“No, please.”
“I wasn’t asking you!” He hits the fucker’s head with the butt of his Glock.
“Just shoot him in the leg.” I huff.
“I’ll fucking do it, but which one?”
The Enzino guy starts pleading again, but we both tune him out.
“Both legs.” I shrug, since I don’t give a fuck.
“Why the fuck both?” He lowers the gun and turns to look at me.
“You can shoot him in both knees if you prefer. It’ll make sure he won’t run again.”
He looks down at the broken ankles and then raises a questioning brow at me. When I don’t say anything, he nods. “Okay.” He raises his Glock and fires two shots that spear right through the guy’s knees.
“Ahhhhh. God!” He sobs and cries.
“They aren’t listening, you asshole!” Marco barks at him.
“They?”
Marco shrugs. “Fly taught me how not to assume. The importance of the use of right pronouns and other shit like that.”
Who would have thought that such a sweet guy could change a cold-hearted Mafia boss? Art’s smiling face pops into my head for a moment, before I shove it away.
I grab the fucker’s hand, and when he balls up his fingers, I look at Marco. He uses his gold knuckles on the fucker’s gut twice before he loosens his fist. I can finally slice his pinky finger now. The blade is sharper than I thought.This is my interrogation MO, cutting fingers, slicing, stabbing, that’s why it unnerves and enrages me how someone went and used it on Doppi’s son, trying to frame me for his death. We are still trying to find the owner of that damn little horn charm that was near the dead body.
“Is it a contest, like keep the other four?” Marco sniffs, looking down at the remaining fingers.
“Please. Please…I’ll do whatever you want.” The fucker is finally begging not for his life but for a quick death, like all the people I interrogate do. This is when I know he’s ready to talk.
“Mario. Enzino,” I growl his fucking name, stirring all the hate I hold inside me.
“He-he…I saw him.” His eyes are drooping—he’s lost a lot of blood.
I slap his face. “Where?”
His eyes widen and focus on me. “At his father’s place. Yesterday.”
The asshole is in New York. “And?” When he doesn’t answer, I start slicing another finger.
“Stooooop!” he screams, eyes darting right and left. “They…were arguing about Coretti’s marriage deal. Mario was-was against it. He didn’t…want Art to get married.”
“Why?” Marco asks.
“I don’t know!” the fucker cries out pathetically. Drool dripping down his chin. “I swear.”
“What else?” Marco insists.
“Don Jack got angry at Mario for-for…coming to New York too-too soon. He wanted him to wait until after…t-the wedding. But Mario didn’t care. He stormed out, and that’s all. It’s all. All!”
“Where is he?” I grab his hair and yank his head back. But I can see that he’s about to faint.
“I don’t…don’t.”
I draw the knife back and pierce it in his throat, twisting the blade a little, until he takes his last gurgled breath. My mind is racing so fast I can’t keep up with my thoughts. Mario Enzino is back. He’s really back, and I can finally fucking kill him, and Jack Enzino for hiding him. I don’t know how they kept me at bay all this time, but I can’t procrastinate my vendetta anymore.