MARCELLO #2
My questions are drowned out by the first man's howls of pain as one of the blue sharks latches onto his foot, thrashing him left and right against the ship's hull before managing to rip the foot clear off at the ankle.
More blood pours into the water, serving to increase their feeding frenzy.
"Oh God, oh God, make it stop," the man howls, just as Bruce resurfaces, taking a large bite from the man's leg, severing his artery and further fueling the sharks' crazed fury.
"Who do you work for?" I repeat myself.
"Fuck. Fuck this!" The so far untouched man yells as his friend's screams ebb, and the body goes limp after bleeding out.
"Cut him loose."
Marco cuts the rope holding the lifeless body, and the surviving prisoner watches as his friend is torn to pieces. Bloody seafoam builds as the writhing bodies of sharks fight one another for a bite of their meal.
"Take his hand," I command.
Marco pulls out a hatchet. With practiced moves, he first ties a tourniquet to the man's lower arm—we don't want him to bleed out—then he severs the hand. Anticipating what I want, he throws it into the churning waters.
A beast of a tiger shark appears, this one even larger than the great white, and devours his treat, while the man fights against his bindings, kicking and screaming.
"Last time I'll ask, then we'll cut you loose," I warn him.
"Shit, fuck, no! Fuck. Il Macellaio. We work for Il Macellaio."
"The Butcher?" Incredulously, I turn to Luciano. Why in the fuck would the Las Vegas family come after me? I've never had any dealings with them. I lean over the railing to get a better look at the man, "Why would Il Macellaio want me dead?"
"You?" The man barks out in hysterical laughter. His posturing ends in a wince as one of the sharks pushes out of the water and against his leg. "I don't even know who you are, man!" he yells.
Luciano snorts, and I send a quick glare at him.
"If you're not after me, why are you after Violet?"
"Do you tell your men why?" He spits. "I was told to bring the blonde to Vegas."
Fuck!
They weren't after me; they're after fucking Violet. And he does have a point. I don't tell my men why. Neither would any other boss; that's not how things work.
"Are they only after Violet or her whole family?" I don't give a shit about Violet's family, but she does, which makes them my problem.
"I don't know."
"Lower him," I order.
"No, no, please."
Marco lowers the man skillfully. We've done this a few times, and we've learned where the sharks can reach and where they can't. Of course, there's always the element of surprise, like a second great white showing up, one so large, he could probably devour our victim in one bite.
"Hey, Scarface is here!" Luciano yells. He gets a kick out of naming them. At least this fucker has a better name than Bruce.
"Ah fuck. Fuck. No! Pull me up, pull me up, I'll tell you."
"Tell me now!"
"Il Macellaio wants all of them! But he wanted that girl first. I swear, that's all I know."
He screams as the great white makes a move on him, but manages to pull his body to the side, for now.
"Get me up!" The man screams.
I make a slicing motion with my hand, and Marco cuts the ropes. The man plunges into the churning water.
"That's still too fast a death for him," I mumble, my blood running hot with anger that this bastard dared lay a hand on my Violet. "Get Violet's family. It's time we had a meeting."
Luciano stays a few seconds longer on deck to relay my orders, while I retreat back below deck, pouring myself another healthy helping of Blue Label to warm my bones and to mull over this latest revelation.
"Fuck!" I run my hand through my hair. What in the hell is going on?
"Well, at least it wasn't Edoardo or Margarita," Luciano joins me, grabbing a glass too.
He chuckles at my irritated glare and chucks the drink down. Then he pulls up his phone and reads out loud, " Il Macellaio, aka Enzo Carbone. Former enforcer to the Vegas family, currently capo." He skims over the text, then whistles lowly and looks up at me. "Well, I'll be damned."
"What?" I hate it when he gets all dramatic on me.
I grab the phone out of his hand and stare at a picture.
A blonde, very pregnant woman, looking very much like Violet, stands next to a man, whom I suspect is Enzo, and two little girls flank them.
One girl, maybe five, has the same hazel eyes as Violet.
"She left him," I skim over the article, which claims Enzo had been scrutinized for the disappearance of his wife and children.
"That explains why there is no trace of them before twenty years ago," Luciano looks over my shoulder, and I hand his phone back to him.
His hand lands on my shoulder, and he breaks out into loud laughter. Irritated, I jerk his hand off and step back. "It's not funny," I grumble.
"No," he agrees. "It's hilarious. I don't know who the fuck you are, man." He imitates and rephrases Shark Bait's words. "You got yourself in a pickle." He doubles over.
"A pickle?" I arch an eyebrow before I rub my chin. "This is more like thinking you're playing with matches, and then realizing you've been stoking the fires of hell—with the devil's daughter in your lap."
My lip twitches. It is kind of funny. At least now I don't have to worry about Edoardo or Margarita coming after Violet. This actually might play in my favor.
I sober and pull out my phone. Luciano stills too, watching me intently with a question on his face. I grin.
When the line is picked up, I bark, "Edoardo?"
Luciano's eyebrows raise, and an amused expression curls his lips. He knows where this is going. He shakes his head slightly and mumbles, "Fucking genius."
"Marcello? Do you know what time it is?"
"I might care about how late it is, if the fucking Las Vegas family hadn't just tried to kill me," I yell into the phone.
Luciano slaps his knee in amusement, and I turn my back to him. I don't need amusement right now. I channel my fury and unleash it on Edoardo. As our Don, we don't only pay our taxes to him; he has a job to do as well, which is to keep us safe, which he obviously failed at.
"Vegas?" Edoardo sounds confused.
"Yes, fucking Vegas. Il Macellaio's crew. They tried to kidnap my fiancée and shot at me."
"Your what?" Edoardo barks back. He is a control freak and thinks he can dictate who his capos can marry. He's already pissed off Enrico with that nonsense.
"My fiancée," I repeat. "Did you hear what I said?"
"That you have a fiancée I know nothing about? Yes, loud and clear." Edoardo sounds pissed.
"No, that Il Macellaio is after me. Do your fucking job and find out why. If you can't protect your capos from other families…" I let that dangle for a moment. "We have no guarantees you can protect us from anybody."
"Now hold on—"
"No, you hold on. I've had enough of this shit. First Jacomo is killed under your watch, now my dad is on trial for extortion, my sister has been fucking kidnapped, and someone is trying to kill me. I want a meeting. And I want it tomorrow."
"Now listen, you little shit. You don't tell me what—"
"Tomorrow!" I reiterate and hang up with a smirk.
"That was…" Luciano claps his hands, "and the Oscar goes to…" he stops and spreads them toward me.
I shake my head, trying hard to swallow my fury down. That call wasn't acting. It was a controlled letting go of my raging emotions. Every word was true.