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Dante walks over to the table and grabs the pliers and brass knuckles. We circle the idiot. Finally, I stop and place the knife over his hand. He can’t move, though he tries. Too bad his arms are strapped down in the chair.
“Tell me who convinced you to turn on your own brothers, and maybe I’ll let you keep your fingers,” I say as I graze the knife over his fingers.
“Fuck yo—AAAHH!”
Before he can even finish, I slice three of his fingers clean off. He lets out a cry, but Dante shoves a towel in his mouth and punches the idiot across the face with the brass knuckles.
“He thinks he can just narc on us andthendisrespect us, Nico?” Dante says to me in mock amusement.
I grab some needles lying on the table and make my way back to the ugly rat.
“They always think they can outsmart us.” I twirl the knife between my fingers. I take the towel out of his mouth, while Dante pulls Ugly’s head back and holds the pliers up to his eyeball. “Tell me, what was more important than the Omertà promise!” I scream in his face.
Omertà is the promise all our men had committed to and had to recite during their initiation to become a made man of La Cosa Nostra.Our Thing.It’s an oath of silence, an oath to family and brothers that we would never sell out and talk to outsiders. Basically—the first rule about fight club is: you do not talk about fight club.
The guy doesn’t say anything. I shove the towel back in.
“I think you forgot who we are.Who I am!” I slowly push the needles under the nails of the fingers on his good hand one at a time.
I may come off as an easygoing man sometimes, but I am not the one you want to cross. Bash was the one who could always compose himself in any situation. Not me.
“AAAHHH!” Ugly tries to yell through the towel as Dante springs on him and pries the pliers into his eye.
I pick the drill up that was sitting by the chair, switching it on and off to test it so the traitor could hear. The rat pisses himself. This shouldn’t take long. Dante pulls the towel from the guy’s mouth.
“You better start talking.”
Before he can respond, I drill into his kneecap with a delicious crunch. His cries are so loud my ears are ringing. When I finally feel satisfied, I turn the drill off, and the idiot spills.
Apparently, he had found himself in some debt, and someone approached him with money in exchange for information about our shipment. Fucking coward. He’d been with the Cosa Nostra for twenty-five years. This isn’t new, though. Loyalty is getting harder and harder to come by. We knew it was him; he was the only one who knew which shipping compartment had the product.
I drill into his other knee, and it doesn’t take long after that for the idiot to pass out from either the pain or blood loss. I don’t give a shit.
“Take care of this,” I say to Dante, which is code for:kill the fucker and call clean up.“Meet me in my office when you’re done.”
As I head to the showers, I send a quick message to my brother.
Me: It’s done.
Bash: Good.
* * *
Later that afternoon, I’m sitting in my office, looking at spreadsheets for the clubs, when Dante walks in with a smile on his face like he had won the lottery.
“What’s gotten into you?” I ask, pulling out two glasses and a bottle of whiskey.
“It’s just a good day,” he says as he sits. “Got to torture and kill a guy. Been a while.”
“It’s been a week, Dante.” I laugh at the crazy fuck, handing him a glass.
“That’s a long time for the enforcer,” he says, like I’m the idiot, and sips his drink. “I think I’ll call up Jamila with the nice tits tonight, you know, to celebrate. Maybe Sophia will be free.” Dante wiggles his eyebrows.
I cringe at the thought. Sophia is your typical, stuck-up, two-faced Manhattan socialite bitch—entitled, will never work a day in her life, another social climber, desperate to marry to maintain her lifestyle. Considering who my family is, that makes me her type. I’m not a commitment guy. Even if I were, her voice sounds like nails on a chalkboard. Not that it would matter, anyway. I’d never marry an outsider.
In this life, you get married for tactical reasons, to start the next generation of Deluccis. Bash has the bigger chip on his shoulder, being capo. But as consigliere, you still have expectations to meet in the Cosa Nostra. Marriage is a duty. In the underworld, they’re rarely a reflection of love and always a display of power. My parents got lucky, as their marriage was arranged. They both wanted it.
I’m not holding out. I’m not a romantic. I leave that shit to our youngest brother Enzo, the emotional one. I’ll do what I have to because it’s my job. If it’ll make the family more powerful, then I’m all for it.
