“Mr. Bennici, please.” Franco sucks in a breath and licks his lip caked in blood. “I didn’t—“
“Feed the Amali di Preda information and get caught?” He recoils at my approach. I’ll give him credit for not pissing himself. “That was your first mistake.”
Darkness and humidity bind to the container’s steel. Anyone who steps in here as a guest leaves in pieces.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” A portable light aimed at Franco’s face catches beads of sweat rolling down his bald patches in long trails.
“No?” I tilt my head. “Where did those payments in the bank account you tried to hide come from?”
“There’s no point in lying,” my second-in-command says between bites, bored with the naked man now sobbing in his own piss.
“How convenient that members of Sicily’s oldest mafia knew where to find my locations.” I lower my voice. “Everyone you sent in search of my inventory met an empty warehouse and the end of their lives.”
Chum for offshore fishing expeditions to feed my legal businesses. The same fate Franco will meet under a different blade. No one enters the organization without a thorough background check. Franco’s ties to the Preda weren’t obvious but ran deep.
He yanks at his chains. “Please, Mr. Bennici! I would never betray you or the Scilari. This is a mistake.”
“You’re loyal?” I ask, searching for the first place to cut.
“Y-yes, sir!” he sobs.
“The fifty thousand euros in your account say otherwise.”
Andrea lifts off the wall. “Should I grab the bag? He looks like a shitter.”
“P-please,” Franco pleads.
“What’s the catch of the day?” I ask.
Andrea smirks. “Swordfish.”
“The key to cutting swordfish, Franco, is not to pierce the gut cavity. It’s important to keep the stomach acid away from the meat.”
“Mr. Bennici, I’m begging you!” He stills at the blade to his mouth.
“The time to prove your loyalty was before your betrayal. Fifty thousand is an insult,” I spit. “You would’ve made more in two weeks instead of a onetime payment that cost your life.”
The Scilari is small by design and as strong as our weakest link. Ziu ran a tight ship, as do I. Where there’s loyalty, there are riches; and where there’s disrespect, there’s death.
I pin Franco with a glare and keep my tone low. “I’m going to remove your flesh in slabs; we’ll use them to fish. One of my chefs will cook your skin to feed my dogs. They’re a little hungry now and could use a snack. Say your last rites.”
Franco’s scream curdles as my knife pierces his belly. The blade slides across his gut like butter. Horns signaling an incoming shipment drown the wails coating the container. Blood soaks my fishing apron with a slice to his neck. Franco’s body jerks, his head falling to the side and his guts spilling to the floor. A smile tips my lips at the blank stare settling into his lifeless eyes.
“And I’m the sick one for eating stigghiola?” Andrea shakes his head with a snort. He frowns at the tarp below Franco’s body. “Told you he was a shitter.”
I wipe my brow and return the knife to the table. “Call the cleaning crew and Chef Forte.”
“You’re really feeding him to your dogs?”
“When do I not? They appreciate the bones.” The intestines hanging out of his stomach will make for a nice treat.
Andrea’s laugh shakes the polo shirt he kept clean. “You need a hobby.”
“I’m not the one who uses people for target practice,” I say over my shoulder.
He shrugs. “They deserved it.”
Andrea and I met after I moved to Gela to live with Ziu. He’s become a brother and is a general in the organization who runs the manufacturing side of my business as a partner.
