22. Chapter 22
Chapter twenty-two
Ettore
L iria had been acting strange since she got home from her friend’s house. She was mumbling her responses, wasn’t looking me in the eye, and would generally avoid being in my presence. She hadn’t done this since the first few weeks we were together.
I tried to think back to those early days, when we were still two independent entities trying to navigate the unfamiliar waters of an arranged marriage. We had made an effort to steer clear of each other unless it was absolutely unavoidable.
But over time, we had found our rhythm, weaving a tapestry of shared moments and mutual understandings. Now, that rhythm seemed disrupted, broken by an unfamiliar beat of discomfort.
As I watched Liria from across the room, I couldn’t help but notice the sparkle in her eyes had dimmed. She looked lost in a world of her own, her fingers absentmindedly drumming against the windowsill, her gaze fixated on the city skyline. The setting sun’s golden hue played on her face, accentuating the creases of worry that had appeared out of nowhere.
I walked towards her, a half-formed plan in my mind. I had to make things right without pushing too hard, or prying too much into her privacy. Approaching her from behind, I rested my hands lightly on her shoulders, aiming for a comforting touch but prepared for rejection. Liria tensed under my fingers, yet she didn’t withdraw, a sign that she was willing to bridge the gap between us, albeit hesitantly.
“Is everything alright?” I asked, trying to keep my voice gentle and unimposing. She remained silent for a moment, drumming her fingers in a slow rhythm against the windowsill.
“It’s…” she paused, looking like she changed her mind about what she was going to say. “Nothing. I’m tired.” She pushed herself away from the window and walked towards our bedroom. “Goodnight.”
Watching her retreating figure disappear into our bedroom, I felt an unease settle over me. Something was wrong with my wife and she wouldn’t tell me what it was. I supposed the only thing I could do was wait.
Vincenzo’s guy had successfully obtained the Dekker’s Catering roster. I had shown it to Liria earlier, and she immediately recognized the man who had approached her and handed her the note.
His employee profile had the name Eduard Cale. My men and I searched every man by this name, and none of them matched the photo he had on file. He had used a fake name when he was hired.
“Why can’t things just be easy for once,” I muttered under my breath, massaging the knotted muscles at the base of my neck.
“Things in the Mafia are rarely easy,” Vincenzo said, always the one to be levelheaded.
Vincenzo, Felix, Rocco, Emilio and I had met up to discuss what we knew so far and how we should proceed. We all sat at a table, evidence strewn around us.
“Agreed,” Rocco said, flicking through a stack of files on the table. “But it would be nice to have an easy win.”
“An easy win?” Emilio laughed bitterly. “In this business, there’s no such thing.”
“I know,” Rocco sighed, rubbing his temples. “But a guy can dream, can’t he?”
We all chuckled at that, despite the grim situation. At least our shared sense of humor was still intact.
“Alright,” I said, pulling us back to the matter at hand. “Someone at Dekker’s catering knows something, and can help us find our man. The question is, who?”
“We could try to...encourage...the employees to talk,” Felix said, making a fist and grinning with a savage delight at his own suggestion.
“We need to narrow the pool down before we do that,” I sighed. “You can’t just rip the teeth out of an innocent worker.”
“Indeed,” Vincenzo agreed, leveling his stare at Felix. “We aren’t barbarians, we’re businessmen. Let’s not forget that.”
“Well…” Emilio said, not finishing his sentence.
We were barbarians. The five of us would get what we needed out of people and then put a bullet through their skull. Then, we’d go home and sleep soundly at night.
“Ask your guy who he thinks it is,” I said to Vincenzo. “And we can go from there.”
We got our answer pretty quickly. Apparently, Eduard Cale was good friends with the kitchen staff, specifically the sous-chef. A man named Billy ‘Three Fingers’ - a nickname he earned because of an unfortunate run-in with a meat grinder in his early career. He had been working inside the kitchen for a good number of years, long enough to gain trust and make friends. That meant he could be our ticket to Cale.
He was getting off work at 11:30 tonight, and Felix and Rocco would be waiting for him. His shift ended soon, and the twins were already waiting in an unmarked van outside his workplace.
I glanced down at my watch. 11:28. Hopefully, he got off on time and didn’t have to work overtime - I wanted to get this done ASAP. My eyes moved around the room, following on Emilio who was tapping his fingers rhythmically on the table. He was naturally cut out for this type of work. He carved men’s skin and broke their bones like it was second nature.
At 11:31 I got a text from Felix confirming they had him and were on their way back to the warehouse.
A swift surge of adrenaline coursed through my veins. “They’ve got him,” I announced to the room, my voice steady despite the heightened tension. Vincenzo grunted in acknowledgement and Emilio merely nodded, his tapping fingers halting abruptly.
The three of us sat in silence as we waited for the twins to return. It was best to enjoy it, because when we got started with Billy there were sure to be screams of agony.
The silence was punctured by the grating sound of a rusty hinge, signaling the arrival of Felix and Rocco with their captive. The sous-chef looked around wildly, unable to scream because of the duct tape they had put over his mouth. Ropes around his wrist and Rocco’s large hand clamped on his shoulder kept him in place.
“Nice of you to join us, Billy,” I drawled, adjusting the cuffs of my shirt. “I’m sure you know why you’re here.”
Billy responded in frantic sentences that were muffled by his duct tape.
“Felix,” I said, motioning to the duct tape.
Felix ripped it off unceremoniously and tossed it to the side. The moment his mouth was free, Billy started speaking in rushed sentences. “I don’t even know why I’m here! Let me go man, I won’t say nothin’!”
“I’m a reasonable man, Billy,” I said smoothly, walking towards him. “I’ll give you once chance. If you tell me who that man is, we won’t have to use violence.”
“I don’t know nothin’, I swear!”
I had a hunch that this was the way things were going to unfold, but I wanted to give him a chance. I raised my hand as a signal to Emilio, giving him to okay to start.
Emilio got up, walking over to a small table where various tools lay neatly arranged: pliers, a scalpel, a hammer.
“Let’s start with a cliche classic,” he said, grabbing a crowbar off the floor. Emilio slammed the crowbar into the man’s kneecaps with a sickening crack echoing through the room.
Billy howled in pain, thrashing against his bonds, eyes wide with terror. Rocco let go of the grip he had on his shoulder, letting the man fall on the floor.
“Wrong answer, Billy,” I said calmly, maintaining eye contact as Emilio resumed his work.
Billy’s screams echoed off the walls, but they were only met with an eerie silence. Felix, Rocco, and Vincenzo stood impassively, their cold eyes watching the scene unfold.
“There will be no one coming for you.” I continued, stooping down to match Billy’s tear-streaked gaze. “Only pain awaits you if you continue to lie.”
Billy whimpered, his gaze flickering between me, and the crowbar now stained with his blood. He tried to pull himself away, but Emilio stepped on his injured leg, earning another agonized scream.
“I swear! I don’t know nothin’!” Billy choked out through sobs.
“Let’s try the scalpel,” I said, dusting my pants off as I stood up.
After getting two of his fingernails carved off, the man felt more inclined to talk.
“Alright, alright!” Billy cried, his voice hoarse from screaming. “His name is Jules Gervase.”
Emilio paused, glancing at me for confirmation. I offered a slight nod and the burly Italian stepped away, dropping the bloody scalpel onto the table with a cold clank.
“That’s not an Italian name,” I said suspiciously. If it was one of the other three families fucking us over, it was likely they would use one of their men.
“I don’t fuckin’ know what his name means,” he said, looking at me like I was crazy. “I met the dude at a bar I go to, and he seemed nice enough. He said he needed a job, but had a criminal record. Offered to pay me if I helped forge his documents.”
“Jules Gervase,” I repeated, letting the unfamiliar name roll off my tongue. “Doesn’t sound like a made-up name. Tell me more.”
“He became a drinking buddy of mine. Just thought I was helping a guy out.”
“Which bar, Billy?” I asked, my voice low and threatening.
“The Rusty Anchor!” he blurted out, relief washing over his face in a grimy sheen of sweat. “Down by the old docks.”
A knowing smirk flickered on my lips as I towered over the helpless man. The Rusty Anchor was notorious for being a hub of low-life criminals and dockyard thugs. If Gervase frequented that dive, it was more than likely he was involved in some shady business.
“Deal with him,” I said to the four men. “I have work to do.”
I was going to plan our trip to the docks.