Sure, there was no love lost between crime families, but the only thing we despised more than each other was the feds.
Talking to the cops wasn’t tolerated—not about anything, not by anyone. It was one of the few sacrosanct laws every last one of us lived by.
“You have no idea. That’s the least of the shit Sal’s been up to in the last year.” Bonetti’s gaze slipped to the side. It was easy to see the gears turning in his mind as a crafty look crept into his eyes. “But I could tell you…Better yet, I could tell the twins. If they knew even a sliver of the truth, they’d kill Sal themselves. Not only that, they’d let me live. I know it.”
There was the desperation I was used to hearing. Bonetti might have taken the long way around, but he’d ended up in the same spot as everyone else—trying to make a deal to save his life.
The only difference was that this time, I was actually interested in hearing what the man had to say.
“What can you tell me?” I asked.
“Lots of things,” Bonetti rushed to say before rattling off a list of Sal’s sins. “His connection with the feds. All the accounting errors in the ledgers. Who was behind Giuseppe’s murder.”
“Wait.” My chest clenched at that last one, my blood running cold. “You know who was behind my papà’s death? And you didn’t say anything until now?”
For the first time, shame flashed over Bonetti’s face. “You don’t stay alive in this business as long as I have by talking. Information is always valuable, and I was keeping it in my back pocket until I needed it for protection…like I do now.”
“Right,” I said, shooting him a hard look. “Then tell me who killed him.”
Bonetti shook his head. “Take me to the twins first. I want their promise of protection before I say a word.”
Nice try, but I wasn’t about to get my brothers’ hopes up on a condemned man’s desperate lies. “This isn’t a negotiation,” I informed him. “Either tell me now or make peace with God.”
Bonetti’s face went white. His lips trembled for just a second before saying, “I don’t blame you for not trusting, Dorian. I wouldn’t believe an old thug like me either…but you don’t have to take my word for it. I have proof.”
“What proof?” I asked, eyeing him skeptically. But I couldn’t resist giving him a chance if it meant finding Giuseppe’s killer.
“I’ll show you. I got it right here.” Bonetti turned around. I stepped forward, stopping right behind him as he slid open one of the kitchen drawers and started rooting around. “Got it!”
Too late, I caught the flash of metal as he spun back around.
Searing pain pierced my right side even as I attempted to lunge out of the way, my reflexes turning what would have been a lethally deep puncture into a long superficial slash instead. Blood poured out, instantly soaking my shirt and dripping onto the floor.
Son of a bitch.
I silently cursed myself for the rookie mistake. I was the Angel of Death, for fuck’s sake. I knew better than to threaten a man and then give him the time and opportunity to arm himself.
But Bonetti had known my weakness. All he had to do was mention Giuseppe, and suddenly, he was playing me like a damned fiddle.
But no more.
Pushing back the shock of surprise and pain, I instantly snaked out my arm, grabbing Bonetti by the wrist. One quick twist and the long butcher knife he’d attacked me with fell into the small puddle of blood at our feet.
He didn’t have a chance to cry out before I swiveled him around and hooked my arms around his neck, squeezing with just the right amount of pressure to knock him out but not irrevocably crush his windpipe.
The moment he was out, I went to work.
A tightly folded dish towel made a decent makeshift bandage, ensuring I didn’t leave behind any more drops of blood while I dragged Bonetti into the bathroom. Once there, I turned on the shower, stripped off his clothes, and placed him in the tub.
Then I bashed the back of the bastard’s head against the edge of the tub.
His blood washed down and circled the drain as I waited for his already weak pulse to stop completely. It took less than a minute and a half.
Once that was taken care of, it was back into the kitchen to clean every last drop of blood off the cracked linoleum floor, scrub the butcher knife, and wipe down any possible trace of my presence.
Just in case the bastard hadn’t been completely bullshitting me, I checked every drawer in the house for any proof of Sal’s wrongdoing. Unsurprisingly, I didn’t find anything.
But just to be safe, I copied all the contacts from his phone onto mine in case I needed to question them later.