogether to do the extra stuff I’m doing. To be their inside man. Their mole. If the Mafia found out I was exchanging information and doing more than the surface bribes, I’d get a bullet in the brain.
It wouldn’t matter that I have the police commissioner or a judge in my pocket. It would never get that far; I’d never stand trial or see the inside of a cell. I’d be just another hit by the Mafia. A reminder to everyone that no matter who you are, being a snitch isn’t tolerated.
So I didn’t put two years of my life on the line to have them fuck this up. Shutting down the Pits is all that matters to me. I want to know who’s behind the curtain. I don’t want anyone else to have to do what I was forced to do and kill a friend.
“So, since you’re still my fucking asset, do you have anything useful I should know?” So far, this conversation has garnered me nothing but shit news.
The body of The Cannibal is dragged from the cage, and The Bull staggers out after him, blood from the hunk of flesh taken from his neck still streaming sluggishly. Two men enter with rakes and try to hide the blood that was spilled across the white sand by turning it upside down, but it’s impossible to cover it all completely.
“Geno of the 17s is pissed.” The agent’s voice holds humor.
I find it very fucking funny, too, and snort to let him know I don’t give a shit. If Geno makes any more noise, I’ll have to silence him. I’ll take great pleasure in destroying the little shit.
“There has been some communication going on through graffiti,” he continues. “Certain events are lining up that coincide with a noticeable graffiti painting that was spotted yesterday.”
“What is the graffiti of?” Two more men enter the cage. Men place bets, and the resulting roars stop the agent from speaking straightaway.
He shuffles closer but never turns around. “A new one went up overnight. It showed a crane under a black rose.”
A black rose. The sign of death. That particular symbol is used by only one family: the Scarpettas.
Fuck. Something huge is happening.
I need to find out who the target is, and I know who I can try to pry the information out of—the Scarpetta’s little princess, Carina. The thought of it makes my lip twitch in grim satisfaction.
“I’ll look into it,” I say.
He slips the cigarettes back into his pocket. “Are we done here?” he asks.
“For now,” I respond.
I watch as the agent approaches my men, and they give him back his weapon. I continue to watch as he leaves the arena.
What are the Scarpettas up to?I will have to go find out. I put on my coat and notice a runner staring up at me. I lift a brow, and he turns hastily back to his work.
Fucking imbeciles.
I will find out who runs this place, and I will destroy it from the inside out.
That is my promise.
Chapter 8
Carina
Seventeen Years Old
