“You. Go. Now.” He mimicked the guard’s Italian accent and stood straight like he was at attention and saluted.
I snorted. Crazy fucker.
The other guard moved in closer, and Fallon turned to him. “Holy shit, it’s Shrek and Donkey. Which one is which?” He pointed at the second man who’d approached him. “You’ve got the bald head, you can be Shrek.”
Guard One swung at him and Fallon ducked, jabbing him in the gut and sending him stumbling backward. When Guard Two came for him, Fallon kneed him in the balls. I cringed.Fuck, that had to hurt. Fallon danced back on his feet, delight on his face. He was in his element. It’d been a while since he’d had a fight.
The guards followed, completely focused on him, which was exactly what we wanted.
“Now,” I said through the comms.
I listened to grunts and conversation through the line; Lolli was barely holding Fantoni up apparently, as he was well on the way to being unconscious. Through the cameras, I saw the door open and Cillian peek out, then he and Aspen dragged Fantoni through the door when they realized the guards were out of the way. Lolli was close behind them, and she fluttered her fingers at the camera.
I laughed. I liked her.
Once they were out the back door and into the alley, close to where the SUV was parked, I hit the comms. “Fallon, they’re out. Wrap this up.”
The hatch opened and Cillian threw an unconscious Fantoni inside, his wrists already tied, gag in his mouth, and a blindfold tight over his eyes, and then the three of them were in the vehicle, with Cillian at the wheel.
“Good work,” I said, more than impressed. We were getting scarily efficient at our jobs.
Fallon got a few more jabs in on the guards before he waved at them and disappeared into the crowd of gyrating bodies that rocked with the music. Five minutes later the back door popped open and he jumped inside the SUV, whooping. His cheeks were flushed and he pumped his fist.
“That was fucking awesome.”
Cillian took off out of the alleyway and onto the street, narrowly avoiding a car, and the driver honked the horn.
“This was too easy,” I said as I stared at the guards who’d returned to their position at the bathroom door like they thought Fantoni was still in there. We got too far away and my connection cut out, so I turned off my iPad and tucked it next to me.
“He’s not an important player,” Cillian grumbled. “They didn’t expect him to be snatched.”
Maybe. I didn’t like it, though.
We dropped Lolli off at the Virtue and paid her a handsome amount of money. She gave Cillian a kiss on the cheek before she disappeared into the whorehouse with a sway of her tiny hips.
By the time we got Fantoni back to Mount Pleasure he was a wriggling mess. He struggled and fought with us as we dragged him inside and up the stairs to the second floor where we had the chair. We tied his wrists and ankles so tightly there wasn’t a chance he could escape. Aspen yanked off the blindfold, and Fantoni’s stare alone cursed us. He wanted us dead.
Cillian grinned and clapped his hands together, walking in front of Fantoni. “There he is. Our friend.”
Fantoni said something through his gag, but it came out as more of a screech around the material than anything else.
Cillian’s smile slid into a smirk. “I bet ye’re not thinking anything nice about us right now, are ye?”
Fantoni struggled against his bonds, glaring at Cillian, who reached over and untied the gag. Fantoni tried to spit at him, but Cillian moved out of the way. “Tu chi sei?”
Cillian backhanded him across the face and split his lip in the process, blood splattering on the wooden floor beside the chair. “Speak English.”
Fantoni’s tongue slid out to swipe across his lower lip, catching droplets of blood. “I said, who are you? You have chosen the wrong fucking Italian to fuck with.” His accent hung heavy in his words.
I stepped closer, and Fallon moved with me until we were directly behind Cillian, giving him support if he needed it. Aspen stood behind Fantoni, a knife he’d retrieved from the toolbox held in his gloved hand.
“I know who ye are,” Cillian said. “Ye’re the cousin of the Giordanos.”
“Then you know you’ve made a mistake,” Fantoni snarled, upper lip curling. “Let me go and they might not kill you.”
Cillian crouched in front of him, and Aspen grabbed a hunk of his hair, tugging his head back and pressing the knife to his neck, in case he thought he’d be smart and try to spit again.
“Listen to me carefully, Marco. Can I call ye Marco?” Cillian patted him on the thigh, and Fantoni froze under the knife to his neck. “We’re not gonna kill ye tonight. We’ve got a message to deliver.”
