Page 84 of Resisting Royal

CHAPTER 43

ROYAL

The weight of Bianca’s ring was heavy in my pocket as I stood outside the door of the town’s best pizzeria. It was after closing, and I had just watched the last of the hired staff walk out through the back-alley door, leaving Mario Alfonsi alone in the building.

Normally, I would pay a hefty bonus and send one of my men to take care of my business. But the death of my wife’s father, the reason I’d spent the sleepless nights wishing my wife was near, well—this was definitely personal.

It was hard to pinpoint the offender of this crime, but that didn’t stop me from trying. Hell, I spent every damn night tearing through town, forcing my way in, trying to find the truth. It wasn’t bloodless, it wasn’t clean, but a week and a half into my rampage, someone finally caved.

He was a low-level scavenger, as far as I was concerned. A nothing in this world, only put here to do the dirty work people with any sort of moral compass wouldn’t. That’s why I had no problem at all dangling him by his throat over the building’s edge.

“I heard you might know who killed Frank Moretti.” I squeezed slightly, and his body jerked.

He clawed at my arm. “No.”

“No? I’ve heard it from more than one source.” I took my knife out, running the tip along vital body parts before I sliced into one of his wrists. It was a superficial wound, but enough to have someone question if he intended suicide or if this was murder.

He tried to scream, but my grip closed off his air. His eyes bulged, his fingers losing their grip on my coat’s sleeve. After a few moments, when his life began to fade, I pulled him back onto the ledge, loosening my fingers to allow him air.

“Frank? Who killed him?”

He was crying now, they always did. I got it, he was stuck between a rock and a hard place. No real choice was going to be good for him, both had consequences. But, I was the now. I was the situation at hand and way more fearful than anyone he would face. I squeezed again, using my strength to push him backward, holding him in the air with the ledge just out of reach.

“I can’t,” he gasped through his frantic attempt at freeing himself, an action that I never really understood. If someone does manage to free themselves from being dangled over the side of a building, where do they expect to go? The only option at that point is down.

“You want me to let you go?” He nodded, panic clearly taking over his thinking. “Who. Killed. Frank?”

It had been almost twenty minutes of this game, and I was tired. All I needed was a fucking name, not his damn social security number, and last known address. I squeezed again, and this time, he caved, letting out a barely audible, “Alfonsi.”

“Alfonsi?” I repeated, and the scum nodded.

“Thank you. Now was that so hard?” I released my fingers from his neck, waiting to hear the screams stop and the telling sign of his body splattering to the pavement from five floors up.

I blinked back the thoughts, clearing my mind and focusing only on the task in front of me, the job sitting on the other side of the steel door, pushing papers around like he hadn’t inconvenienced my life. I turned the knob, not shocked that it was unlocked. Men like Alfonsi are cocky, thinking no one would ever come for them, not with all the strength and power they had backing them up. Maybe it was true, no one in the past would dare touch Alfonsi, until me.

I crept past the door and into the shop, sticking against the wall as I traveled through the building. The lights were out, except for a single light streaming from a door that was left ajar twenty feet away. Without much thought, I grabbed a cleaver from the drying rack and tossed it in the air, watching it spin before I caught it by the handle.

My steps were silent as I approached the door and peeked inside, seeing Alfonsi hunched over a pile of paperwork, his computer screen open to the latest news article. Ironic that a man would be reading a report on the man he murdered just as justice was served for the crime.

I pushed the door, a squeak filling the room, and Alfonsi jumped, reaching under his desk, but I was quicker. I launched the cleaver toward him, effectively sliding the blade into the palm on the desk, severing two fingers. “Don’t move.”

I pointed the gun at him as he cursed and screamed, blood oozing onto the desktop calendar. “Fuck you!”

“Ehh, I would rather skip that.” I shook my head to the side, instructing him to move away from the desk. He obliged, like the smart, little, weak man he was. “Rumor has it you killed Frank Moretti.”

A smug look crossed his face, even as he cradled his three-fingered hand to his chest. “Rumor, huh? There are always rumors about me.”

“In this case, I have no doubt it would be true.” I walked closer, pulling a chair up so that I sat parallel from him.

He shrugged. “Could be, couldn’t be, I can’t rightly remember.”

This man acted like he was in the position to barter in guilt and innocence. I used the barrel of my gun to point at the screen of his computer. “Keeping up with the news.”

His face paled. “A little. Nothing too important, really, just an evening read.”

“Convenient, don’t you think? That you just happen to be reading about the man you can’t recall owing you money.”

Another shrug. “I can’t control what the news reports.”

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