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"I don't know what you want me to say," he shrugs. "I'm just doing my end of a contract."
"And what contract is that?"
"Michele Guerra promised an alliance if I made Fenix disappear," he has the gall to lie to my face.
I narrow my eyes at him. I refrain to add that he's been exclusively after Rafaelo and hasn't even tried to go after the rest of Fenix. Feature in the fact that Michele himself doesn't seem to want his brother dead and I think I have a little liar on my hands.
"Then what's the deal with Marchesi? Where is he figuring out in all of this?"
It's clear that he wants a seat at the table, but there has to be more. Otherwise he wouldn't burst in the city like this, guns blazing and ready to wage war—especially considering he is alone and we have the strength of numbers.
Ortega mumbles something under his breath and it's clear he's stalling. And as I note his fingers searching under the pillow, I realize what he's trying to do.
Shaking my head, I focus the laser beam right at his wrist, lightly touching the button and separating it from his arm.
His reaction is delayed as he raises his arm to see it handless, his mouth opening and closing before he erupts in shrilly screams—even worse than a school girl.
There's minimal bleeding, the laser cauterizing while cutting, which is just as well since a dead man can't answer questions.
Well, neither a hysterical one.
He gets up, flinging his arm up and down as tears stream down his face, his voice caught in his throat as he can't even scream his pain.
"Oh, for fuck's sake, grow some balls," I roll my eyes as I lift my leg, kicking him in the chest and pushing him down. "Listen. I'm on a time constraint here," I tell him, pointing at my wrist watch—which, incidentally, reminds him of his wrist-less hand and prompts another round of cries.
Really? This is the guy who's been trying to kill my Raf? This is the guy everyone was worried about?
I don't know if I'm happy because he's clearly incompetent, or sad because…well, we've been worrying for absolutely no reason.
"Answer my questions and I will refrain from cutting more parts of your body. Don't answer and…" I pause for dramatic effect just as I point the beam towards his crotch.
"I'll answer. I'll answer," he quickly intones, seemingly getting his bearings together.
"Well?" I tap my foot against the floor.
"Damiano married Leticia's daughter and…"
"Leticia's daughter?" I frown.
"Leticia Guerra," he grits his teeth, clutching at what's left of his wrist. "Benedicto's youngest sister. And if Damiano has a son by her, he would have a claim to the Guerra name."
"So he wants Raf out of the way so he can swoop in the Guerra title?"
Ortega nods, his features tense with pain.
"And if he does, he'll let you set your business here, is that so?"
Pursing his lips, he nods again.
Damn, this is a complication we didn't need. I'm not very familiar with Rafaelo's extended family, but from what I know, his aunt lives somewhere in Europe, as far away from the mob business as possible. If that's so, then how could her daughter have gotten involved with Damiano. Unless it was all on purpose and… This is just a tiny snapshot of his motivation.
"What about those weapons? I find it hard to believeyouwould have supplied them."
"Marchesi," he simply states.
"I see."
So it all comes down to Marchesi. And going by the display at the restaurant, he's unlikely to stop any time soon.
