Page 93 of Mafia Don's Secret Twins

Marisol pauses, her fingers lingering on one of the pages of her book. Moretti shifts on his feet, looking over at her.

No, baby. You need to make sure he doesn’t think there’s anythin’ happenin’.

She starts to read again, and the tension in my shoulders dissipates.

Slightly.

“This test will be one of practicality. You see, as the person who will find themselves at the center of my universe, and the one who will handle my business while I enjoy a blissful retirement, you will need to demonstrate an appropriate level of intuition. The last test showed me who was the most bloodthirsty–” his eyes drift over to me “--And this test will show me who can take that level of blood and turn it into a productive element.”

A shiver of unease skates up my spine.

“The leader of my organization will need to understand who to trust, you see. They will need to know who they can rely on to accomplish the needs of the business, and who they will not be able to trust. In the event, of course, that there is a breach in trust, they will need to know who to punish.”

There’s movement off to the right, where the barracks and the garages and all that shit are. I look, turning away from staring at Marisol.

My knuckles go white as I clench my fists against themselves.

Six heavily armed guards are pushing five men forward. The men look like they’re in rough shape; each one has a bag over their head, and their clothes are covered in what looks like blood, with varying states of tears and rips over each one. Some of the clothing is really closer to rags, which makes me wonder how long these men have been imprisoned.

“This is not fuckin’ good,” Johnny says.

Yeah.

He can say that again.

The men are frog-marched forward, then dropped to their knees in front of us. I’d look over at Marisol, but right now, the best thing that I can do is figure out what the fuck kind of fresh hell this is.

If I don’t get out of here, neither does Marisol.

So I need to get my shit together and get the lay of the fuckin’ land.

“In front of you, you see five men. These men are among my staff, men that I had trusted. Men that I thought were on my side, who had passed all my tests. One of them is stealing from me. It is your job to figure out who, and what they stole. You will each receive twenty-four hours with them. Volkov, you will have the first attempt. In an hour you will be escorted to where I am holding them. The rest of you will be fetched as it is your turn. In four days, you will each take your turn to announce who you believe the traitor to be, and what you belive they stole. Now leave,” he barks.

Johnny and I stand. Robotically, we walk toward the barracks, coming close to the prisoners that are being forced to kneel on the ground, their hands tied, guns pointed at the backs of their necks.

It’s chilling.

I’ve seen Elio do some shit. Hell, I’ve seen Marco do some shit. I’ve seen my dad punish someone, and I’ve been in a fight more than once that ended with some pretty brutal fuckin’shit.

This is different.

It feels like I’m watching something that’s supposed to happen in a world I know nothing about. Our world is brutal, but there are rules. There’s a way that you deal with people who have betrayed you, and it’s not usually like this. It’s cleaner. You fuckin’ hurt them back and then they’re either dead or you move on with your life, point blank, period.

This?

This is violence.

I feel uneasy about the whole thing. I don’t know how to interrogate people. That’s Sal’s job. My job is just to beat the shit out of them.

My throat itches where Elio cut it with a knife, once.

I know what it feels like to be tortured, and that’s for damn sure.

When we make it back to the barracks room, I grab Johnny and slam him into my room. “Do you know how to contact Marco?” I hiss.

Johnny’s eyes are wide. “Man, I was just thinkin’ the same thing.”

“No the fuck you weren’t. I want you to get in contact with him, and I’m going to need to talk to Sal.”

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