Page 15 of Taboo Flames

My eyes narrow in suspicion. “Who’s been paying her bills?”

Fiore shrugs. “He mentioned that his cousin Santos paid off everything the other day.”

A link was forming in my head. “And where does Santos work?”

“At the mechanic. That run down one close to Donna’s brothel.”

“Let’s go find our mole,” I say through clenched teeth. I turn and walk right out of the warehouse toward my blacked-out, bulletproof SUV waiting outside.

I pull away from the lot and gun it toward the location of the mechanic shop, the view outside flying past my window. From my rearview mirror, I can see two cars belonging to Fiore and another of the men following closely behind.

It takes twenty minutes to get to the shop. I park halfway across the street and climb out of the car, taking a moment to rein in my fury. I’m going to deal with Santos—that much is certain—but I plan to take my time and teach him a lesson he won’t forget in a hurry.

When I walk into the mechanic shop, the noise dies down, all the men pausing in their tracks to stare at me in panic. I sweep my gaze through the faces there, not recognizing any of them as Santos.

The owner of the shop comes out of his office and approaches me warily. “Lombardi,” he greets and nods respectfully.

I nod back. “I’m looking for Santos.”

He lets out a sigh of relief, probably at the fact that he isn’t in any trouble. “He isn’t here. That fool hasn’t shown his face in two days. We’ve left him a million messages as well. Not even Tippy’s seen him.”

“Sir, he has family in Palermo,” one of the mechanic boys says. “His pa owns a bread store.”

“Get the address,” I tell Fiore before walking out of the shop.

Minutes later, we are heading in the opposite direction toward the small store we were directed to. I’m going to kill that bastard with my bare hands for making me go on this wild goose chase.

We park on the street outside and my men immediately rush in to grab Santos while I take my time lighting a cigar and leisurely walking in. Santos is being dragged out of one of the inner offices while his father just stares in resignation.

Good. His begging and pleading would have been worthless otherwise.

“Sir, I’m sorry. I had no choice,” he grovels as soon as he sees me.

“We always have a choice. You just chose wrong.”

“She was dying,” he pleads. “She’s the only mother I’ve ever known.”

I extinguish my cigarette on the counter behind me, then turn around to face him. “If you had come to me with your problem, I’d have helped you. But instead, you chose to steal from me. You chose to work with my enemies. I don’t tolerate a lot, but I tolerate betrayal even less.”

“Boss—”

“Take him to the Garage.”

The Garage is the name of the location where we hold our enemies and traitors captive. It is, for all intents and purposes, a torture house.

“No, no. Please,” Santos screams and begs as he is dragged out of the store.

“Will you kill him?” his father asks in a small, broken voice.

I look at him for a moment, wishing my own father could have mustered even a fraction of this worry and care for me, and then I walk away without giving him a reply.

By the time I get to the Garage, Santos is strung up by his ankles on the chains attached to the high ceilings.

He is already sweating with the blood flowing down to his head. I grin. I haven’t even begun, and he already looks so miserable. When I’m done with him, he’ll be barely recognizable.

I take off my jacket and hang it on one of the hooks on the wall. Then I walk to the metal table full of different torture tools.

“Which one shall I begin with?” I ask no one in particular.

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