Chapter 37 Damiano
DAMIANO
We stand together, staring down at the body. And then Caligula Clemenza steps over it and locks the door. He turns back to me.
“You must be out of your mind, killing a Bratva kingpin in the middle of his own turf,” he whispers fiercely. “What were you thinking?”
I wasn’t thinking. That was the problem. Still can’t get my mind around it now, so I grope for the one certainty I have. “I said I’d protect you. I wasn’t going to let this motherfucker run around crowing about tonight.”
I lean down and hoist the heavy asshole up from the floor, then flop him back into his seat. I might’ve pulled Rosa’s stitches, because my back starts to ache again when I’m done.
“I didn’t realize your protection extended to my virtuous reputation,” Caligula says at last. And for once, I’m glad to hear him being a sarcastic little shit. Means he’s calm. He’s not going to panic. And if we move fast and careful, we’ll get out of this alive.
Maybe.
“The Bratva can get fucked,” I announce. “They ain’t got the claim on you that I have.”
“Ah, yes,” he sighs. “Your honorable vendetta.”
Okay, he can cut the sarcasm out now. I grab him by the arm and give him a shake. “We need to get out of here.”
He looks up into my face. “We need to get what we came for. Information.”
“We got a dead Bratva and Jesse Foster with some hard-on to get you in trouble—what was that about, anyway? He seemed more vicious than usual.”
“I physically assaulted him.”
It’s the way he says it that gets me. Cool, calm, collected, and absolutely precise. I physically assaulted him. “And what in the hell did you do that for?”
There’s the briefest pause before he says, “That’s not our most pressing concern right now, Dami. What are we going to do with Grisha?”
We both look at the dead guy. His eyes are open and so is his mouth. “We can’t do anything,” I say after a glance around the room. There’s nowhere to stash him. “We’ll just have to leave him here. Hope they figure he died of…a heart attack or something.”
I expect the Clemenza to argue. It’s a shitty plan and it only gives us a chance to get away, not sleaze around the place looking for someone who knows something. But Caligula just sighs. “Let’s move fast.”
“Right,” I say, relieved he’s seen sense.
“We go straight to Daniel King.”
“What? No.” We’re not on the same wavelength at all.
But Caligula’s already moving to the door, unlocking it, peeking out to check the hallway. He beckons me over. “Do you know how to get to his office from here?”
“No, I fucking don’t,” I say firmly, but Caligula steps out of the room, fast and slippery like a fish, that stupid silky cloak slipping out of my fingers when I try to grab it.
All I can do is follow and hope we don’t run into anyone who might ask where the Russian Bratva went.
Caligula is moving fast, and his chin is lifted in that arrogant damn way he has.
Even with a cock cage and a butt plug, the guy’s ego just leaks out all over the place.
If anyone lays eyes on him, they’re going to notice.
“Wait up,” I say sharply, jogging the few steps to catch up, and yank him back to my side. “Remember, you’re supposed to be my goddamn property.”
“We need to find King,” he says obstinately.
“We need to take the L and get out of here with our organs still inside our bodies.”
Caligula swerves away down a side corridor before I can pull him through the door back to the main room, and then starts running.
I noticed how fast he was that time he was running away from his grandpa’s place, and I’m even more impressed by his speed with what has to be a real uncomfortable plug in his ass.
It takes me a few precious seconds to catch up with him, go through that same door, only to find him standing at a dead stop a few feet into the room.
I run right into him and have to wrap my arms around him to stop him from getting bowled over.
Ah, shit. We’re in the auction room, at the side. He’s staring at the stage, and I don’t like the look on his face.
At least there’s no one else in here, because Caligula has chosen this moment to start having some kind of panic attack, his breath getting faster even though he’s stopped running.
His chest is heaving, and I feel his heart beating where his back is pressed into me.
“Calm down,” I snap unhelpfully. “We don’t have time for this. ”
And all of a sudden, his breath stops. I let him go, worried he’s about to drop dead, but he’s just caught his breath in a gasp. “The proxy,” he says, like he’s solved something.
“Huh?”
“During the auction.” He points to his feet.
“There was a man standing right here, bidding on behalf of someone else in the room. Someone sitting up there in the dark.” He points to the back of the room.
“I couldn’t see them. They had…long hair.
That’s all I could see.” He looks up at me expectantly. “Who was it?”
“How am I supposed to know?”
“You walked right by them when you marched down to the stage to bid ten million dollars on me.”
I don’t like the look in his eye or the tone of his voice. I especially don’t like the fact that I’ve got nothing to share, because the only person I noticed in the room that night was Caligula Clemenza, golden and beautiful like some young god, shining in the spotlight.
“I don’t know,” I tell him. “And we need to get out of here.”
“We need to find King’s office and ask who that bidder was.”
He’s got balls, I’ll give him that. “We’re out of time. We’ll find out some other way. Caligula, listen to me—” I grab him by the shoulders. “We. Need. To. Leave.”
I seem to be getting through to him. Or so I think.
Then he breaks away from me again and runs back through the door the way we came.
I jog after him again, but I don’t think he even knows where he’s going, because we end up back where we started, just outside the room where we left a corpse.
He seems to recognize it, too, because he finally pulls up and looks around helplessly.
“Everywhere looks the same,” he mutters.
I seize him by the bicep, determined not to let him go this time.
And then my life gets a thousand times worse as Jesse Foster rounds the corner of the hallway, thunder-faced and pouting.
He brightens up when he sees us standing there, evil eyes landing on Caligula for only a moment.
“Hel-lo, sir,” he says to me with a simpering smile.
“I came to see if you and Grisha needed anything…extra.”
He reaches for the door.
I grab him by the arm. “Actually,” I tell him, “Grisha’s taking a minute for himself. Recovering. You know what I mean?”
Foster casts a disdainful glance at Caligula, taking in his messy hair, flushed cheeks, the dried mix of spit and pre-cum still on his chin.
Caligula does his best to look downbeat, eyes to the floor, brows pulled together in an expression approaching sorrow.
It’s not a great act, but it’s enough to fuel Foster’s malignant little mind. He smiles in satisfaction.
“I’m so glad you were able to find mutual understanding,” he coos. “I’ll just see if he’d like a warm cloth or—”
I’m still holding both his and Caligula’s arms, so I steer them both away with me as I start walking. “You know what, Jesse, you’re just the guy I wanted to see. I need a word with your owner. I’d like to make him a—a proposal.”
I try real hard to make it sound like something he might enjoy. And as usual with Jesse Foster, personal gain takes precedence over everything else. “That sounds delightful,” he purrs. “Mr. King is in his office. I’ll take you there right now.”
As for the Clemenza, he finally stops trying to fight me.
I try to remember which way Foster takes us, hoping for an easy escape route, but he leads us through back hallways that twist and turn until I’m hopelessly lost. Caligula, when I glance at him, doesn’t seem to be paying attention, since his eyes are fixed on Foster and then—when we finally arrive—on the door to King’s office.
Foster knocks three times and waits.
“What is it?” sounds a testy voice from within. It’s King. And he doesn’t get any friendlier when Foster pushes the door open and leads us inside. “What do you want, Orsini?”
“He wants me, sir,” Jesse simpers. “So we thought—”
“No, I don’t,” I growl. “I want to talk, King. That’s all.”
Daniel King looks at me, and then the Clemenza next to me, who isn’t bothering to hide his anger now.
“Get out, Jesse,” King says. Foster doesn’t argue. He just turns and gets. “What is it?” King repeats, standing up from his seat. He stays behind his desk, though. Wants a barricade between me and him.
“We need information,” Caligula says, cool and autocratic. It doesn’t seem to me to be the right play, but King has kept his eyes on the Clemenza since Foster left, instead of me.
Like Caligula Clemenza is the one in charge.
“I have none to share,” King tells him. But I hear the caution in his voice.
“That’s a pity,” Caligula says, “since I’ll take either information or your life.”
It would’ve gone smoother if he’d given me some warning, but I’m fast enough.
King reaches for the drawer of his desk, but I slam it closed on his wrist before he can get the gun out.
With my other hand, I shove his head down to the desk.
Not too hard, just enough to let him know I’m not fucking around.
“You are going to die for this, Orsini,” King says calmly.
“You should be more worried about your own life right now,” the Clemenza tells him, coming closer. “I want to know who bid on me at the auction—apart from Mr. Orsini, here, and apart from your buddy Grisha.”
King says nothing. I grind his head a little harder into the desk, reminding him that I can squash it like a rotten pumpkin if I really need to.
Caligula squats down at the side of the desk, tipping his head to the side to look into King’s face.
“Mr. King, if you don’t tell me what I want to know, I will remove this ridiculous plug from my ass and shove it down your throat.
And then, while you’re choking on it, Dami here will crush your skull.
We’ll leave you like that for your pet to find—and your men.
Is that really how you want to be remembered? ”
King didn’t get to where he is by taking risky bets. “How many names do you want?”
“Let’s start with the person who had a proxy bidding for him, that silver-haired man at the side of the room. He was taking orders from someone at the back of the room, sitting in the shadows. Long hair.”
King chuckles. He actually chuckles.
“Want to share with the class?” I ask, adding pressure until he grunts in pain.
“That was your cousin, Mr. Clemenza. Tiberius Vicario.”