Page 60 of The Taste of Deceit

“Bring him to the warehouse.”

Marco nods once.

“Today?”

“Today.”

Mikey’s voice never changes.

“He stole from this family.”

Another pause.

“He doesn’t work for this family anymore.”

Neither Marco nor I asks what that means. We already know. Mikey looks at me.

“You leave for the Bahamas next week.”

“Yes, Boss.”

“Enzo will cover your responsibilities while you’re gone. Get him caught up before you leave.”

“I will.”

He gives a single nod before reaching for the next file on his desk.

“Go to the warehouse.”

Marco is already on his feet.

“Yes, Boss.”

I stand beside him.

“Yes, Boss.”

I kill the engine and sit for a second, staring at the warehouse door. Marco drums his fingers on the dash, waiting. The debt collector is inside, zip-tied to a chair, already sweating through his shirt. We both know what has to happen. He skimmed from the family. From Mikey.

We step out. Inside, the man’s eyes go wide when he sees us.

Marco doesn’t waste time. He walks straight up and drives his fist into the collector’s gut. The man doubles over, coughing.

I grab his hair and yank his head back so he has to look at me.

“Vito, you don’t steal from the boss,” I say. “You took money that wasn’t yours. Now you’re going to understand why that was a mistake.”

Marco hits him again, this time across the face. Blood sprays from a split lip. Vito tries to speak, voice shaking.

“Luca—please—I can pay it back—“

I twist his arm behind the chair until the shoulder strains. He screams. Marco kicks his chair over, sending him crashing to the floor. We keep going—fists, boots, controlled force—until the message is burned into him. He won’t skim again. No one will.

He’s on the concrete now, blood pooling under his face. Marco plants a boot on his ribs and leans down. “You thought you could dip your hand in the boss’s pocket and walk away clean. Wrong. Every dollar you took belongs to the family. Every cent you hid is blood money now.”

Marco grabs his broken arm and wrenches it again for emphasis. Vito howls, body jerking. He grabs him by the collar and slams him back into the chair, then drives his knee into the man’s sternum. Ribs crack under the impact. He wheezes, blood dripping from his mouth onto his shirt.

“Tell me where the rest of the cash is,” Marco growls, twisting the man’s fingers until one pops. “Or I start breaking the rest of you.”