Page 41 of Nanny for the Don

“I’m going to remove your gag now,” I continue, my voice steady, “and when I do, I expect you to start talking.”

I reach out and yank the gag off, and the man immediately lets out a blood-curdling scream. Without missing a beat, I backhand him hard across the face, the sound of the slap echoing in the room. The scream dies in his throat, replaced by a whimper as he looks up at me with fear-filled eyes.

“Now, ,” I say, my voice cold and commanding. “Let’s try that again. Talk.”

The guy coughs and sputters, looking up at me. “I don’t know anything about your goddamn dad.”

I nod slowly, letting his words hang in the air for a moment. Then, without warning, I rush forward and grab him by his long hair, yanking it back hard. His head snaps back, and he lets out a strained yell of pain.

“You’re in my house now,” I growl, my voice low and menacing. “And while you’re here, you’re going to speak to me with a little more respect. You’ll call me Mr. Conti, and you’ll keep that tone of yours in check.”

He groans, his face contorted in agony, but he stays silent. I keep my grip on his hair, making sure he understands just how serious I am. “Remember what I said about your limbs and fingers,” I continue. “You’d do well to keep that in mind.”

I release him, and he slumps back in the chair, breathing heavily. For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of his ragged breaths filling the room. Finally, he speaks, his voice trembling.“I didn’t kill your father.”

I clear my throat, a warning in the sound. His eyes flicker with fear, and he quickly corrects himself.“I didn’t kill your father, Mr. Conti.”

I nod slowly, my expression unreadable. “Good. Now, what’s your name?”

“Jack,” he answers, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Alright, Jack,” I say, my tone still commanding. “Let’s see if you’ve got anything else worth telling me.”

Jack’s eyes dart around, desperate. “I don’t know anything.”, he stammers, but I can see through the lie.

I step closer. “You’re bullshitting me. I know you’ve got some information—don’t bother trying to deny it. I can tell.”

Jack’s eyes widen in fear. , but he sticks to his story. “You’re wrong,” he insists, but the tremor in his voice betrays him..”

Without another word, I walk slowly over to the wall of the room, my steps measured. There’s a barely noticeable compartment there, one only I know how to open. I press on it, revealing a hidden set of surgical implements. The sight of them makes Jack’s breath hitch, and he starts to struggle against his restraints, but it’s no use.

I run my fingers over the tools, letting the moment drag out. “You know, it’s such a cliché for men like me to use their fists, to hack off fingers, to break kneecaps,” I say, my tone conversational. “And honestly, it’s inefficient. People pass out from the pain before they spill a word.”

I glance back at Jack, and his eyes are locked on the array of gleaming instruments, his terror palpable. I grin, picking up a small scalpel from the rack, turning it over in my hand. “Over the years, I’ve learned to be a little more... precise with my interrogation techniques.”

I step closer, holding the scalpel up for him to see. The sharp edge catches the light, glinting ominously. “Now, Jack,” I say, my voice dropping to a whisper. “Let’s see if this doesn’t jog your memory.”

I move, yanking Jack’s hair back again and pressing the tip of the scalpel against his throat. Just enough to draw a bead of blood, a tiny red dot that stands out against his pale skin. “Talk,” I growl,my voice cold and lethal.

Jack’s eyes widen, but he surprises me. “Or what?” he spits back, his voice trembling but defiant. “You’ll cut my throat? You’ll get nothing that way.”

I’m taken aback for a split second. The guy looked soft, like he’d crumble the moment things got real. But now, with a blade at his throat, he’s showing some spine. There’s clearly more to him than meets the eye.

And he’s not wrong—this guy is our first real lead, and if I end him now, we’re back to square one.

I let him go, releasing my grip on his hair and stepping back. His chest heaves as he catches his breath, the small cut on his throat starting to trickle blood down to his collar. I return to the rack of medical implements, my mind racing. The scalpel feels too final, too crude for what I need right now.

I set it aside, letting my eyes roam over the array of tools, thinking about my next move. One way or another, I’m going to get the information I need out of him.Whether it’s through fear, pain, or something else entirely, this guy is going to talk. It’s just a matter of time.

A grin spreads across my face as my eyes land on just the right tool—a wireless, electric bone saw. I take it from its place, turning toward Jack and revving it up, the blade spinning with a high-pitched whir. The sound alone is enough to send chills down anyone’s spine, and I make sure Jack gets a good look at it.

“You know what this is?” I ask, my voice calm, almost casual. “It’s a bone saw. Incredibly efficient at doing what it needs to do. Sure, smashing fingers with a mallet gets the job done, but this? This is cleaner. Faster.”

Jack’s trying to keep it together, but I can see the sweat beading on his forehead, the way his eyes widen with fear, the early brief flash of defiance gone. He’s on the edge of breaking.

I step closer, the saw buzzing in my hand. “We’ll start small,” I say, my tone almost reassuring, like I’m doing him a favor.. “ Just your pinky.”

Before he can protest, I grab his hand and tie it down onto the arm of the chair, making sure he can’t move. The saw hums as I press the blade against his finger, just enough to let him feel the cold metal..

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