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Barzini’s eyes narrow.
“Si, but what’s the point of him bleeding out on our floor for a whole twenty-four hours to get the same information he would give today?” I say to Dante, but more for Barzini’s benefit. Then I face Barzini. “You can take the easy or hard route, Tommaso, but it ends the same way—your life.”
Terror has seeped into his beady eyes, but his mouth remains stubbornly shut.
I shake my head and lean in closer, placing the tip of the knife against his chest, just below his left clavicle. And then I slice, one long, slow cut from clavicle to clavicle.
He groans loudly, and his whole body jerks and shakes. By the time he’s finished, there’s blood dripping from his mouth as well as his chest—he’s bitten through his tongue.
“I’ll ask you some questions. If it takes you more than five seconds to respond, the result will be the same,” I explain while he pants through the pain, trying to keep his wits about him—not that it will do him any good.
“How did your boss, Romano get his claws into Leo Ricci?” I ask, tamping down the rush of anger and grief that try to well up in equal measure.
He glares at me, silent, his jaw clenched so tight, it trembles.
So, I move an inch lower on his chest and slice again from one side to the other, slow and steady.
This time, he can’t hold it back. He lets out a roar that reverberates off the walls as his face turns almost purple in agony.
I lean back and wait. I’m a patient man when it serves my purpose.
“Alright, let’s do this one more time,” I say when Barzini has settled into the occasional pained grunt.
“How did your boss get his claws into Leo Ricci?”
He glares at me, but the answer is right there on the tip of his bleeding tongue. “The Agua,” he spits out.
I recognize the name. It’s a nightclub in Romano's territory, one where patrons dance and drink the night away on the main floor while another type of carnal activity takes place beneath it.
“Go on,” I say.
“The boss watched him every night for two weeks, watched him get drunk and use a different whore every night to fuck away his demons. All Romano had to do was offer him a briefcase of money and a one-way ticket to Cuba, and he caved like a pussy.”
I keep my expression blank, but beneath it, I’m reeling. Leo had never said a word about struggling, about demons, not until the night he died. I hadn’t suspected a goddamned thing. Maybe if I had, I might have helped Leo in some way.
I put the tip of the knife a few inches below the second slice and say to Barzini, “After carrying out a few of jobs for Romano, Leo started to say no.” I press on. “What was it Leo refused to get for Romano, even when he knew what reneging on their deal would cost him?”
Barzini spits out a wad of bloody spittle and shakes his head. “If I tell you that, I’m a dead man.”
Dante and I chuckle. The sound carries little humor, but it still feels out of place here. “You’re already a dead man.” I might be an evil motherfucker, but I’m generally an honest one. No bullshit. No false hope.
He looks away, staring down at the slices across his chest and his flabby abdomen, covered with blood. But he says nothing. It seems he needs a little more motivation.
I take the knife from his chest, grip the handle firmly, and drive it down in one savage stab, piercing his right wrist and severing his median nerve.
“Stop,” he screams as I yank the blade out and raise it, preparing for a second blow. “I’ll… tell you, please, stop.”
I lower the blade to my side, waiting as blood drips from the tip onto the floor.
He pants for a moment, then looks up at me. His eyes are narrowed in pain, but he’s smiling. Blood covers his teeth and drips from his bottom lip, making it one of the most grotesque smiles I’ve ever seen.
“Leo Ricci… was supposed to kill you.”
What? It feels like someone has tried to yank the proverbial rug out from under my feet.
Barzini continues, “Romano wanted you dead, and he wanted your man to do it so that your loyalists wouldn’t try to take revenge on him.”
My heart beats harder. What the actual fuck?
