I toss the knife, pursing my lips in thought. His eyes follow the motions of the blade, finally unable to resist.
Up Up.
Down. Down.
“Danny boy, I don’t want anything. Not really. Do you know why?” When he shakes his head emphatically, I grin. He flinchesat the sinister expression, and my smile widens. “Because I don’t let anything get in my way. Chaos breeds opportunity and I am a glutton for exploitation.”
I grab him by the throat. The black leather coating my fingers squeaks as I place the knife under his chin to lift it. Blade up. He grimaces when the metal slices into his skin, but he doesn’t cry out.
How disappointing.
“Tell me when and where the next shipment of diamonds will be.” I tighten my hold, forcing a grunt from him. “I know your family has cutting and polishing businesses throughout New York City. They won’t notice if a few shiny rocks go missing.”
“They will notice,” he says on a wheeze. “And they’ll kill me.”
“No,Iwill kill you.”
“I can’t go against my family.”
I shove away from him with enough force that the wooden chair rocks back before landing on all fours with a loud thud. “Family.Familia. Famille.I had one once.”
At the thought of my parents, a huff of laughter works its way up my throat and rolls across my tongue. It builds, gaining volume and hilarity with every second. Malone’s eyes widen at my fit of humor, his gaze shining with fear and a hint of confusion.
“This isn’t funny, man,” he says. “Whoever you are, you should know the Malone family doesn’t allow competition on their streets. You’re begging for death, asshole.”
I snap my jaw shut and my teeth click together. “You’re assuming death scares me enough to be a threat.”
“It doesn’t?”
My scoff fills the silence. “Death is my canvas and I am an artist. Now, it’s time for me to gather my supplies and paint.”
Malone rears back in the chair. “Supplies?”
I swipe at the perspiration along his temple, rubbing the moisture between my gloved fingers. “Oh yes, Danny boy. I will splatter your blood, sweat, and tears all over this place, rivaling any artwork of Pollock.”
Good times.
Once I “convinced” the Malone family it was in their best interest to work with me, I’d obtained the cooperation of the security guards before I even stepped over the threshold of Blackwater. They’ll do whatever I tell them, including looking the other way and fabricating camera feeds. Of course, there was that one guard who confiscated my cell phone. For the first and last time.
It’s amazing how effective a severed hand can be.
My escape tonight will be temporary. This time. I just need a couple hours.
After looking at Geneva once more, I lock my phone and shove it in my pocket before getting up from my bed and walking over to the door. Grin in place, I grip the bars and call out, “Marco!”
An inmate shouts, “Polo, motherfucker. Now shut up! I’m trying to sleep.”
“Oh, Marco!” I repeat. Louder.
A collection of shouts and profanities fills the cell block. Then a security guard appears in front of me, sweating as if he ran to get here.
“What do you want, Ghost?”
“I’d like to take a stroll, Officer James.”
The guard’s eyes flicker with unease, his fingers twitching at his side. He knows what this means, and he’s in too deep to walkaway. James doesn’t hesitate. With a sharp nod, he turns, pulling the keys from his belt and unlocking my cell door. The click of the lock disengaging is something I’ll never tire of.
As I step out, a cacophony of sound, made up of shouts, taunts, and curses, ricochets off the walls. I take a deep breath, letting the chaos wash over and fuel me as I walk past the rows of cells with the guard beside me. Most of the men don’t bother looking at me, too busy in their own worlds of rage and regret. But a few do. One in particular catches my eye.
