Page 14 of Beautiful Devil

“Of course I did, dumbass.”

“Well then you know that he said she had nothing to do with it. That she didn't know a single thing about it. You also saw the bodycam footage. Did that look like a woman who knew what her husband was up to?”

My eyebrows draw in, nostrils flaring as my lips set in a scowl.

“I don’t give a fuck what that dickhead says. I need information fromher. She knows more than she’s saying.”

Marco clears his throat and begins to pull something out of his jacket pocket. He presses a button before setting it down on my desk. The sound of Gallo’s voice fills my office, and I know right away that he’s replaying the police interview tape, raising his eyes slightly to look at me while I listen.

We sit listening to the recording for a few minutes until I let out an exaggerated yawn, hoping to send Marco a message. The police officer goes back to the question he’d already asked in his first interview.

“Did your wife show you how to work the logistics, or did she do it all for you?”

“She didn’t do anything, because I didn’t tell her. You think I would tell her anything? She would’ve been out the door and straight on the phone to you guys. I could have gotten away with it ten times over before that dumb bitch would have even realized it. She was too busy trying to convince me to have a baby. Ha.”

I raise my eyes and look at Marco. So Gia was trying to get Gallo to knock her up? Interesting.

Why does this piece of information make me want to put my fist through the wall?

“I’m telling you, boss, she didn't know. She had nothing to do with it.”

I lean in and look him dead in the eye. “I think I’ll be the one to judge whether or not that's true.”

I push away from my desk, lift my jacket from the back of my chair and storm out of my office, my dog in tow.

“Jeff, stay!” I shout.

I don’t know what's happening, but I feel like my head is about to explode. I want to kill that bastard Gallo for calling Gia those names. If only she were here,in front of me, so I could shake the living shit out of her for whatever information she has on him. Because she knows. I can feel it every time I see her. It’s more of a gut feeling, but all I know is I’m going to do whatever the hell it takes to get it a confession.

Making my way down the hallway and out through the front doors. Living just a fifteen-minute drive from the city, I’m far enough away to have my space and privacy, but still close enough to the club. Two of my men are standing guard by the entrance.

Before they can greet me, I say, “If Marco comes out here, tell him I said fuck off. Understood?”

They both give a sharp nod.

“I’m going to the warehouse,” I reply before hopping into my Bugatti La Voiture Norie and speeding off down the drive to get the fuck away from my childhood home and Marco’s incessant questioning.

It’s a large, graystone mansion standing three stories high with wooden double front doors painted black and window frames the same color to match. On the outside, it appears old, but inside has flares of traditional Italian decor. My mother decorated this house when my father bought it, and I haven’t had the heart to change much inside. Losing my mother to cancer when I was a teenager wasn’t easy, but I didn’t have time to feel the heartache it caused. I was going to be the Don of the Italian mafia and learned how to mask my emotions from a young age.

Half an hour later, I pull up outside the warehouse and jump out of the car. Two of my men stand guard outside. I give them a nod as one of them opens up and lets me in. I hear the low hum of Limp Bizkit’s “Rollin’” that Luigi has playing in the distance. He’s been here with our guestfor the past few days, who’s now decided he’ll only talk to me.

As I open one of the doors on my left, the music gets louder, and I find Luigi sitting on a table eating an apple and singing along. An empty chair sits in the middle of the room, slumped in the corner with his arms bound behind the back of the chair is our guest, Matteo.

He’s dressed in dark skinny jeans that seem to fit too tight around his thick legs, paired with worn black and white sneakers, a tight black button-down shirt pulled tightly across his pudgy stomach. Two thick gold chains adorn his chubby neck and lay flat on his hairy chest.

What an ugly motherfucker.I'm going to enjoy making him even uglier.

Nowthis asshole,I know had a hand in helping Gallo steal from me, only he was fortunate enough not to get caught by the cops.Unfortunately,however, he wascaught byme. One of the perks of my job is having eyes and ears absolutely everywhere when you need them.

“Hey, boss. I wasn't expecting you today,” Luigi says cheerily as he jumps down off the table, wiping his hands on the front of his black dress pants, then down his tie that lays partially askew over his dress shirt.

Quickly fastening his suit jacket, he stands to attention while I walk past, making my way toward the abandoned chair in the middle of the room. I don’t answer him. Instead, I focus my attention on the piece of shit sitting in the corner.

“Va bene, stronzo, parla.”Alright, asshole, talk.

He lifts his head, and I can see the self-satisfied look on his face. Prick. He sits silent for a solid two minutes before I kick him firmly between the ribs, causing him to moan in pain. The chair rocks and falls over from the force of my kick, but doesn’t break when it hits the cement floor. I’ve been “questioning” people for as long as I can remember and have perfected the right amount of force to put behind my blows to prolong the sessions effectively. Matteo lands on his left side, his shoulder hitting hard against the concrete. At least thisstronzowas smart enough to lift his head up before he hit the ground. Otherwise, he’d be passed out and my fun would have come to a rather quick end.

“Bel piede destro,”he manages to wheeze out.Nice right foot.

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