As soon as I step into the room, one of my soldiers removes the burlap hood from Lazaro’s head. It’s time for him to wake the fuck up. I’m pleased to see that his usual calm demeanor’s gone.
“What the?—?”
“All I want are answers to my questions.” I stop a couple of feet in front of him. He’s chained hand and foot to a chair that’s bolted to the floor. He’s not going anywhere, ever, unless he has some damn good excuses.
“Don Pontrelli, what’s this all about? You can’t do this to me.” His bewildered gaze flits around the room at the four other men standing watch. Soldiers. Witnesses.
“Tell me the truth and I might let you live. Lie to me and I will have to kill you, and I’ll be sure to take my time.Capire?”
His wide eyes land on me. He nods. “Capisco.”
“Buono.Do you know a man named Nero?”
He hesitates. “Yes. Nero Pagalia. He runs bets in Jersey. What does he have to do with anything?”
“Not that Nero,” I grind out. “I’m asking about Nero Mosetti.”
“Never heard of him.”
I scrutinize him. He’s more relaxed now. Calm, as if he’s confident I’ll give him a quick death once this is all over.
I dive deeper. “You don’t work for Nero Mosetti? You’re not stealing my goods to sell to him?”
“Like I said, never heard of him.”
“Then why the fuck did you steal my cargo?”
He hesitates for a long moment before answering with a shrug. “Just wanted to make some extra cash on the side.”
We both know that’s bullshit.
“Did you have anything to do with Julius’s death?” My question drops like a weight between us.
“Yes.”
I’m slightly taken off guard by his honest response. Maybe this won’t be too painful for either of us after all. At least not until the end when Lazaro’s executed for his crimes.
“How were you involved?”
He grins, smug as fuck. “I slit his throat.”
“Why did you do that?”
“Because he was too smart for his own good. He found me out. He wanted in on the pie, and thought he could blackmail me. So I had to kill him. He was a piece of shit anyway.”
“What did he find out about you? You mean the stolen merchandise?” Or does he mean something else?
“That and other things,” he answers vaguely. He’s testing my damn patience.
“What else,” I demand.
He stares me right in the eyes. “That I’ve been disloyal to my don.”
“I see. Which don is that? Were you disloyal to Don Lorenzo or Don Davide?”
“Both.”
“Why?”
