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It’s the same assignment I was supposed to complete yesterday but had to delay because of the unexpected little girl: issue a final warning to Lloyd Ferguson, using whatever means necessary to enforce the threat. Bodily harm a guarantee. Maybe cut off a finger. Standard stuff. I start my car and make the hour drive to Providence.
This time, I don’t have the patience to drive down a couple of blocks, so I just pull my truck to a stop in front of his house. I put on my glasses and gloves, but just as I’m about to get out of my truck, a familiar blacked out van pulls up behind me. I release an annoyed sigh.
“Fucking Massimo.”
“Yo, ‘fire’,” One-eye grins at me. His real name is Bruno Ricci, but he lost his eye a couple of years ago during an FBIaltercation. It was in a club he worked at before joining the Moratti family, and no one can be bothered to actually learn the guy’s name, so One-eye stuck.
He calls me fire because my alias isLa Fiamma,which means fire in Italian. A nickname I got from the fact that my lighter is always in my hand and I like to burn shit up. The tattoos adorning my torso, which not many in the organization know about, were an initiation request from Massimo himself. He wanted proof of my commitment, and what better way than to brand it onto your skin.
My lighter is sentimental to me; it used to be my father’s, and fiddling with it eases my nerves, so I wasn’t opposed to the idea. But the flames that lick their way up my entire abs and chest were his way of letting me know that if I fuck up, he’ll let me burn. And he’d probably douse me in gasoline himself.
One-eye wears a black patch, which isn’t exactly unmemorable. And he’s unhinged. His presence here confirms that Massimo doesn’t want Lloyd alive. I growl angrily, walking away without acknowledging him. I hate this part the most. I like putting the fear of Jesus into grown ass men as much as the next guy, but killing folks? Especially folks with kids?Putain d'enfer. I hate it.
The front door of the house swings open, and Lloyd comes out with a hunting rifle raised up and pointed at me. My irritation climbs up a notch. The asshole clearly doesn’t know how to operate the heavy gun with the way his hands are shaking. I’d usually admire the bravado of my prey putting up a fight, but I was already irritated at having my morning with Charlie cut short, so I have no patience for this shit.
“Put the gun down Ferguson and your death might be painless.” I say calmly, meaning it.
“Never! I know you’re going to kill me, anyway, so let's all just die together!” Spit flies from his mouth as he screams thewords, then the fucker presses his hand to the trigger. The gun goes off loudly; luckily he wasn’t expecting the kickback because I barely hit the ground fast enough for it to miss me. It goes off again and One-eye curses behind me.
I move swiftly, disarming the idiot in seconds. “Get the gun.” I order One-eye as I glance around the neighborhood wearily. I see a few curtains drop and know we only have a few minutes before the cops close in.
I clench my jaw angrily as I shove Ferguson toward the van. One-eye passes me a zip tie, which I use to secure Ferguson’s hands behind his back tighter than necessary, but the fucker pissed me off. I use one hand to grip him tightly and open the van with the other, then toss the piece of shit in, slamming the door behind him.
“Hit the bumps as hard as you can.” I tell One-eye as I lock the door. He grins at me as he nods, and I walk to my truck. We drive back downtown taking the back roads to avoid being captured by as many cameras as possible. Anything to avoid being tracked by the cops. We soon pull up to the decrepit, abandoned ranch the Moratti family uses for unsavory endings.
I toss off the glasses, irritated by them and everything else out of my control right now. I signal to One-eye to get Ferguson out of the van. As expected, he comes out kicking and screaming. He catches One-eye in the abdomen, but One-eye is stronger than he looks and is able to subdue him.
“You’re not going to get away from us, Ferguson. You should know better than that by now. Even running away to the burbs couldn’t save you from our reach.”
“I’ll get you the money, I swear! Tell Massimo, I’m expecting some money from the sales of a few family properties in a couple weeks. It’s enough to pay off everything I owe plus all the interest I’ve accumulated.” He pleads tearfully, “I have a daughter. You saw her. She can’t survive on her own.”
“Then it’s a good thing Kayla will go to her Aunt Lesley after you’re gone. You don’t have to worry about her, she’ll be well provided for,” I assure him. His eyes go wild, and he starts struggling again. I sigh. His little sister Lesley is married to a wealthy man and while Kayla might not be fine mentally after being orphaned, she will at least be well taken care of.
No matter what points Ferguson makes or how much he begs, he’s not going to get out of here alive. Massimo is using him to make a point; if you default on your payment and run away, he’s going to find you, and you’re going to go to sleep. Forever.
Ferguson seems to finally realize the predicament he’s in because he starts screaming. I nod at One-eye who takes out the chlorophyll rag from his pocket and places it over Ferguson’s nose. His struggles dwindle slowly, and he passes out. Finally.
CHAPTER 7
EZRA
FOUR MONTHS LATER…
“La Fiamma. Glad to see you could make it after all.” Massimo Moratti’s light green eyes glint with amusement when I stop in front of his table at Frosty Night, one of the Morattis’ clubs in Providence.
Massimo organizes a members-only party here every weekend for his men. He seems to think that having them see that he plays just as hard as he works at being the most ruthless mob boss in Providence will somehow increase work efficiency. If I didn’t know him better, I’d think this was just his way of keeping tabs on everyone and assessing them while they’re at their drunkest and most vulnerable; but hey, what do I know?
While not mandatory, attendance is always high, and his scheme seems to work; club morale is at an all-time high. Well, for everyone but me. Moratti makes it crystal clear that if I slip up, he certainly wouldn’t use the illusion of some fun night out to bring it to my attention. More than one member has gonemissing after these events.Got too fucked up, didn’t wake up the next morning. Or so they say.
“Moratti.” I nod at him stiffly. He smirks as he signals to one of the men around him. He’s handed a thick Cuban and nods at me. I frown, but know exactly what he wants. I move closer to him, taking my lighter out as I walk. With a flick of my thumb, I have his cigar lit.
“Good man.” He smiles at me as I stand back. He inhales the smoke and blows it at me with a slight smile. My frown deepens. I know that despite that look on his face, I’ve pissed him off.
Quite possibly it’s because I haven’t been showing up to these things as frequently as I did when I had first joined the organization. I’m becoming weary of it all. I received a phone call from him last night demanding I show my face tonight, claiming he’s starting to forget what I look like and thinks I need the night to unwind. I don’t for one second buy that load of bull, of course, but I recognized the order, and so here I am.
“Go have fun, E. Mingle with the guys. Heck you can take a girl or two back to your room. But you have to show up to our gatherings from now on.” He flicks his hand dismissively. “You can leave.” Massimo is the only one in the organization who knows my real name, but he respects my wishes not to have it known in this world.
I nod as I spin away from him. I’m lucky he ended it at just that request. But the warning is clear: show up and prove my loyalty or risk repercussions. Next time could cost me a finger or worse. Massimo can feel me slipping from his grasp, and he can’t like that one bit. I have to keep my guard up and make sure I stay two steps ahead of him.
