“Your mother is a crack whore.”
Alex passes me some latex gloves. There’s no fucking way I’m touching thisstronzo’sdick without being gloved up. Sully watches as I pull them on. In seconds, he’s hyperventilating.
“He was Russian! I don’t know his name!”
I pause. This is new information. “Russian? How do you know this?”
“He had an accent, and he…he took a call from a guy…he called him Mikhail…” Snot and tears stream down Sully’s face. I almost feel sorry for him.
The guy is a complete moron. We paid him to manage the street runners, and he was dumb enough to take a bigger cut.
Even worse, when a new supplier began flooding our territory, he tried to flip sides, stupidly thinking he would make more money with the new guy.
I wouldn’t normally get involved in these issues, but I’m crawling out of my skin this evening. Handling this piece of shit seemed like a good way to burn off the excess rage.
Torture probably isn’t the healthiest anger management technique in the world, but whatever. It works for me.
“What did they offer you?”
Sully screams like a girl when I grab his pathetic little cock and hold the tip of my knife to it.
“He said he’d promote me into a management position,” he sobbed.
Alex snorts with amusement from behind me, and I grin. Jesus. Thiscazzois fucking deluded.
Ambition is a good thing. If he’d kept his nose out of the merchandise and avoided spilling his guts to every whore he fucked, he would have scored a promotion within our organization.
Unfortunately, the guy was too busy pumping shit into his veins. I have one rule for my guys on the street: don’t touch the merchandise. Sully broke that rule a million times over, and now he’s paying the price for his stupidity.
“And you believed him?” I have to ask. Curiosity and all.
“Yes!” He blubbers some more and then screams when I stick my blade into his thigh. I am tempted to cut his cock off, but the pathetic little shit would likely bleed out if I did.
“Okay, I’m done here. I’ll let you work on him for a bit,” I tell Alex.
Fina’s coming over, and I need to shower before she arrives. My sister understands the bloody nature of our lifestyle, but she gets pissy when I sit down for dinner still dressed in the remnants of an interrogation. “Let me know if he remembers anything else important.”
“Sure thing, boss.”
I had hoped dealing with Sully would be enough to calm my demons, but darkness lingers on the periphery of my mind.
If only I could ignore the stream of bullshit from my father demanding I find my fucking runaway bride, life would be good.
I’ll find her soon. And when I do, she won’t escape again.
Fina strolls in while I’m texting Kane for an update on his search for my missing wife. As always, my sister looks like a million dollars in her designer suit and heels.
“You look like shit,fratello,” she murmurs in my ear as she kisses my cheek.
“Why thank you,mia cara sorella.” I snort. Fina always tells it how she sees it.
“I’m not joking, Angelo. You really do look like shit. Are you not sleeping?” I read the concern in her eyes and scowl.
“Fina, I’m fine. You need to worry more about yourself than about me. Dad’s talking about marrying you off to one of the Fiorelli brothers again.”
At that, she blanches. “I can’t marry anyone!”
Dammit, I hate seeing her upset. “I know,tesoro, and trust me, it won’t be happening.” The irony of my marriage to Chiara does not escape me, but I shove that thought down. Regret is a waste of my time. I did what I had to do. Until my father is dead, he has the final say in most things.
