12. Dario
DARIO
I chuckle and get up after Liana storms out. As I walk out, the door to Sonny’s room shuts, and I know she’ll probably lock herself in there all day.
Oh well. Too bad.
I can’t pretend to know what’s going through her head, but it makes me feel a lot better to know she still wants me as much as I want her.
That some part of her is still mine.
I shower in the master bedroom and get dressed, wearing a simple button up and a pair of slacks. I know a lot of wiseguys like to wear suits every day, but that’s not me.
Ties piss me off.
Which isn’t to say my clothes aren’t expensive and well-tailored.
I slick back my damp hair, looking in the mirror.
Not bad, if I do say so myself.
I got the best of both worlds with my parents. My dad was handsome, my mother beautiful.
I miss them terribly.
I breathe in slow through my nostrils to fight the emptiness I feel inside when I think about them.
Life goes on. Whether you want it to or not.
And I have my father’s legacy to protect.
I call Giovanni to get his report. We’re still a few days out from the fake shipment, so there’s no news on the rat front. Not yet.
“Yeah, boss?”
He sounds tired and I frown. “You go out and tie one on last night?”
“No, nothing like that. It’s just... Armando.”
“Armando?”
Armando Ricci, one of my lower-level men, has always been a bit of a mess. He likes to party, gamble, and fuck, and while I can’t exactly blame him, he sometimes prioritizes the party over the life.
And that’s where we differ.
After my parents died, I became committed to taking on the business, making a name for myself, just like my father did.
He’d want me to keep his empire alive.
“Yeah. Haven’t seen him in a few days. He’s missed a lot of meetings, and no one can get in touch with him. Part of his shipment was missing. A big part.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose between my thumb and index finger. This isn’t the first time Armando's been suspected of stealing drugs, but now it’s becoming a problem.
“Do you know where he is?”
“Probably holed up at his apartment. He parties there, brings girls there.”
“Then we’ll go get him.”
“You’re going to come with me?”
“I think it’s time I correct him myself. Maybe it’ll stick this time,” I say firmly. Giovanni hums on the other line.
“Fair enough, don. I’ll come and pick you up.”
I don’t often take my own car to do dirty work—it's too flashy. And I have multiple other cars parked in my garage, but they’re all flashy.
Giovanni has more eclectic tastes in vehicles, so when he pulls up in one of his sedans I open the door and slide into the leather seat.
“You sure about this, boss? Going yourself... you know it’s a statement.”
“One that needs to be made,” I say firmly, and Giovanni sighs.
“I hate that it’s come to this, but you’re right. It has to be done.”
We arrive at Armando’s apartment complex and the music booms through the pavement as we drive up.
Armando seems about ten seconds away from someone calling the cops about a noise complaint, so I’ve got to do this quick.
“Just stay in the car,” I say to Giovanni. “I want to make an entrance.”
“Alright, don.”
I doubt Giovanni wants to see what I’m about to do, anyway. He and Armando have always been close.
I draw in a deep breath through my nostrils and get out of the car, taking the stairs to his third-story apartment. The door is half open and I push it all the way, a chorus of gasps rippling through the crowd.
Armando is in the back, holding a bottle of half-empty vodka. His eyes are wide and glassy when he looks at me.
“Oh, fuck,” he mutters. “Cut the music!”
The music continues and he huffs, stalking over to rip out a power cord from the wall.
The music stops and the conversation dulls down to a low whisper as everyone looks toward me. I don’t pay the crowd any mind, just staring at Armando.
“Do you want to do this here?” I ask in a low voice. “You know the punishment for breaking my rules.”
He swallows visibly. “Yes, don.”
He sounds slightly sullen and I raise an eyebrow.
“So tell me, Armando. What’s the punishment for breaking a rule?”
“You take a piece of me,” he says flatly, his eyes widening even further in fear.
I pull out a pocketknife from my back pocket, one not unlike the one I’d teased Liana with.
“That’s right. Put your hand on the table.”
“Boss, you don’t have to...”
“I know you’re not telling me what I have to do,” I seethe, walking over and taking hold of his wrist, jerking his arm to lie his palm flat on the table.
I jerk my head at one of his friends, a tall dark-haired man I’d hired a few times. He’s big enough for the job.
“Hold him down.”
“Jerry, don’t you fucking touch me!” Armando yells, writhing, clearly not as willing to take his punishment as he’d imagined.
“Sorry,” Jerry mutters, and takes my place holding Armando down. He does a good job, keeping his hand still as I rest the curved blade at the juncture of his hand and pinky finger.
“Because you’re loyal, I’ll do it fast. But if I hear about you stealing my drugs again, I’ll take the whole hand. Got it?”
Armando trembles, letting out a string of Italian curses. He writhes again, trying to get away from Jerry but he can’t. Finally, he goes limp, nodding and breathing in hard, rough gasps.
I chop off the finger as quickly as I can, the sharp blade slicing easily through skin and bone. Armando screams as blood splatters all over my hand and wrist, some getting onto the sleeve of my shirt.
Sirens start to sound outside. Everyone runs but me, Armando, and Jerry.
Jerry lowers a still-yelling Armando to the ground, rushing to grab paper towels to staunch the bleeding.
The cops come stomping up the stairs and I just place my pocketknife back into the back of my pants and raise my hands.
“Conte? What the hell is going on here?”
Richard Spears, better known as Dick to my father who went to college with him, is the lead detective in the area. He’s been in my father’s pocket for thirty years, and now, mine.
“Just a little disagreement,” I say easily, keeping my hands raised.
“Get back to your vehicle,” he tells the other two officers who have their guns drawn.
“Wh-what? But boss—”
“Back to your fucking vehicle!” he barks, and they scurry like cockroaches.
Fucking pigs. I hate cops, and Dick is no exception. Just because he was friends with my father doesn’t make him a friend of mine.
“I’ll settle up with you later,” I promise. “Get Armando here to the hospital.”
“And what am I supposed to say happened?”
“I did it to myself,” Armando says in a small voice.
I nod, smiling. “That’s right. They may be able to reattach it, Armando.”
I crouch down and ruffle his hair.
He flinches back from me, and I understand. It’ll take him a while to trust me again, but this is for his own benefit.
I walk past Dick, patting him on the shoulder, and he grunts. He doesn’t like me much, and the feeling is mutual.
But he likes what I provide—plenty of drugs and guns for him to sell on the side.
Giovanni waits outside. When I get into the car and shut the door, he pulls slowly past the cops, unbothered, and takes off down the freeway back to my place.
“What’d you take?” Giovanni asks quietly.
“Just a pinky. They’ll probably reattach it.”
Giovanni nods. “Maybe it’ll help him get his shit together.”
I shrug. “Maybe.”
I think the threat of losing his entire hand will help Armando stay on the straight and narrow, but I can’t be sure.
All I know is that I keep my word, and if I catch him stealing again...
Giovanni pulls up at my house and I get out, waving at him as he backs out of the driveway. I head into the front door and up the stairs.
Liana pops her head out, her eyes widening when she sees me. “There’s... there’s blood on your sleeve. Are you okay?”
“Fine,” I say cheerily. “Not my blood.”
“Good,” she mutters, and starts to shut the door.
I can’t help the grin that spreads across my face. “Li?”
“What?”
“Were you worried about me?” I ask her slyly, and she huffs out a breath, her cheeks flushing.
“No,” she spits and shuts the door.
My grin doesn’t fade.
She was worried. She’s coming around.