Page 18 of Tainted Princess
This time, when the Don stepped in front of him, there was much less bullshit.
“Lenny, do you know why you’re here?” Carlo spoke as calmly as if he were ordering eggs for breakfast, not speaking to a man about to be executed. I had to admire his composure. Lenny whined and shook his head, his hands held up before him beseechingly. “Come on, Lenny. You know you do. Let me remind our guests exactly why you find yourself in this unbecoming position.” Don Carlo turned to me. “You see, Enzo, Lenny here spent the last several years as an associate of the Family. During that time, he also made some contacts within the Federal Bureau of Investigation, one of which went by the name of Agent Eric Morrison.”
This was starting to come together in my head. Over the last two days, my father had filled me in regarding the details of the events of the last six months. Once it was revealed that there was a fed in the hen house, the Outfit went about cleaning out the gutters, so to speak. Anyone who had any interaction with Agent Eric was being treated to an all-expenses paid visit to the morgue.
Everyone, that is, except for Francesca De Marco.
“Lenny and Agent Morrison were quite close, weren’t you Lenny? So close, in fact, that Agent Morrison mentioned your name a few times during his testimony, letting myself and everyone else know exactly how much of a filthy rat you really are.” Don Carlo rounded on Lenny as he ground out the last words, backhanding him and sending him sprawling into the gravel again. Lenny laid there, his whole body wracked with silent sobs, and I felt a bit bad for the poor shit. No one wanted to go out like this, whimpering and wailing like a bitch, but Lenny didn’t seem like he was cut out for anything else.
Standing in front of me again, Don Carlo smoothed down his coat before continuing. “By completing this action tonight, Enzo, you are stating your desire to join our ranks in an official capacity.” He looked to my father, then added, “Your sponsor, Giuseppe Argenti, has vouched for your loyalty and ability to contribute in the manner that will be expected of you as a member of our Organization, and as your sponsor, he will share in your triumphs as well as bearing the brunt of your failures with you.”
Looking to my Pops, I felt more than a little hesitation knowing that if I screwed this up in any way, he’d be the one to take the fall. But there was nothing but pride and confidence in my father’s eyes, and that filled me with an emotion I wasn’t sure I could name. Lifting my chin, I turned back to the man in front of me. “Yes, Don Carlo,” I responded respectfully.
“Then, if there are no objections, you may begin.”
I looked at the other two men here, Dino and his friend from the van, and while the second guy was completely nonplussed, Dino was a simmering bag of rage. What the hell was this guy’s problem with me?
Moving behind Lenny, I stood over him and spread my feet a bit apart, dropping my hands to my belt buckle. Don Carlo reached into his coat and withdrew a gun, offering it to me with a look, but I waved him away.
If I was gonna do this, knowing what it meant to my father, then I was gonna do this my way.
Clicking the necessary buttons on my belt buckle, I released the item I wanted and withdrew it from the side of the unit. The small metal cylinder was about the size of an average cigarette, except this was smooth and stainless steel. Bringing it up in front of me, I smirked at the quizzical look on my father’s face, then pinched each end of the cylinder and twisted, releasing it into two separate pieces. Pulling those apart, I revealed the coiled wire inside. Clasping one end of the cylinder in each of my fists, I stretched the wire out, giving it a tug to test its strength. It had been a while since I had used my garrote, but I was meticulous in the maintenance of all my buckle items, and this was no exception.
My father’s eyes went wide, his face displaying his shock at my chosen method, but beside me, Don Carlo chuckled.
Squatting down behind Lenny, I leaned in so my mouth was near his ear, loving the way he tensed as I drew close.
“Betrayal is the most grievous sin. There is no forgiveness on earth. Maybe you’ll find peace in hell.”
Standing quickly, I reached in front of Lenny and crossed my arms. Pressing the wire against his throat, I pulled back and uncrossed my arms, tugging with all my strength. Lenny jerked in my hold, but with his hands tied, there was nothing he could do. I tugged steadily, not relenting on the pressure for a second, even when he pitched forward, throwing himself face first into the dirt. I simply went with him, standing with my feet by his shoulders as he kicked and twisted on the ground.
When he finally stopped struggling, I tugged even harder, waiting for the popping of the tracheal cartilage before I allowed myself to let go. Dropping one end of the garrote, I used my foot to roll Lenny over, pulling the wire out of the flesh of his neck as I did. I stared into his face, his eyes open wide, his mouth still gagged, and I committed the image and his name to memory.
If I took a man’s life, he deserved to have me remember his fuckin’ name.
“Well,” said Don Carlo after a few moments of silence. “That certainly was surprising. You,” he said, snapping at the goon who’s name I still didn’t know, “make sure this is handled properly. Enzo, if you will follow me.”
Don Carlo stepped over Lenny’s body like it was trash on the street, and I guessed to him, it was. He moved back toward the Bentley, and my father and I both followed. As I walked, I removed a plastic bag from inside my jacket and placed the garrote inside. I would clean it later, removing all traces of Lenny, and then recoil it and place it back in my buckle.
As Don Carlo stopped beside the hood of his car, Dino came over with a small box he retrieved from inside the trunk. He brought it over, and Don Carlo began removing the items from inside, starting with a silk cloth about two feet square. Laying that out on the hood, he then removed a bottle of wine, a single pewter glass, a dagger with a jeweled handle, and a lighter. He set all these items down on the silk square, pouring some wine into the glass, offering it to me to drink. When I had done that, he looked again into the box, but didn’t seem to find what he wanted.
“Dino, where is the Saint card?”
Dino smirked at me and reached into his pants pocket, removing a small card with the image of a woman on the front. She was smiling in that sad way that all Catholic saints tended to do, like she was completely put out by the world around her but was simply holding on for the sweet hereafter.
In my opinion, if you weren’t happy with the life you were given, there was no one to blame but yourself. You got off your ass and you hustled, day in and day out, until the smile on your face was so big, there wasn’t a fucker on the planet that could shift it.
Don Carlo took the card, glancing at the embossed image of the woman, then doing a double take when he saw who was on it. “Really, Dino?” he sighed. “Saint Brigid?”
Dino smirked, like he was so fuckin’ clever, and this time, I had to hand it to him.
Saint Brigid: Patron Saint of Bastards.
Meeting his glare, I gave Dino a smile, a cold and maniacal thing that usually freaked the shit out of people. It had the desired effect on this fat fuck, too. Either that, or the memory of what I had just done to Lenny had Dino taking a step back, his brave façade showing cracks.
Setting the card in the center of the cloth, with the dagger to one side and his own gun to the other, Don Carlo arranged the makeshift altar with a swift confidence that told me he had probably done it a thousand times before. Satisfied that everything was to his liking, Don Carlo turned to face me and my father where we waited.
“I am sorry for the crude set up. Normally this whole thing comes with much more pomp and pageantry, but as you know, time is of the essence. Therefore, if you will, Enzo, please take the dagger and prick the end of your trigger finger.” He gestured to the knife, its jeweled handle sparkling slightly in the moonlight. Flicking my gaze to my father, I waited for his nod before reaching for the blade. I held it steady in my left hand, then pressed the sharp end into the meat of my finger, watching as a bead of dark blood welled up on the tip. Setting the dagger back down, I looked to Don Carlo as he gestured to the Saint card. “If you would please place your blood on the face of the card.”
