Page 43 of Married to the Mafia

The older man gaped at him for a second, obviously thrown by the change in subject. “What the fuck?”

Mikey tapped the blade against the shin he’d previously kicked. “You owe someone, or their organization, a debt. Probably several, but right now I’m most interested in one based out in Vegas. Give me a name.”

“Fuck you!”

“Sounds like someone has a little too much oxygen in his lungs,” Cris said. Wesley promptly made another strangled sound and Cris continued to speak over him. “My cousin asked you a very important question. Why don’t you put your best effort into convincing us you’re not the terrible father we think you are, and share what you know? For her sake.”

Mikey watched with feigned patience as Cris eased his grip again and Wesley sucked down more air, glaring around the room as if it would help.

“I knew,” Wesley panted, “I knew getting into bed with you De Salvos was going to be a fucking nightmare. But this is outrageous!”

“Sir,” someone said from behind them. “We brought a tarp for you.”

Wesley paled.

“Excellent,” Dante said as Mikey stood. “Let’s get our uninvited guest set up.”

Mikey moved back, standing beside his brother as Cris helped the guards maneuver Wesley and his chair onto the surface of the tarp that suddenly took up most of the room. The process was clunky, but it served a purpose, and once it was done it would be much easier for the cleaners to do their part.

“Shit,” Wesley said, his eyes bugged out as he did his best to look everywhere at once, “you bastards are crazy. What the hell is this? Did Brandi put you up to this? Or are you buying her off, too? Did that disloyal slut sell me—”

Mikey slipped the blade he still held into Wesley’s right arm, carefully avoiding major veins. “New rule. You never say Brandi’s name again. You never refer to her, in any way whatsoever, again. Every time you do, I find somewhere new to bleed you.” He extracted the blade and watched Wesley’s face contort in pain.

If one small stab in the arm hurt so obviously, Wesley was not going to enjoy what was coming.

“I’ll sue you,” Wesley said with a shuddering breath. “I’ll sue all goddamn three of you so hard, your children will be paying me off when they’re grown!”

Mikey sighed. “Really?”

“Now I want to see if he actually has a spine,” Cris said.

Something scratched through the air and the distinct scent of smoke followed as Wesley’s gaze locked in on something to Mikey’s other side. “That sounded like a threat,” Dante said. “Do I look like a man who stands idly by when someone threatens his unborn son?”

Mikey moved to the side, not in the mood to get caught in his brother’s sparked temper.

Dante pressed a burning match against the still-bleeding stab wound in Wesley’s arm.

Wesley screamed out. His head fell back as his shoulders and legs jerked from the pain.

Mikey wrinkled his nose at the stench of burning flesh that followed. He knew a lot of the men carried nose clips to protect themselves from having to breathe that in, but Cris had been right that it had been literal years since he’d waded into an active scene. He had made the egregious mistake of not even owning a pair. A mistake he was definitely rectifying.

Dante pulled his hand away and let the half-charred match drop to the ground. “Consider that your warning.”

Heaving ragged breaths, Wesley panted, “Y-you can have her. Do whatever you want with that overpriced brat. Just let me go!”

“What was that?” Mikey asked. He stepped directly in front of Wesley again and pressed the tip of the dagger to the top curve of Wesley’s left leg, just above the kneecap. “I distinctly remember telling you not to talk about my fiancée.”

“I remember, too,” Cris said.

Mikey swept the blade down, letting it glide along Wesley’s knee with just enough pressure to slice through the fabric of his pantleg and bite into the skin beneath. The cut would sting and bleed, but not profusely. It was all about the psychological impact. “Now, Wesley,” he said, talking over the man’s sharp gasp, “tell me about Vegas.”

“Vegas is crap,” Wesley bit out. “I’ve been there a handful of times, maybe. How the fuck do I know which time you want to know about?”

“You owe money, Wesley,” Dante said. “That’s not the sort of thing a man like you forgets.”

Wesley’s chest heaved and he made a show of rolling a glare in Dante’s direction. “Everyone who’s ever set foot in that shit town owes money. It’s a fucking trap. So what?”

Mikey slid the tip of his dagger up the inside of Wesley’s thigh as his patience frayed. “One of your debtors has come to collect,” he said, “and they thought they could use my woman as leverage. Now, you and I both know that tactic won’t work on you.” He pressed the blade in until all the color drained from Wesley’s face. “But I need to know where to aim when I strike back. Understand?”

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