Page 31 of Primo DeLuca

“Speak up. I can’t hear you.”

“We’re not always informed of why we’re protecting someone,” he said, letting me know that Creto may have had answers that they didn’t.

I pointed at Prevlo. “You’re next in line for Capo. If anybody knows anything, it’s you. Talk, or he dies. Don’t talk, and you all die. Don’t fucking matter to me.”

He shook his head, eyeing Creto with a sorrowful glance when I pressed my pistol deeper into the back of his head.

“We are not the ones you should be interrogating,” the first who’d talked, muttered. The ones talking were the reason most low levels didn’t mature to “made” status.

The tape prevented Creto from talking, but in his state, I was willing to bet he would sing like a fucking canary. It was too bad his current situation couldn’t be undone.

“It wasn’t disclosed to us who hired the hitmen or why, but a DeLuca set this in motion,” the first who had spoken grumbled. The comment confirmed that although they didn’t know all the details, my hit was being carried out by the Vittorio family and brokered by a fucking DeLuca. At the admission, Prevlo and Genovio cast murderous glances in the talker’s direction.

Satisfied with the new information, I stepped back and joined Brizio near the desk, pretending I was analyzing them for more questioning. I’d likely gotten all I would get verbally, and although I wanted the DeLuca they were stupid enough to work with, they had given me more than enough to indulge in the depraved fantasy swimming around in my head.

“You.” I pointed at Prevlo. “Un-tape your cousin and this agent bozo. I’m interested to see what they have to say.”

The taped men began mumbling and struggling so hard against the ropes binding them, veins popped out on their necks and the visible parts of their foreheads. Their bodies jerked with a frantic need that made the dolly under them move.

Prevlo took a step, his movement hesitant, his eyes curiously set on how the men squirmed and attempted to communicate with him.

“This is about to be good,” Brizio muttered, staring at the beginning of the un-taping in rapt anticipation. He was enjoying this scene more than me. I was a monster, had no tolerance for bullshit, and Brizio knew it. He rarely got the chance to sit in on my sessions, and when he did, he didn’t leave until the party ended.

The top layer of tape came off, taking hair with it. Prevlo stopped unwrapping to cast a glance at me. He sensed that something was wrong, but he didn’t understand that the men he was unwrapping were doing a good job of shaking their heads and muttering what I understood were the words, “No!” and “Stop!”

Instead of paying more attention to Creto and the agent, Prevlo kept glancing in my direction. If he was waiting for a hint from me, he was about to experience what infinity felt like.

Brizio never dropped his eyes away from the un-taping. “Should I take cover?” His tone was low, but his voice oozed excitement.

“No. Sit tight. I’m interested in knowing what’s about to happen myself.”

I sensed the eyes of the men against the wall on me but didn’t give them an ounce of my attention.

“Wait, what?” Brizio asked.

Prevlo ripped off the second layer of tape, yanking out more hair with his unwrapping method. Once the men’s heads were separated, Creto was able to spit muffled words out around his wet tape.

“No, don’t remove the tape!”

However, his words were a second too late.

The agent’s mumbling rants became frantic, the sound racing from his gut and roaring past his throat only to become trapped in his mouth. Prevlo snatched the tape free.

As soon as the agent’s lips were pulled apart and the sphere was exposed to air, his head exploded. Chunks of seared meat, brain matter, and blood particles flew about three feet into the air. Cerebral content landed at mine and Brizio’s feet as sprinkles of blood and internal matter dotted our clothes.

The force from the blast lifted Prevlo and threw him back about five feet before he landed on his ass. Angelo, Lucca, and the men on the wall had all taken cover, but the fireworks weren’t done.

When the dust settled, Creto wobbled his way to a standing position before stumbling closer to the line of men who stared like he was a monster who’d broken out of hell. An apple-sized chunk of the top of his head had splattered over the floor, and brain matter and fluids slid down the side of his damaged head.

He wobbled closer to the men, making them slink away with protective hands covering their faces. His animated head and twitching body continued dragging along like that of a reanimated corpse. Whatever was left upstairs acted on the impulses that remained. He stumbled, and a deep wobble sent him falling at his uncle’s feet.

Genovio stood above his fallen nephew with his eyebrows scrunched tight. His lips were pinched in seething anger while silently murdering me with his penetrating glare.

I folded my arms across my chest and kept my eyes glued to the uncle’s. “Got anything you want to say? Who is the DeLuca you’re working with?”

As expected, he didn’t answer and had no intention of doing so. He knew this life, knew that no one in this room would survive. Not even the building would survive after what had happened to Creto and the agent.

I pressed my finger to my earpiece to get the attention of the rest of the DeLucas scattered throughout the warehouse.

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