Page 49 of Unspoken Ties

No one turned their heads when we walked in. In places like these, you didn’t ask questions. You didn’t make eye contact unless you were looking for trouble. The regulars kept their heads low, their eyes glued to the amber liquid in their glasses or the faded poker cards in their gloved hands.

I scanned the room subtly, trying to spot Jules among the mixture of scruffy dock workers and convicts. He was easy to find. The man was nestled in a corner, hunched over a half-empty glass of what looked like bourbon, his lanky figure impossible to miss.

“Go close out his tab,” I said to Rocco.

People would look the other way if you started a fight in the bar. But if you walked out without paying, the bartender wouldn’t hesitate to hold a gun to your temple until you paid up.

Rocco nodded and made his way to the bar counter, sliding a wad of cash toward the barkeep who raised an eyebrow but said nothing. I locked eyes with Emilio, giving him a nod before we both started moving, casually making our way towards Jules.

The man was entranced in his drink, his eyes reflecting the amber swirls in his glass, seemingly oblivious to our approach.

“Jules,” I said, my hand clamping down on his shoulder. “Let’s have a little chat outside.”

Jules looked up at me from his drink with a start, the blood draining from his face as he registered my presence. He tried to pull away, but my grip on his shoulder was firm. I leaned in closer and shot him a deadly smile, the kind that said he wasn’t escaping this situation without some collateral damage.

“Who the hell do you think you are?” Jules stuttered, attempting to recover his composure. His eyes darted to thebarkeep, but the man was studiously polishing a glass, detaching himself from whatever was about to go down.

“Someone you really shouldn’t have pissed off,” I replied, my voice level. I tightened my grip on Jules as I attempted to get up. “Let’s head outside.”

Without another word, I forced him out of his seat and led him toward the door. His resistance was feeble, his movements sluggish from the alcohol. We passed by the pool tables where a couple of patrons stopped their game to watch us. Their eyes followed us to the door, but they didn’t interfere. They knew better than to meddle in the affairs of others - especially when those others were men like me.

As we stepped out into the night, the chill air hit our faces. The bar’s flickering neon sign barely illuminated the grimy alleyway, casting long, ominous shadows on the graffitied brick walls. Vincenzo and Felix waited for us outside, emerging from the shadows.

Jules blanched at the sight of Vincenzo, his feeble protests dying in his throat. The man stood over six and a half feet tall, and looked like he was built of rock. Each time his fist connected with someone, it was like a sledgehammer hitting a brick wall — utterly devastating. And Felix was just as dangerous. He had a short fuse and made impulsive decisions — the kind of man who’d shoot first and ask questions later.

“Tell me about that note, Jules,” I said, resisting the urge to slam his face into the side of the building.

“Look, I can explain,” Jules stammered, his back pressed against the cold brick wall as he tried to widen the distance between us.

I cut him off with a sharp gesture, my face darkening. “No, you don’t explain. You answer,” I said, my voice barely above a deadly whisper.

“But—”

“Now.”

“Okay! Okay...” He began to ramble, his voice shaking, eyes flitting between Vincenzo, Felix, and myself. “It was just business, okay? Just a job, that’s all it was. A job.”

“Obviously,” Emilio scoffed from behind us.

Jules continued, never taking his eyes off me. His voice was shaky, trembling with fear. “I’m telling you the truth, alright?! They said it was a simple job, just pass some girl a note to strike some fear into her.”

“Who is ‘they?’” I said, growing impatient.

“Th-they didn’t give names,” Jules stuttered, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Just an envelope of cash and the instructions. Pass the note to the girl in the photo.”

Fuck. I could tell when men were lying to me - a skill I had gained over years on the job - and he didn’t look like he was. “What did they look like?”

“Rich. Real rich. They had Rolex’s that were real - I used to sell fake ones, so I could spot it was legit immediately.”

“A lot of people in this city are rich, Jules,” I growled. “Give us something more.”

“They were... old money rich. Not new tech billionaires. They carried themselves different, like they owned the world. One of them was older, in his sixties maybe, with grey hair and these piercing blue eyes. The other one... he was younger, mid-thirties or so.”

The back door to the tavern opened. A drunk man stumbled out, completely unaware of our presence, and started pissing against the back of the building. We should get out of here and take our business elsewhere.

“You’re coming with us,” I said to Jules, not sure if we would need more information from him. “Until we find these men, you can have a short stay in our warehouse.”

I didn’t mention that the stay ended with a complementary bullet through his temple.

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