Chapter Two #4
I need time to familiarize myself with all the weak points of the apartment and re-check the rooms. Everything is locked and alarmed.
There are enough weapons to take out at least a dozen attackers.
I place some of them more strategically—a shotgun and two Glocks by the window in the kitchen, a sniper rifle in the bedroom, and next to the reinforced front door, more guns and a case of grenades.
The only other obvious opening to the outside world is the window in the living room.
I need to position a gun and a few knives there, too.
The apartment is small and on the fourth floor, designed to have minimal points of exposure to ambush while giving us a few exits if needed.
There’s a floor hatch in the bedroom, under the blue carpet, that opens into an old cellar, a good place to hide if we found ourselves with no other choice.
But that will never be the case. I have enough weapons on my person and around me to kill the entire Enzino family.
When I step back into the living room, the brat is begging Jeff to help him with near tears in his eyes. Fucking shit! He’s cunning. My men are not newbies, but they have no idea what an Enzino is capable of.
“Keep a lookout on the landing,” I hiss Jeff’s way.
My glaring eyes follow him until he closes the door. Then I turn and move into the small kitchen. I glance at the Italian coffee machine on the stove, but I go for something stronger. After a quick search, I find a bottle of vodka in the freezer. I unscrew the lid and take a long sip.
“Can I have one as well? On the rocks,” the little shit has the nerve to say.
I ignore him.
“Not talking? Great. Is this a kidnapping?”
“You don’t look very afraid,” I declare. Does he think Daddy will save him?
“Not my first rodeo, sweet pea.”
“It is with me,” I retort menacingly. “Stai buono se non vuoi sputare sangue.” Our eyes meet, and I feel like my searing gaze will succeed in bursting his eyeballs if I keep going.
He makes a clicking sound with his tongue. “My Italian descent doesn’t make me speak the language.”
My jaw ticks with disgust. I find ignoring one’s own roots despicable, especially for an entitled shit like him.
“Look, if it’s about my relationship with Jack Enzino, you got the wrong son. But maybe because of the wedding, he’ll scoff a little money.” His high-pitched voice is getting on my nerves.
“If you expect a hefty ransom, you’ll be very disappointed, though.” He feels the need to keep going. “Just kill me now and drop me in a mass grave.” He presses his tied hand over the side of his head and winces.
“Don’t tempt me,” I mutter angrily, before downing more vodka. What am I doing in this apartment? I should be interrogating him in one of our warehouses using knives and bullets.
“If it’s not money, what is it that you want? Power? A fuck?”
He’s so damn noisy.
“Are your ears only ornamental?” His disdainful tone is telling me that he needs to be reminded of his dire situation.
Ice cold resolution possesses my body. I set the bottle down on the kitchen counter and make my way to him, pulling at my tie as I go.
When I reach him, the long red fabric is in my hand.
I don’t move. I let him slowly take in the foreboding moment, only looming over him like the shadow of a nightmare.
I watch as the uneasiness grows inside him, and I let it stew for a moment longer until his lips part to certainly spew more nonsense.
I don’t give him the chance, I shove his chest against the sofa cushions—enjoying the surprised oomph leaving his mouth—my knee lands on his back, keeping him down as I force his head back and gag him using my tie.
Whatever he’s yapping about is muffled by the fabric in his mouth.
I pull the two extremities a little too forcibly while securing the knot.
My way of reminding him who’s in command here.
I straighten up and then yank him into a sitting position. His hands are restrained, mouth gagged, but still, he looks at me with just a little amount of fear and a ton of superiority.
“Turn your eyes before I dig them out,” I snarl, grabbing his chin. When he obliges, I feel a tingle in my balls. Compliance is what I expect from people. Getting it from this brat gives me more than satisfaction. It gives me something I fucking refuse to acknowledge.
“Let’s make one thing clear: I ask the questions, and you answer them unless you’d like to lose a finger every time you disobey.” I slide out my knife, the Enzino killer, the very blade Don Massimo gifted me. I show it to him, noticing how his eyelashes tremble at the sight. Finally. Fear.
I tighten my fingers holding his lower face. “Nod if you get it.”
He does.
“Mario Enzino.” I enunciate his fucking name slowly, looking straight into his eyes. There’s some green among the blue, fucking weird thought to have right now, when I should only focus on my vendetta. “Where is he?”
I use the tip of my blade to push down the fabric of my tie.
He doesn’t jerk back or freeze like people usually do at the feel of the sharp metal on their skin.
He remains almost relaxed, and his flaring nostrils are the only sign of his discomfort.
Was he trained by his family in case of kidnapping?
Because they should have taught him that the eyes never lie, and the terror there is evident.
“I don’t know where he is.” His voice is flat, but I can see the tick in his jaw. He looks away, a sign of lying perhaps. Or it’s just the fear. Such a perfectly angelic face with a filthy devil’s soul.
“I know you are close.” I did my homework. I saw the texts Mario sent him, the calls. He isn’t happy about the marriage for some reason.
The brat sniffs, still avoiding my eyes.
I grab his hair and yank his head back. “This knife can carve a nice hole inside your guts,” I threaten him, letting the blade slide down his neck and chest, stopping over his belly.
“Not very different from the unpleasant feeling I’m constantly battling inside me.” His voice trembles just as his body does.
What the fuck do those words mean? Is he trying to appeal to my feelings? Acting again? He’s an Enzino. Trash. Scum of the earth.
“Where. Is. He?” I hiss, lowering my face an inch from his.
His big, clear light blue eyes lock with mine while the scent of apple and sunshine fills my lungs.
“You can carve all you want.” He swallows. “All you’ll get is the same answer: I don’t know!”
A furious growl leaves my lips. All I see in front of me is an obstacle preventing me from getting what I’ve been craving for thirty years.
It needs to be dealt with my way—fuck Seb and the others.
But just as I’m about to go to work on him, my phone starts ringing.
Fuuuuck! I think about ignoring it, but quickly give up.
It could be something related to Doppi’s dead body.
I let the brat go, still keeping my knife near his body, and slide my phone out of my jacket. It’s Marco.
“What?” I clip.
“Luca, it’s me, Fly.”
I lower my knife and curse.
“Help!” Enzino suddenly screams near my phone, after jumping to his feet. I shove him back down on the sofa and gag him again. He bites my finger as I push the tie between his lips. Fucking savage! My murderous glower is enough to freeze him.
“Don’t hurt him!” I hear Fly’s pleading voice.
For fuck’s sake.
“Just hear me out,” he hurriedly breathes out.
“I don’t know all the details about your past. I’m sure you have a good reason for hating the whole Enzino family, but Art is my friend.
He saved my life. I don’t know where I’d be if it weren’t for him.
Please, Luca. I know you need to get some information from him, I… I can do it for you! He’ll talk to me.”
“No!” I snarl simultaneously with Marco—his voice booms on the line.
“This has nothing to do with you, Fly,” I state.
“It fucking does!” he counters. “Seb told you to be gentle. He is the boss; you need to follow his orders.”
“He never fucking said that!” He ordered me not to kill him or do any permanent damage. Anything else is fair game.
“Luca, I’m begging you. Please.”
That broken tone, on the verge of tears, it makes me squeeze the phone in my hand until I feel it sinking painfully into my palm. Now I understand how Fly got Marco wrapped around his finger.
“Damn it!” I swear angrily. “I make no promises.”