“Iswear on my mother’s life, I don’t know what you’re talking about!” the motherfucker screams. His voice is strained, high-pitched. Nothing like the guttural growl it had been when we strapped him into the seat an hour ago.
I guess losing a couple of fingers will do that to a man.
Russian fuck.
I like them even less now than before I’d been hauled around the country in the back of a stinking meat truck.
“Maybe you don’t like your mother so much,” I say, flexing the pruning shears. I reach for the middle finger of his right hand, and he starts to bleat. “You forget, Boris, I have CCTV footage of you in that warehouse.”
“Please! Please!” He strains against the cable ties holding his wrists to the arms of the stout wooden chair. There’s little point. He’ll never get through them. He couldn’t do it before when I sliced through his pinkie and ring finger, either.
“Last chance, Boris,” I say. There’s a faint hint of a flash in his eyes. His name’s not Boris. But I don’t give a fuck. And after the first finger, he stopped spitting in my face every time I used the name. I clamp the shears around his finger, applying pressure.
“Please, I—”
“Boss!”
My head snaps around.
“What the fuck, Mario! I’m busy.” Dammit, the man should know better than to interrupt me at work.
“It’s Mr. Dario, Boss. He asked you to call him. He says it’s important.”
I grunt and drop the shears, reaching for a damp cloth to wipe my hands.
“You carry on here,” I tell my guy. “Find out what he knows about the crates in the warehouse. It’s bad enough they took the gold, but if those black diamonds are gone too, heads are gonna roll.”
I leave the room to the sound of escalating screams. I know I can trust Mario with this task; he learned from the best, after all. Namely me. He knows not to kill him before he gets what we need from him. Though I guess we could always dig up another of these fuckers if this one breaks too soon. God knows it’s easier to track down the bastards working with my uncle than it was to find the little bitch who stole my ring.
I’ve given up on that.
No, you haven’t.
I kick open a door to distract myself. A couple of my guys look alarmed as I do it. Guess I haven’t been my usual sunshiny self these past weeks.
“What do you want?” I start my conversation with Dario by getting straight to the point.
“Did you get the new pics?” he says.
“What?” I frown. There’s a spot of blood darkening the sleeve of my shirt. For fuck’s sake!
“Dani’s pics. He wanted to know if you saw them.”
“Are you serious? Mario said this was important.” He interrupted me to take a look at a bunch of family happy snaps?
“Dude! Just check your messages, goddammit.”
I grudgingly access my screen, scroll to Dani’s name and open the gallery. Dark eyes peer back at me from a little face over a tailored charcoal jacket and crisp black shirt. Just like my own.
Man! The kid’s cute as fuck!
“Ah, very nice.” I smile in spite of myself. “Tell him good job.”
“I will. Though it will be better coming from you. He’s here right now.”
“Hello, Zio!” a little voice pipes up before I can object. “Do you like my new suit?”
“Molto bello, ragazzino!” I say warmly. “Dressed like that, you’ll have the girls on their knees before you hit ten.”
