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Chapter Three
MASSIMO
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.
The bodyguard that was unto her on the stage steps back. I don’t know if my threat from earlier has anything to do with it, but he moves away, leaving her naked body to lump on the floor.
I feel like pounding the shit out of someone.
I’m up from my seat, dashing out of my cubicle, almost spilling the untouched Negroni I was served and shattering the untouched bottle of Peroni that Claudio had ordered for the sake of formality.
Bloody fuckers.
It is not enough to reduce the girls to objects, to slaves. They can’t even take proper care of their goods.
Caruso’s vileness is evident in his treatment of his business. They are his business, the source of his wealth. The least he can do is fucking feed them.
They haven’t taken fucking care of her. On top of beaten her, they starved her. They do not even care enough to spare a decent meal for these girls. Food and water shouldn’t be used as a punishment. If anything, when it really comes down to it, it is better to feed a person to have the pleasure of delivering the punishment to someone who at least has the stamina to take it.
I’m not walking towards the stage to get her, I’m going for the bastard, Caruso. I detest that I had to stoop so low as to indulge him in his women's trading business. I detest the position I was put in to by the Mancusos.
Before I can tap on the glass door of cubicle twelve it opens and I’m face to face with the fucker. Caruso. Just who I wanted to beat the shit out of. I’ve felt Claudio behind me every step of the way here. Claudio is here with me, I know this like I know the taste of water. He is never more than five feet away when we’re outside the territory of Cosa Nostra, never more than an apartment away when we’re inside Cosa Nostra.
He knows how to fade into the background. How not to get in the way. He’s become like a second skin. I don’t have to look to know he is near. He doesn’t need to be told to follow soundlessly behind.
“Let it go, Max,” Claudio tries, but my eyes tell him to fuck off.
“Having a problem, Massimo?” I don’t miss the smug smile forming on Caruso’s lips, the invitation to fight in his dusty brown eyes, or how he intentionally flashes the holster underneath his suit as he smoothens his dusty blond hair.
Invitation accepted Caruso. Invitation accepted.
“Take her to safety,” I’m not looking at Claudio but he knows I’m sure as hell referring to him. It’s not a request, it’s an order.
“Back off,” Claudio stabs a finger at Caruso before going to do as told.
In my side vision, Claudio gets Alessandra up and scoots out. The moment he goes out, some of Caruso’s bodyguards start to circle me, but not too close. They’re hovering. It’s a warning that they will not hesitate. However, they’re still holding back. They know better than to make the first move.
I hold my breath for a quick second and let it go quietly. There are many things I hate, but Caruso’s vanilla perfume is top of the list. He wears it with the same arrogance he shows in every area of his life. He douses himself in it. He wants to dominate, but power has never looked as unappealing on anyone as it does on this lanky son of a bitch.
“You have one job Caruso. One,” I close in, and he puffs up some more, so he can meet my height, or at least not look too small. Meeting my height is far-fetched for him.
I could knock him hard or twist him like a wet rag till I’m satisfied. I can, and maybe I should. Maybe I will.
“Yes, to sell them, not babysit them,” he scoffs.
“Hmm,” I switch to my one-word reply.
This usually makes people want to keep talking. Whenever they take the bait and keep talking, I know to put them below me in the power gauge.
“I run a trafficking ring, not a charity,” there he goes rattling, trying to remind me he is a dangerous man.
That’s the problem with him, always trying to prove his power. Always trying to show he’s got relevance. Maybe he does, but not to fucking me.
“If I give them ice cream and warm baths, men like you won’t have a place like this to come to, to satisfy your darkest desires.” He comes closer, close enough for me to catch a whiff of his tobacco breath. The man has got no class.
Men like me. Low blow. There he goes binding me up with the rest of his customers that he’s got some influence over.
