Cosa Nostra: A Steamy Mafia Romance (Kids of The District Book 3)
Page 25
“I do, very much,” I state adamantly. “I hope you live. Loyalty is my favourite virtue.”
“Christ,” Dustin mutters from behind me. Yes, this is how we interrogate in my Family.
“You will die from exsanguination within ten minutes.” I squat at the man's side and grin, watching his face pale and his head bobble on his neck as nausea floods him. I have seen this look many times. "I am a spiritual man. You would not know, but I am a Catholic. And I could swear to Mother Maria. . ." I stare at him as he struggles to hold his head up, narrowing my eyes to better study his. “I could swear you can see death take a man. The seconds just before. . . in his eyes. . . you see death enter him.”
Something akin to a whimper splutters from his throat and panicked tears burst from the corners of his shallow eyes. This poor underprivileged street rat will not be missed and without any evidence, his disappearance will be stamped as drug related. Which, in a way, it is. “Now, tell me where I can find your boss and I will help you live.”
“What? How?” Dustin asks me.
I laugh from deep within my abdomen; I just can’t help it. “I told you, I’m a spiritual man.”
My weeping captive tries to speak, "He is. . . he owns. . ."
“Can you feel that chill?” I ask him, moving so close my lips brush the shell of his ear. “He is near, my friend.”
"He owns Le Feir. The bakery.” He passes out, seven minutes before closing time. The smell of his blood, metallic and tangy, hits my nose. It pools around his outstretched legs, creating small glistening puddles. Yes, I think to myself, this warehouse would make an excellent abattoir.
Deciding to keep my word, I stand and walk briskly over to the workbench, retrieve the Luna Caustic nitrate stick - one of my favourite tools. While I roll up my sleeves and wet the stick’s tip, I think about what a real shame it is that my captive won’t be conscious to feel the burn. I hear it is quite a unique sensation. My dick is throbbing like a stubbed toe below my zipper as I approach my captive and squat by his side. I begin to cauterise his slit wrist. The blood makes it rather difficult, however, not impossible, and I’ve had plenty of practise. “So young Dustin,” I call over my shoulder, my eyes unwavering as I work. "We will pay Mr Le Feir a visit tomorrow, make a deal. We don’t want any product besides ours hitting these streets. This is now our quartier, our District. Why is this?”
“Control the streets, control the city,” he replies, his nerves stammering through his voice. A chuckle escapes me. I think I may have scared my new partner; how quaint. It appears Dustin Nerrock doesn’t get his hands dirty; he must be a proficient delegator. But as my father once told me, ‘It is the dirt that makes the man appreciate the sparkle’.
“More importantly than Mr Fier,” I say, "is organising a meeting with the man my Capo spoke about. . .You know him. Where will we find him?”
I hear Dustin release an exaggerated breath. "He doesn't go by Paul Lucchese anymore. His name is Luca Butcher and he lives in Connolly."