Page 39 of The Enforcer

The fucker was close enough his words reverberated in my ear. I spun and lunged forward, catching the assassin by surprise. As soon as I knocked him to the floor, his weapon was pitched from his hand.

We scuttled and he managed a single punch to my throat before I caught him by his, easily able to crush his windpipe from this angle. Yet I jerked him to his knees, immediately pressing the barrel of my weapon against his temple.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“Just a messenger.”

The building had purposely been made soundproof so there wouldn’t be any complaints with the businesses who were close. While it would be helpful to have my men inside, I certainly didn’t need them. “From?”

“A friend.” He laughed.

I smashed his head against the top of the bar, sending glasses stacked on top crashing to the tile floor.

He groaned but somehow managed to shove me away. While I stumbled backward a couple of feet, I was too fast for him, punching him in the gut. He doubled over, falling on the floor. That allowed me a few seconds to turn on the light so I could see what the fuck I was dealing with.

I moved back around the bar, still pointing my weapon at him. He was dressed casually, as if nothing but a tourist, but the moment I picked up his weapon, I knew he was a hired assassin or a soldier from another crime syndicate.

It would seem our troubles with the Italians would haunt us for a long time to come. Then again, the man had no accent. Perhaps I should keep an open mind. This could be an American. While he steadied himself on the bar, I pocketed his weapon and moved toward him, patting him down.

I’ll be damned if the man didn’t have a wallet.

He didn’t react when I removed it, flipping it open. The driver’s license was from New York. It would seem Dimitrios had been right to worry. “Who sent you?”

“Friends.” He didn’t smirk or groan, but his damn eyes were screaming he was completely amused by what was happening.

I’d come across traitors and enemies who’d either tried to buy or talk their way out of being killed, but this guy acted as if he didn’t give a shit. That was interesting.

“From New York?”

“From all over. You can check my passport as well. I travel a lot.”

What the hell was up with this guy? “Why are you here?”

“Just to issue a warning. Nothing more. I have no intention of killing you.”

He made the comment in the present tense. The guy was cocky as shit and didn’t mind looking right down the barrel to his death.

I lowered my weapon slightly, almost amused by the exchange. “Alright. If that’s the case, I should know who I’m being warned about. Don’t you think that’s a good business practice?”

“Yeah, I guess.” He swept blood from his nose, wiping it on his pants. The guy was cool as a cucumber.

“Then who?”

“Just some friends of yours who don’t want to see you get killed. Stay out of New York and that won’t occur.”

Now we were getting somewhere. “That’s good to know. You can tell them thank you for me.”

“Sure. I’ll do that.”

“Where are you headed now?” I asked. This guy wasn’t going to give up a thing other than exactly what he’d been sent here to do. I’d used methods of interrogation that could break almost anyone. However, I knew when that wasn’t possible. He just didn’t give a shit about what was done to him. That was easy to tell by the number of scars on his arms and his face.

He believed himself stronger, faster, and more highly skilled than I was.

The man had lived through rounds of torture. Or he was ex-military. I honestly didn’t give a shit which. I simply knew it was a waste of time that I didn’t have in an attempt to break him. That didn’t mean I wasn’t watching him carefully. He was here for more than the reason given.

“New York. I need to report in.”

“Of course. Well, give them my regards. I won’t keep you.” I tossed him his wallet. “But I will keep your weapon. Call it a souvenir.”

---