Page 14 of The Mobster’s Nurse

5

LUCA

Ilean against the wall. Chewing on a toothpick as I watch Vito raise the hammer, ready to bring it down on the man’s hand. The groom lets out a yell, his face pale, sweat dripping down every inch of his skin. His whole arm is lashed to the table. Each finger tied straight.

He starts to sob, staring up at Vito like he’s looking at the devil. And maybe he’s not far off.

Vito is my most trusted enforcer, a brick wall of a man. Mid-thirties and already turning silver on top, as tall and wide as me. We’ve been together since we were teenagers. He’s got a scar on his chin that resembles a love heart. We sometimes affectionately call him Casanova because of it. But there’s nothing loving about him right now.

“Why do you want to lie to my boss?” Vito says in his low voice.

I approach the table. Vito steps back respectfully. Hammer at the ready.

The groom is forty. Skinny. I don’t feel good about hurting him. But I feel worse about my father’s horses being poisoned and abused. And our business turned into a laughingstock.

“You’re afraid, Jeffrey,” I say.

He nods, blubbering, tears sliding down his cheeks.

“You’re afraid because you think there are more dangerous people out there. You think it can get worse for you. You don’t think we’re the end of the line.” I hold my hand out, and Vito places the hammer in it. “I’ve got news for you, buddy. The Morettis are always the end of the fucking line.”

I grab his wrist. Hold it in place. Raise the hammer over my head and prepare to shatter every remaining bone in his hand.

“Wait!” he cries. “Please, please.”

A pause. I keep the hammer where it is.

“You don’t understand,” he whimpers.

“I understand you’ve been traveling to Boston to see your family. And I understand that your family consists of one cousin with links to the Irish mob. And…”

“I’m not … the mastermind.”

I raise my eyebrow. Waiting. When he doesn’t respond, I slam the hammer down on the table an inch from his hand. Wood splinters fly.

He screams and leans back in the chair. But he can only lean so far with Vito’s meaty hands sinking into his shoulders.

“I won’t miss next time,” I tell him.

“It’s Daryl,” he moans. “The chief VET. I’m sorry. Fuck. He approached me. Threatened my family too if I didn't go along. I swear on my mother that's all I know. Please! He’s been forcing me to go along with it. A few of us.”

I glance at Vito, who gives the merest hint of a nod. “Please, I’m visiting my cousin to … to visit my cousin. That’s it. I swear on my mother. It’s him.”

I nod, step back. “My friend here is going to stay behind and get all the details. Every last one. You’re not going to lie to him, are you?”

“No, no, I swear.”

I shrug. “It’s up to you, Jeff. You will give him every single detail. If you do that and it’s the truth, believe me, we’ll check it out. Then it ends here. Or we can keep going until Vito runs out of things to break. And Vito’s very accident-prone. Your choice. Your fucking choice.”

Leaving the interrogation room, I take out my cell and call Georgio. “Daryl Miller. The chief VET. Pull his phone logs, cross-check dates and times of calls to and from Boston. Then. Find him.”

“Boss.”

I hang up and stride through the villa.

So, was the Irish connection a ghost? Or was Daryl using Jeffrey's cousin as cover — making it look like Boston when it was closer to home all along. Better check that thread more thoroughly. I make a mental note to put someone on that. Rule it in, or eliminate it. That’s gonna cost me time, but it has to be done. Either way, I chased the wrong thread first. Damn!

Maybe Ellie knows where he is.