Page 8 of Vito

He grunts, turning away. "Is that how you live?"

I've never really felt guilt for punishing and killing my family's enemies. It's how I'm programmed and what makes me the asset that I am.

He carries the large dustpan to dump the glass and liquid into a large sieve in the sink behind the bar. After draining the alcohol, he dumps the glass into the bin.

I walk to the jukebox, select various songs, and press play. Then, I reach around the back to where the volume is and turn it low. Gus gives me a quizzical look.

"I like music when I work." I often listen to some kind of thumping music as I work in my playroom. Not too loud, though, because I don't want it to drown out the screams and wails of whoever I am tormenting.

He raises a brow. "Work? As in, cleaning here? A big, deadly, importantstronzolike you?"

I smirk at his use of the Italian word for asshole.

I roll up my sleeves and grab another broom to mimic Gus's cleaning method. We work silently for an hour, cleaning all the glass and liquid.

When we finish, Gus stands by the pool of dried blood still left on the floor, staring down at it. "Aiken didn't deserve this."

I join him. In my mind, I can still see Aiken lying there, his eyes open and vacant, his body stabbed and slashed in multiple places, blood pooling behind his head. "No, he didn't," I say quietly.

"He called you." Gus rubs his face. "Not me. He calledyou."

"What does that say to you, Gus?"

He moves to the wall and fingers the dent. He's almost a foot shorter than me, and his broad shoulders are rigid before they slump. "That you could help him in a way I couldn't." He turns to me, eyeing me closely. "You could help him in a way no one else could."

I don't repeat my bullshit theory about Aiken dialing me by chance from those in his call log. "Why do you think that is?"

"I was hoping you'd tell me."

At my silence, he sighs. He walks out of the barroom and through a door into the kitchen. It's immaculate, having been cleaned by the staff prior to them leaving, as per Aiden's way of operating the place—nothing is left to do later when it can be done now.

"You hungry?" Gus asks, opening the large walk-in freezer. He looks inside but doesn't enter.

I haven't eaten since yesterday; however, sitting down to a sandwich while Aiken's blood is coagulated on the floor doesn't give me much of an appetite.

Instead, I watch closely for Gus's reaction and say, "All he said to me was, 'Call Ed.'"

I leave out that he said 'Vito,' because I don't want to disclose that to anyone, not even in my heart-to-heart with Gus.

I lean my elbows on the metal prep-station island. "Either that's all he had to say to me or all he could get out."

Gus stiffened when I said Ed; it was a slight reaction, but it was there. "I already told Massimo: there's no Ed who ever worked here, and I don't know of an Ed that Aiken socialized with outside of this place."

He shuts the walk-in freezer door and walks to the corner with shelves of dry goods.

I could force Gus into the freezer, string him up with his hands tied to a hook in the ceiling, rough him up, leave him in there to freeze for a while, and then do it all over again. Maybe I'd take the meat cleaver and a small paring knife to carve and chop pieces off. But that's not how things are done in the neutral zone at Gilly's.

Plus, Gus won't disappoint me; he'll tell me what he knows.

I stay where I am, resting my elbows on the metal island, watching him. Waiting for what I know is coming.

He doesn't disappoint. When he turns from the shelves of dry goods, he points a gun at me.

I stay still, keeping my hands clasped where he can see them. Inhaling slowly through my nose, I exhale the same way. "Who's Ed, Gus?"

"I don't know."

"The gun you're pointing at me suggests otherwise."

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