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“Eddie, no. That’s not how we do things.”
Enzo puts his hand on the man’s shoulders and nods. “Yes,” he says. “We give them time to pray to their God and whisper any last words before we gut them and stuff their dicks in their mouth.”
Now the man takes a piss. I swear I could fucking kill Enzo for scaring him. That’s the last thing we need.
“I promise we won’t desecrate your corpse. Now pray if you must.”
“I have a request,” David pleads.
“Hm?”
I don’t like the idea of a dying man making requests, but considering Enzo just pushed him to the edge of fear, I feel a touch generous. Just a touch.
“My chain. Give it to my daughter. Please. That’s all I ask. I want her to know that I was thinking about her.”
“Your daughter is three. She won’t remember you,” Enzo says. Fucking hell, I want to kill my brother.
“Don’t listen to him. Eddie, take the chain. We’ll do what the man says.”
“Take my gun off him?”
“He won’t run,” I say to him, but of course, I can’t exactly make these assurances. It’s just a guess. He’s alone with three armed mafiosos on the beach. He would have to be an idiot to run. I make a very incorrect judgment about our captive’s intelligence. As Eddie lowers his gun and begins removing the man’s star hanging around his neck, he shoves his elbow into Eddie’s side and throws a hard kick toward Enzo before taking off down the beach.
Stupid fuck… I take off after him, pulling out my gun as I run. The poor bastard isn’t quick — something I would have considered in his position. He played football with me. He should know who he’s dealing with. I throw my leg out and catapult the Jew to the sand. He cries out as his body goes flying. Enzo and Eddie catch up with me as I trip and roll over, holding my gun aloft. I can’t stop what they’re about to do now. The Jew made a mistake by running.
Enzo throws a hard kick into the man’s side. Eddie laughs as blood spurts from the man’s face. They beat him for a while until he can’t make any other sound except a whimper and a prayer. When he prays, I stop them with my hand.
“Before you die, we’ll be needing that information you promised?”
He looks up at us as if he won’t say anything. Then I watch the defeat flow from his face. Information. He’ll give it up to us. The Jews have strong bonds, but not as strong as ours. They don’t kill the way we do, so their people don’t fear giving up information. At least I can justify this to myself.
I killed a man for information sits better with my conscience than killing a man for Ana. If I don’t follow orders, I’ll be the one kneeling on the beach next. I can’t have that happen.
This isn’t exactly going in the order I planned it, but I still need that information. The man gazes up at us, blood in his mouth, his eyes glued shut and swollen. He’s already half dead.
“What do you need to know?”
Enzo whispers the question in quiet Italian. The man shakes his head.
“You’re messing with the wrong people.”
“Thanks for the advice,” Enzo says. Before I give the order, he empties his gun. Two in the man’s head and one in his chest. My stomach tightens. Even Eddie’s eyes spark open, stunned. The worst part of all happens after the gunshots — a loud, blood-curdling scream. The three of us turn around to see her standing there, wide-awake and screaming her head off like a banshee.
My woman…
Fuck.
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