Page 40 of The Almost One

“Any leverage on the parents?” Sometimes it’s easier to get information when you threaten the loved ones more than the actual person being held.

“Nah, working class, no debts but living frugally. They don’t spend more than necessary, but Kevin’s been living way above his means for some time and now the bank is calling.” Enzo snorts like he’s making some kind of world-class joke. “Except his bank doesn’t repo, they break knees.”

Loan sharks, of course.

“Who is it?” Glancing at the center console for the time, I tell myself this needs to be quick. My family is at the beach without me and, granted, they have security fit for the president, I can’t stand the idea that I’m not personally there.

“That’s what we need to find out. Stefano said it was two punks from the Bronx, but they’re not officially affiliated with anyone, which means…” He doesn’t want to assume, but I will.

“Ambrosio.”

“Ambrosio.”

We need to be sure before I turn this city to ash and burn that whole fucking family to the ground.

We exit the car and walk in unison to the open space of the warehouse. It’s big enough to host a rave party, yet the only sound this part of town has ever heard are the screams of its victims.

I don’t speak as we slowly make our way to the center where a man sits on a chair, his arms secured to the armrests with zip ties so tight I can see his circulation is being restricted just enough to be painful. He turns his head left then right, hearing the sound of our shoes, but with a black bag over his head, he has no idea what’s happened to him.

Mostly, he has no idea what’s about to happen to him.

“Who is it? Whadd’ya want from me? I don’t know nothing about nothing. Please. You got the wrong guy.” I look over at Enzo as we read each other’s minds. These guys are so fucking predicable. They get mixed up with dangerous people but when it’s time to play hard, they pussy out within seconds.

“Kevin Moss?” I confirm his identity for my peace of mind.

“Y-yes. That’s me but… I didn’t do nothin’.” Enzo hands me my favorite knife, with the straight edge on one side and the half-moon hooks on the other. Great for carving and slicing, depending on the situation.

“Been visiting the Hamptons lately?” The only reason I hear his quick inhale is because I was waiting for it. It’s a tell-tale sign in these situations. It’s obvious he thought he’d gotten away with his little assignment.

Clearly, he failed.

“It’s the season, right? Lots of rich, pretty girls up there. Can’t blame a guy, right?”

With the tip of my knife, I catch the fabric of his hood and slowly pull it up and over his head. I want to see this fucker’s face and watch the very moment he understands his life is worth nothing.

Flicking my wrist, I send the material flying and revel in the sound of his gasp.

That’s right, he recognizes me and it’s like music to my fucking ears.

“You know who I am?” I cock my head and drag the tip of my knife down the side of his cheek, leaving a thin red line in my wake. It’s not a deep cut. Not yet.

“Y-yeah, s-s-sure. You’re Ma-Marco Mancini.” His voice trembles with every letter he stutters out of his filthy mouth.

“Ah, fuck… I hate it when they piss themselves.” Enzo groans at the dripping sound coming from underneath the chair, but his facial expression says he’s bored.

“Tell me, Kevin Moss, do I look like a guy who has time to play with his food?” My knife is back at his face, the straight edge digging into his lower lip. “Don’t you think I have more important shit to do than to be here listening to your lying mouth.” With a flick of my wrist, his lip is cut open and bleeding down all over his chin and neck and clothes. His scream is high-pitched, no doubt he wasn’t expecting me to start the game so soon, before I’ve even asked the first question.

“I don’t know whatchu want, Mr. Mancini. I swear it.” Speaking is more difficult with half his lip unattached, but I can still understand him.

“Right. Well, let me tell you exactly what I want.” Pressing my knife to his lip I watch as he starts crying, his blood mixing with his saliva and his tears. It’s a fucking mess, is what it is. “I want to know who sent you to my house. To my bedroom.” I lean down so I’m mere inches away from his petrified eyes, my hand fisting his hair so all he can see is me and my barely-controlled rage. “Tell me, when you touched my wife’s pillow as you put that note there, did you know you were signing your death warrant?”

Kevin whimpers at my words because he knows. He fuckingknowsI’m going to end him and that I’m going to enjoy every fucking second of it.

“I didn’t know whose house it was, I swear it. They gave me an address and a letter. That’s it. I swear, I swear.” He’s sobbing now, his entire face is a goddamn mess. I step back, unwilling to get any of his bodily liquids on me.

“Who gave you the envelope?” Enzo takes over while I walk to the sink set up at the base of the closest pillar to rinse off my knife, but my attention is solely on Kevin’s next words. Words that won’t save his life, but may save his parents.

“I dunno. I dunno. I got debt, ya know. I was told to do this job and that my debts would be even. I swear, I didn’t know. I woulda never have gone to your house willingly, Mr. Mancini. I swear it.” If he tells me he swears one more time, I’m going to cut out his tongue.

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