Big, fat tears rise up from the depths of his eyes and roll down his cheeks. “P-please, please, I—I don’t,” he hiccups and continues, “I d-don’t know anything.”
Tommaso’s expression doesn’t change as he quickly and methodically removes the man’s clothes, cutting away his shirt with the knife before moving on to the man’s pants. By the time he has his boxers left, the man on the table is sobbing openly. He’s definitely not one of Cesari’s top brass. Then again, we knew that. The uppermost members of the Cesari Syndicate are too difficult to get to without careful planning. That’s not why he’s here.
This man, Gerard, is here because he was seen with the deceased quite often. There is photographic evidence of hismany nights spent in bars and clubs in Cesari’s territory with the dead man at his side.
Now that Tommaso has finished the start of Gerard’s mind fuck, I step back up to the table and hold the picture out again. “I want a name,” I say this time. I wiggle the paper back and forth. “You’re not protecting him. As you can tell, he’s already dead. You will be, too, unless you answer my questions.”
As if a bolt of courage overtakes the man, Gerard strains against his bonds and hocks a ball of spit at me. I dodge to the side, avoiding the disgusting animal reaction. “Fine,” I snap, “then I’ll see if you’re more open to talking after my friend is done with you.”
Alonzo shoves the strap of leather back between Gerard’s lips just as Tommaso reaches for a set of pliers. With the toe of my shoe tapping incessantly against the stone floor of the warehouse, I wait and watch as Tommaso expertly removes several of the man’s fingernails before moving on to his toenails. When all ten are gone, Tommaso moves on to the bolt cutter.
Heavy breaths and muted screaming start up all over again as he takes it to Gerard’s pinkies. First one and then the other. I have half a mind to let Tommaso take all of his fingers and toes before I stop him, but I’d rather have the information.
The second he sees me move, Tommaso finishes with Gerard’s left pinkie toe. The fleshy plop of it hitting the floor makes me wish I could immediately jump into a shower following this. It’s part of the job, yes, but that makes it no less filthy.
Alonzo removes the strap of leather to Gerard’s sobs and hacking coughs. Thirty seconds later, I hold the picture up again. “Ready to answer me?” I ask.
“H-his name’s Monty,” Gerard says, breathing heavily as his face pinches tight in pain. Yeah, having all of your nails ripped free and some pinkies and toes removed will do that to you.
“He works for Cesari,” I say. It’s not a question, but Gerard nods quickly.
“O-older than h-he looks,” Gerard says.
Then Dante might have been right—the one who attacked Daisy was likely a part of Vito Cesari’s circle. I lower my arm and look Gerard in the eyes. “What do you know about any hits out on Luciani Family members?”
Brows furrowing despite the pain he’s in, Gerard shakes his head as much as he can in his restraints. “N-no hits.”
“Boss, maybe we should show him—”
“No,” I snap, cutting Alonzo off, already knowing what he’s about to suggest. The thought had crossed my mind for half a second before I’d dismissed it. If we let this guy go, I don’t want him to know what Daisy looks like. He won’t get a picture of her.
“Should I continue?” Tommaso asks.
I shake my head and instead, refocus my attention on Gerard. “My wife was attacked a few weeks ago,” I tell him. “This man,” I pause and hold the picture up again, “tried to kill her.”
Once again, Gerard tries to shake his head. “No!” he cries out. “No! I—I didn’t try to—”
I cut him off as I toss the picture of Monty to Alonzo. “Of course you didn’t try to kill her,” I snap, “but you knew the man who did.”
Setting my hands palms down against the edge of the table, I lean in until I can practically smell the sweat and fear rolling offhim in waves. “If you want to make it out of here alive, you’re going to tell me everything you know about your friend. Who he hung out with. How many times he met up with the new head of Cesari. Who he fucked. Who he hated.” I stab him to the table with a dark look. “You’re going to tell me everything, or else”—I glance pointedly up at Gabe—“I’m going to let my friend here play with you some more.”
More tears, racking sobs. Annoying half-choked pleas. I close my eyes and inhale through my nose before releasing the air back through my lips. When I open my eyes again, I level him with an indifferent stare.
“You have two options, Gerard,” I say, holding up two fingers. One goes down. “You either talk and live.” The second one goes down. “Or you don’t give me what I want, and you die. Slowly and painfully. It’s your choice.”
Just like that, words spring from Gerard’s dried-out lips. Monty, short for Monticello Bell. Half Italian. Raised outside of New York, but worked under Vito Cesari and, to Gerard’s knowledge, had no contact with the new head.
It doesn’t prove anything, but as I leave the warehouse later and get into the back of a car driven by Alonzo, I wonder if perhaps I’m missing something. My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I reach down and withdraw it, checking caller ID before I hit answer.
“I’m leaving the warehouse now,” I say. “Gerard knew some, but definitely not enough to figure out if the current head is behind Daisy’s attack.”
“I think we can still assume that Cesari was behind Isa’s murder,” Dante says on a sigh.
“Agreed.” The car turns a corner and slows at a stoplight. “What else have you managed to find out?”
“I’ve looked into the new head,” he answers right away. “Emilio Cesari is Vito Cesari’s first nephew by his sister. The Lady Cesari died about ten years ago, and Emilio was raised by his uncle. He’s young for a head—only twenty-seven. His right hand is a bit older, almost forty. He wasn’t a part of Vito’s old guard. His name is Leonardo Ventura.”
Pinching the bridge of my nose between a thumb and forefinger, I try to stave off the headache that threatens to blossom. “Do you think they are the ones after Daisy?” I ask after a beat of silence.
