Page 94 of Delivered in White

Tristano

I rip the bag off of Frankie’s head, taking a chunk of hair with it.

He shies away from the bright factory light shining in his face, eyes adjusting.

“Fucking Jack Bauer over here.” Frankie spits on the floor near my shoe, then frowns defiantly, flexing his chest as the cuffsclangagainst his chair. “Took out six of us, and capturedme.” Then he laughs.

“Something… something funny?” Snaps’ eye twitches.

“Yeah. You two. Fuckinghilarious. That little stunt just started World War Three. When Don Vino’s done, the Valentinos are going to be on life support. The fuck were you guys thinkin—”

I grab him by the hair and headbutt his nose.

Feeling the crunch against my forehead is a good first step for repayment.

“Argh!Prick. You fucking broke it!” His face contorts in pain. “Add it to your rap sheet,Knots. Keep ’em coming. Once I’m out of these chains, I’ll make sure to—”

I crouch down so he’s forced to look me in the face. All I see is a bucket of fat flesh and blood that I just might carve up if his hole keeps making noise. He must see it – the animalistic hate in my eyes.

“You took someone very important to me.” I hold out my hand for Snaps to hand over the power drill. “And you’re going to give her back.”

“The fuck I am. You think I’m going to cross Nicky? You fuckin’ nuts? I’m a made man, Trino.”

I hold a screw right by his knee cap and press the power drill into it, testing Frankie. “Cipriana Dotelli,” I say evenly, ignoring the blood leaking onto the screw. “Tell me which one of your businesses he took her to. You know what? I’ll let you save face. I’m not going to make you talk. Just stay quiet if I’m right. Then I won’t have to make you a human pin cushion.”

He shakes his head, legs fidgeting, blood leaking like a faucet down his face. “I’m not playing your fucking games,Knots. I’m no rat—ahh!”

Vzzzzt!

Holding his leg while I press the screw deep into his knee is satisfying, knowing I’m a few twists closer to getting Capri back. My father’s right – they don’t make men like they used to. I’ll get this prick to break,literally.

After some bone crunching, I stop the drill, the screw sticking out of his leg, blood dripping. “I’ll tell you what I think. The laundry chain is too busy to house a bunch of hostages. Even though it’d be a good place to mask the vibration of them hitting on the walls in the basement, except if a blood curdling scream came out, someone would notice. Not good for business.”

Frankie’s cursing up a storm, rocking back and forth in horrible pain.

“Seeing how you’re still shouting, I’ll take it that I’m thinking along the right lines.”

“Fuck you.” He spits, and I catch his face, squeezinghard.

“I don’t like getting dirty, Frankie.” My flexed fingers feel the brittleness of his weak jaw. Thinking of Bruno getting shot, of Capri being manhandled, I could crush him where he sits. But that won’t get me my woman back.

I throw his face so he’s pressed flat against the chair, then hold a screw near his chest cavity. “You might not recover from this one, so listen carefully as I speak. Your silence will be deafening, and it may just spare your little fucking life.”

Snaps folds his arms, walking up next to me.

“The deli has a meat locker under it. Cold temperatures, steel walls. It could act as a good dungeon, unless I’m mistaken?” I attach the screw to the power drill, flicking the trigger to rev it just enough.

Frankie’s breathing is growing shallow. He knows if this nail goes in, the internal bleeding will be too much. He’d die right here, in a warehouse.

“Time is running out, Laundry. Is my face really the last you want to see? I don’t have time for games.” I flash an angry smile. “Cipriana Dotelli. Is she in the meat locker? Am I right?”

“Should never have messed with the boss’ wife.” Snaps’ fingers snap a few times, keeping his arms folded – like a spring ready to pop.

Frankie’s eyes widen in shock, and right there I realize what my play is. With the dons. Witheveryone.

I’m going to forge those marriage documents to say an earlier date. Even a fucking year ago before the trial was done. That will get me off scot-free. This doesn’t have to be a war.

“Yourwife?” Frankie’s mouth hangs open.

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