Page 77 of Corrupted Memories
Rian rolls his eyes, pressing the knife hard enough for a bead of blood to appear.
“Let’s start with the easy one. Who approached you about betraying the Outfit? Was he Irish or Italian? FBI?”
Arthur glances between us, his jaw tight as he remains silent.
With a hum, Rian nods and moves to Arthur’s side, pushing the sides of the shirt off him. “I was hoping you'd be resistant.”
He moves the knife up to Arthur’s sternum. “There’s an old Celtic tradition for dethroning kings, especially false kings, by ridding them of their nipples,” Rian says, the violent threat darkening his voice as he circles the offending puckered skin on Arthur’s chest.
“Oh. We’re cutting off body parts? Hold on,” I taunt. Moving to the wall across from where we’re standing, I open a panel to expose an iron stove.
“What the fuck? Is that for cremation?” Rian asks.
I chuckle. “Now that would be cool.” Shoving wood in the compartment, I light it and grab a tungsten knife and place it on the burner. I face the two men watching me curiously. “Heat the blade, cauterize as you slice. Seals the wound and prevents them from bleeding out. Allows more time to inflict more wounds.”
Luca raises his eyebrows. “Yourfather is sick.”
Rian grins. “I’ll have to show Cillian this set up.”
The fermented smell of piss saturates the air around us and I grimace. Rian sighs, moving back in front of Arthur.
“That’s what scares you? A James party trick? Pathetic.”
Arthur spits in his face. “He’ll kill you all. You think you’re better than everyone, but you’re just as clueless as the rest of them. Chasing pussy instead of building our world to its former glory.”
Luca clicks his tongue. “That’s the problem with you traditionalists. You can’t see past your pride to realize we can bebetter. We can be stronger, wealthier, and thriving while men aren’t dying to useless street wars or jailed by overzealous agencies.”
He moves closer to Arthur, grabbing a rubber mallet and slamming it into the hanging man’s side. I wince at the audible crack of ribs; breaking bones is not a sound you get used to.
“Ready to talk? I reckon that was only two, maybe three. We still have the other side,” Luca grits out, shaking out the hand that held the hammer.
Arthur’s face is twisted in pain as he tries not to breathe too hard. He turns his head to the side, glaring at Luca. It’s full of hatred and vitriol.
Luca stares back for a moment before facing me. “Is the knife ready? I remembered he doesn’t need his eyes to speak.”
With his color draining to a sick gray, he struggles at the knots around his wrist. “Don’t. Please,please.”
Rian’s mouth tilts up in the corner. “It’s humorous that he thinks there’s any chance he’ll leave this room alive.”
I hand gloves to Luca. “Put them on and grab the handle. Believe me, you don’t want it to slip and accidentally take out your own fingers.”
“Speaking from experience?” Rian drawls out.
“Not mine.” I nod for Luca to grab the knife and then I move over to Arthur. “Hold his head,” I direct Rian as I grab the lid speculums.
“Sebastian, please. Don’t do this,” Arthur begs as Rian holds his face, and I lean over to place the device.
I pause. “Who did you work with?”
“One of Moretti’s kids. I don’t remember his name. He barely spoke, we only relayed information back and forth. He’s the one who told me all the Irish times and dates.”
Rian growls. “What did he look like?”
“Dark hair, blue eyes. Jagged scar running from his ear down his neck.”
Luca walks closer. “Could be Stefano. I’ll round up all the Moretti bastards for good measure.”
“Is that including Gio?” Rian sneers.
