Emin pulled out a gun and aimed it at me. “Let him go.”
Slowly, my head lifted, my eyes skating upward from my struggling cousin to the Armenian fucker. Silence descended on the room. The dons and underbosses who knew me, driftedtoward us, their expressions a mix of curiosity and shock, no doubt waiting to see how this would play out.
“I said, let him go.” Emin jerked the gun forward.
Head titled, my quiet chuckle stilled my cousin’s squirms, widened the older man’s eyes and had some of the others take a step back. “His greed threatened my brother’s life and anyone who knows me, knows I don’t take lightly to that,” I growled, giving my free hand a subtle shake to letVerità, I kept hidden in my sleeve, slide into my palm.
Surprised, Emin’s eyes jumped from my face to the large blade and back. “What about my brother, you bastard?” The show of confidence didn’t fool me, I detected the underlying fear in his words.
I shrugged. “Not my problem. He should’ve known better than to offer us young girls.”
“What?” Emin looked confused for a moment, his gun dipping lightly.
“Hmm.” I grinned. “Looks like my cousin didn’t give you all the details, did he?” I let go of Tony’s neck.
He jolted upright, coughing relentlessly to get his breathing under control. “Jesus, fuck, Remo!” he rasped, massaging his neck. “You almost killed–”
“What is he talking about, Tony?” Emin asked, cutting off his rant.
“We…um…he…” he began then trailed off.
“Speak!” Emin barked.
Nodding, Tony took a deep breath. “Everyone knows the Rossi coke is unmatched this side of the state lines. Superior product, no adulterants, mind-blowing euphoria and fuck all come down. Your brother wanted to get his hands on their product for distribution in Europe. Instead of cash, he offered them young girls as payment.”
The Rossi’s were old money. Sovereigns of crime, from laundering fortunes through legitimate businesses and classy casinos, distributors in military grade weapons to high-end drug merchants but we never touched human trafficking, not even with a fingertip.
Emin muttered something in his language. It didn’t take genius to figure out he was cursing his brother.
“Why don’t you tell him who introduced his brother to us, Tony?” My words pulled Emin’s quizzical look.
Tony swallowed, his expression going from pussface to vomit green, knowing his game was up. “You have to understand, Emin, I–”
“Who!” the older man bellowed.
“Someone told your brother I was related to the Rossi’s, he came looking for me at a club. We got talking and then he asked if I wanted to taste his girls. After, he suggested I set up a meet with Lorenzo. I told him not to take any girls with him, he didn’t listen. The second he offered up the girls, he was told to get lost. He made the mistake of pulling a gun on Lorenzo and…” he trailed off, his eyes darting to my face.
“You cunning bastard.” Emin slapped him across the face, hard enough to make his body jolt sideways, opening the cut on his lip and forcing him to grab the table to keep from losing his balance.
“I’m sorry, Emin, I’ll make it up to you.” Tony dabbed at the blood on his lips. “I got this deal all lined up for you.” He pointed to the guns on the table.
Bloodlust ignited inside me, decimating that last sliver of control. “You slimy peace of shit,” I sneered, pulling both their attention.
Tony barely noticed the machete before it fell to his hand holding the table. I closed my eyes, savoring the harmoniousmelody of bone shattering as his hand parted clean off at the wrist.
“What the fuck?” Tony’s scream merged with startled curses and howls of laughter from the others. Dropping to his knees, he clutched his bleeding wrist to his chest, his upper body rocking back and forth as if it would help in some way.
“That’s for stealing from us.”
“You sick fuck.” Tears rolling down his cheeks, he glanced around while his agonized sobs echoed through a room filled with vindictive men who wouldn’t bother helping him, not if I was still there.
Hearing the commotion, Gian ran to my side, his gun drawn, his face taut with concern until he noticed Tony and his eyes shifted to the dripping machete I held at my side. His jaw flexed and his lips pursed into what I’d almost consider a pout. “I missed all the fun?” he accused, watching Tony slowly rise. Gian’s bloodlust might rival my own, he had yet to learn how to control it.
A humorless smile tugged at one corner of my mouth. “Not yet.”
Tony froze mid-motion, hunched over his ruined wrist, blood dripping steadily between his fingers. His head jerked up, face slick with tears and sweat, lips trembling around a snarl he didn’t have the strength to hold. “Not yet?” he rasped. “You cut my fucking hand off. What more do you want, you psycho?”
I let the machete rest against my shoulder, studying him like he was something I’d already decided to break. “Your head.”
