Page 12 of The Sicilian Brotherhood I

Raimondo scoffed, “Scared? She runs deep in the Sardinian mob. She’s not afraid of anyone. I don’t believe it.”

“I held a gun to her head.”

Raimondo shrugged, “She’s involved with gangsters, she should expect things to be rough once in a while.”

“We’ll get her to open up.”

“And then we’ll get rid of her?”

I pursed my lips. I understood Raimondo wanted her gone and I understood that having a flight risk with a big mouth hanging around could only spell trouble. I had enough of a moral compass to not want to kill her.

“She could be useful to us.”

“How?” Raimondo snorted.

I shrugged. He kept staring at me, his lips curling up into a devilish smile.

“I see what you mean. A little bit of this, huh?” He thrust his hips suggestively as he spoke.

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

“Sure it isn’t boss,” he laughed, smacking me on the back.

“It isn’t. She knows the Sardinians. She probably knows more than where the diamond is.”

“And she’ll tell you about it?” He grunted.

“Maybe.”

“Doubtful. Use her for what she’s good for and let her go.”

“It’s not your call,” I snapped, frustrated with Raimondo’s inability to see how Dahlia would be of better use to us alive and off her back.

“Do you think Santo will agree with you then?” He taunted.

I grunted.

“Right,” Raimondo said, “We’ll see when he gets here.”

Santo arrived in the morning and he brought Pietro and Elena with him. Elena whipped up breakfast while Santo tuned up the bikes. We had a long way to travel and we might have to abandon our long-made plans if Dahlia gave us any new information.

Over breakfast, I announced what I had to.

“She knows where the Pink Star is.”

“From the heist?” Elena asked.

“Silence, Elena,” Pietro growled, “It’s not for a woman to ask questions like that.”

Elena glowered, but she fell silent, shaking her waist-length auburn hair out of her face and blowing her bangs away as she pouted.

“We still cannot allow her to stay with us,” Santo insisted.

“So what? We leave her here?”

Pietro glanced over at Elena and seeing her fixated on her toast, he mimed what he thought should happen to Dahlia, dragging his index finger along his neck.

“Agreed,” Raimondo growled.

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