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With Ugly Eddie tied in the back, we head back over to Manhattan to a warehouse once owned by my uncle. It’s owned by me, but I don’t use it. I lease it out as part of my legit business. We take a roundabout way, making sure Ugly Eddie doesn’t have friends who are following him.
We pull into the warehouse, and Donovan gets Eddie out and restrained in a chair.
“This can be easy or hard, Eddie,” Donovan says.
“Fuck you.”
“Hard it is.” Donovan punches Eddie in the jaw.
“Where’s Giovanni?” I ask.
"You think you can intimidate me?" He spits out blood onto the concrete floor.
I laugh, and the menace in it has Eddie’s eyes flashing with fear. "Intimidation is a tool for those who lack conviction. This night doesn’t end until Giovanni is dead. How’s that for conviction?”
Eddie pulls himself together. “You’re going to kill me anyway.”
I nod. “Yes, but I can do it quickly, painlessly, or I can do it inch by inch.”
Donovan leans next to him. “Starting with your cock.”
Eddie turns to Donovan, horror shining in his eyes. “You’re sick.”
“You’re the one who wants to do this the hard way.”
"I ain't telling you nothing," he sneers, but I can see his bravado cracking.
"Wrong answer,” Donovan chimes in, punching Eddie again. “I can do this all night.”
I lean in, letting him see the coldness in my eyes up close. "Why did Giovanni send you?”
“He must not like you,” Donovan says. “He had to know we’d get you and kill you.”
I nod. “How does it feel to be expendable by your boss?”
Eddie’s eyes dart between us, a flicker of fear finally breaking through as Donovan picks up a crowbar, letting it catch the light menacingly.
“I don’t know.”
“Ah… I see.”
Donovan takes a practice swing.
“I swear,” Eddie says, his gaze not leaving the crowbar. The next minute, there’s a hole in Eddie’s head, but neither Donovan nor I put it there.
“Down!” I yell out.
Gunfire shatters the stillness. Bullets spit around the area, lodging into concrete and wooden crates, and Eddie as well.
Instinct kicks in. I'm moving before I think, reaching for the gun strapped to my side. Donovan and I rush for protection behind some crates.
“It’s a fucking trap,” Donovan calls out. He pulls out his phone, and I know he’s calling men in. I know they’re not far, but at this point, they may not be close enough for me and Donovan. It’s a reminder of the violent world I live in and how fucked-up I am to have been upset that Elena didn’t want her or our kids to live in it.
“Where are those fuckers?” I need to look around but don’t want to get my head blown off.
One crate over, Donovan peers from around it. Shots ring out, and he recoils back.
“What are the odds they’ve got men coming from behind?” he says.
