“I’m done listening.”
Marco Santini stops mid-sentence, his eyes dropping to the weapon. He’s been in this business long enough to know what it means when someone like me loses patience.
“This is unnecessary,” he says carefully. “We can work out a deal. My family has always respected your territory?—”
“Your family has been moving product through my docks for three months without paying tribute. That’s not respect.”
“It was a misunderstanding?—”
“No. It wasn’t.”
Marco’s hands flatten against the table, palms down. Sweat beads on his upper lip despite the cold air-conditioning. “Cassian, we can fix this?—”
I pick up the gun and stand. Declan moves from his position by the door, blocking the exit.
“You’re right,” I say. “We can fix this.”
I shoot him in the knee.
The gunshot cracks through the room, and Marco goes down screaming. His chair tips backward, and he hits the floor hard, both hands clutching his leg while blood spreads across the carpet.
“That’s for the first month,” I say over the noise. “You have two more months to pay for.”
I shoot his other knee.
The second scream is worse than the first. Marco writhes on the floor, and his face has gone white except for two bright red spots high on his cheeks.
I stand over him and wait for the screaming to turn into sobbing.
“Get him out of here,” I tell Declan. “Make sure his family gets the message. Tribute is due by Friday, or I’ll finish the job.”
Declan nods and gestures to the two men outside. They drag Marco out, leaving a blood trail across the carpet.
When the door closes, Declan turns to look at me. “That was extreme,” he says.
“It was necessary.”
“You could have made the same point without putting two bullets in him.”
“Could I?”
We stare at each other. Declan has been my right-hand man for fifteen years. He’s seen me do worse. But there’s something in his face now that I haven’t seen before.
“Say what you want to say,” I tell him.
“You’ve been different these last four months. Extremely violent. Making decisions that surprise people.”
“Good. People should be surprised.”
“It’s making them nervous, Cass. Our own people are starting to wonder if you’re losing control.”
“I’m not.”
“Then what do you call shooting a man twice when a warning would have sufficed?” Declan’s voice stays level. “You’re burning bridges we spent years building.”
“For respect.”
“Respect built on fear doesn’t last.”
