Then they duct-taped his hands together, hoisted him up on one of the meat hooks, and I went to town.
He blacked out in two minutes. Or at least he stopped making noise.
I’m pretty sure he was dead after the first five.
Didn’t matter. I kept going.
There is absolutely no substitute for the feel of your fists slamming into a real human being. Nothing else will prepare you for a fight like that does.
I’d already turned the bookie’s face into a bloody pulp when Romeo, one of my top guys, walked in. He was a big guy – 6’3” and built – and normally acted like nothing phased him. But today he looked worried.
“There’s something you should see.”
He held out his phone and showed me a news program while I pulled off my blood-soaked hand wrappings.
Thebookie’sblood. Not mine.
A cable news anchor was talking over a shot of Milan.
“…prison guards have put down a major riot at San Vittore, the notorious Milanese prison that houses hundreds of members of organized crime groups. Authorities report at least a dozen inmates were killed during the violence.”
“Get me the warden,” I snapped at Romeo.
Thirty seconds later, I was on the line with the top dog.
Actually, ‘top dog’ was way too generous. He was a mealy-mouthed little pussy who would drop his pants and bend over for a couple thousand euros.
“Is my father okay?” I asked angrily.
“Signor Caproni,”the warden whimpered,“I’m afraid I have some terrible news…”
My father was dead.
Somebody had slit his throat.
Not only that, but they’d killed five of Papa’s guys.
“WHO WAS IT?!” I screamed at the warden.
He didn’t know.
“FIND OUT!” I roared, then threw the phone across the room.
Romeo backed out of range of one of my punches.
He was smart. If it had been anybody else, I would’ve put them up on a meat hook to work out my rage.
“Is Don Caproni okay?” he asked quietly.
“He’s fuckin’ dead,” I said.
I paused for a second –
Then burst out laughing.
Just howling.
The concrete meat locker echoed with my laughter.
