I never heard anything like it before.
And like the sick fuck he is, Tony lifts the tool up to Niko’s face and shows him his own flesh, still stuck wetly to the metal. Vomit splatters out of his mouth, dripping in long dark streaks down the front of his shirt. Instantly, a dark red stain spreads across the legs of his pants and his head just lolls to the side limply as he passes out.
Tony takes a deep annoyed breath. “It’s never like it is in the movies, you know? Real life’s full of pussies who pass out with the slightest sliver of pain.”
Slightest sliver of pain?He just sliced the tip of some guy’s knob off and he wanted more of a dramatic display of suffering. Jesus.
He covers his mouth with the crook of his elbow. “And he smells like shit.”
His eyes dart around the room quickly. I can tell he’s trying to plan something in his head. “What the fuck are you looking for,” I ask.
He’s pulling open drawers and rummaging through shelves. “I need something to wake the son-of-a-bitch up. I need him talking.”
I start looking along with him, but neither of us finds anything.
Tony slaps him until his cheeks are streaked red with handprints but he still doesn’t wake up.
I don’t blame Niko. I wouldn’t wake up either.What guy would want to with the tip of their dick gone?
Suddenly there’s a knock at the door followed by a small click and Enzo walks in, nodding toward me. “Got something for you,” he grunts, taking in the scene in front of him. He doesn’t even bat an eye, it’s not the first time he’s seen something like this, not by a long shot. He actually smiles wickedly.
“Looks like Tony’s having some fun for himself.” There’s a big manila envelope clutched in his hand and the moment I lay eyes on it I want to yank it out of his hands and rip it open.
“Hey, Tone? Give a few minutes?” I say, glancing at Tony with a quick nod.
“Yeah, yeah. Enzo, you stay down here with me. I need to wake this pussy up. You know how to wake up a sleeping pussy?” Tony says, laughing.
I close the door behind me and lock it, not even waiting to see how the hell Tony’s going to get the guy conscious again. I don’t care. All I care about it what’s inside the folder.
Sofia Monroe.
That’s who’s inside the folder.
Well, not her chopped up or anything, but whatever Enzo could find on her name, her background. Enzo’s the best at that stuff. Following people and getting a background check on them without using anything traceable. The envelope is too thin to be happy about but my hands are itching to open it.
I climb the stairs two at a time. I don’t want to be interrupted by Niko screaming when Tony wakes him up. And believe me, if Tony wants it, Niko is getting up.
I burst through the basement door and Carlo’s gun is on me instantly. “Fucking hell. You douchebag,” he says shaking his head and lowering his weapon back into his waistband. “I almost killed you. What the hell are you blasting through the door like that for?”
I hold up the envelope. “Just need to get this open. Hey? Tony needs something to wake up Jackoff. You got anything that smells or something?”
“Who the fuck is Jackoff?”
“Jakov. Niko Jakov?” I laugh. “That’s what Tony’s calling him down there. Well he was until he passed out from pain. Tony just snipped the top of his dick off with a pair of gardening shears.”
“Oh shit!” he laughs. “Seriously?” He rubs at the back of his neck and chuckles more. “Yeah, yeah. I think I got something,” he mumbles as he jogs toward the bar and I head in the opposite direction for some privacy.
The first room I hit is the lounge and I sit on one of the couches, the same one Felony—Sophia—and I fooled around on, and tear open the package. I feel sick, my stomach rolling in waves of nerves—what if he found nothing—or worse, what if he found out something that goes against Tony and the family?
Enzo warned me. He warned me the Russians could have planted her here. She could be Jakov’s girl for all I know. He was always in here, especially when Felony danced, watching her spread her legs on stage, thinking it was just for him.
I pull the papers out. My knee is bouncing.
There are only two things inside.
One is a high school transcript for Sophia Louise Monroe from an all-girls boarding school in Concord, Massachusetts. The lowest grade of all four years of her high school was a 98, and that was in a history class her freshman year. The tuition for the school was $56 K a year. So she came from money, got rid of a Massachusetts accent, and what? Just decided to become a stripper for Tony Fretolli?
That just doesn’t make any sense.
