Page 89 of The Mafia Assassin's Redemption
“I don’t think I have that power, Torin. And if I did, I…”
“You don’t think you should,” I finish, letting go of her hand. “I’ve figured out your punishment for today, for nearly getting yourself killed.”
“And what’s that?”
“Sex club.”
Her mouth drops, and I think we’re past the near miss at the door. The crew is done, and the guard is in place, just inside the church.
The door to the church opens and her face lights up more than it has for me as Father Luigi comes in, followed by Arnold and Dec, who is wearing the cat backpack. My brother has a bandage on one hand, and I don’t even need to see the smugness in Clawzilla’s eyes at getting his way.
Harry rushes to fuss over the priest, and he pats my abs as I pass, mouthing “Later” at me.
Whatever it is can wait because I know the look in Dec’s eyes. I ruffle Arnold’s fur, then head to one of our sex clubs, Silk, in the Lower East Side. We now own the building next door, and that’s where we conduct more unsavory business.
Right now, my big computer at home is running the photos of the dead man and his tattoos. I think they’re Russian… But considering none of these pieces fit together, who the fuck knows if we were in the wrong place at the wrong time or if it was some kind of setup.
If it was a setup for us, then it was convoluted and complicated, because if I didn’t notice the gun or if…
Or if someone was meant to turn up, and because it was us, it triggered the cops being called.
No one’s leaving that much cocaine—no one.
I finally get to Silk and go into the building next door, punch in the code for the reinforced basement, and breathe a small sigh of relief to see the asshole from the church still breathing, though worse for wear.
“Anything?” I ask Seamus.
“Not overly talkative. Claiming he was hired in the Bronx, blah fucking blah.”
I go to the man chained to the wall, face brutalized, swollen, his cheekbone broken and one eye taken over by bruised flesh.
“Why did you go after the girl?”
“I got paid to.” At least that’s what I think he says. That accent is damn thick. “Or maybe I got paid to hurt you.”
I kick him in the balls, and then as he screams, I punch him in the stomach. As I turn, I can see the knife on a tray of torture instruments as well as an array of teeth.
Seamus has been busy. Callahan leans back against the opposite wall.
“Thanks for not killing him,” I say.
“He’s agobshite, being smug, telling tall tales about nothing.” Cal grins at me. But there’s zero humor there. “I’d be more forgiving if it was interesting.”
“Boringshite,” Seamus adds. “The same old crap of ‘someone paid me, no name, just numbers.’ But he knows her name, and he says he was told if he found this special thing?—”
“Doesn’t know what that is,” Cal interjects. “Said it was above his paygrade. Maybe he’ll talk to you, Torin.”
Suddenly the guy whines like a mortally injured animal. “Torin Murphy? It’s your fault. It should’ve gone down, but instead…” He’s fading, his voice thready, and I lean in. “…Quinn killed… you took it… Bianco… danger.” Then he rallies a moment and spits out, “The girl’s worthless?—”
I grab the scalpel and punch it into his chest and then, the fury consuming me, eating me in giant red flames, I snap his neck.
My breath comes in hard as I try to get myself together. “What he said didn’t make sense.”
“None of it made sense. He was like that since we got here, not the names, but trying to sell us crap. Stories.” Callahan pushes back from the wall and comes to me, grabbing me by the back of the head and holding me close. “Stories.”
“It’s my fault about Shiv. Donal’s rotting in prison.” My mind moves frantically over the words the man said. “Took what? How can Harry be something I took and worthless? He mentioned Bianco… I’m killing him, I’m?—”
“Shiv got herself killed, and Donal robbed and beat that politician. Mentioning her uncle? No, that was odd. Don’t you think it might be a little… neat?” Callahan asks.
