I think that’s enough truth for one night. I did what I came to do, I warned her that her life might be in jeopardy and tomorrow Johnny will begin to tail her. My job is done and so is this conversation.
~*~
The stench of fertilizer engulfs me as I enter the garden center with Rienzi and the old timers following behind. I bypass the plants, shovels and rakes, making my way down the narrow hallway that leads to Micky’s office and pause in front of the closed door when I hear him howl in pain.
“Matty and Phil are working him over,” Rienzi explains from behind me.
I take another step and my hand closes around the dirty doorknob. Cringing, I twist it and kick the door open. Bound to the chair behind his desk, Micky lifts his head as he screams in agony. My eyes flit to desk where Matty holds Micky’s hand—or what’s left of it—firmly against the wood.
“Micky,” I greet, stepping inside the room. “You look distressed.”
“They fucking cut three of my fingers off!”
I close the distance between me and the desk and assess the damage.
Christ, what a mess.
Schooling my features, I lift my gaze back to Micky and shrug my shoulders.
“Lucky for you, you got seven more.”
“Fuck you,” he spats.
The instant the words leave his lips, Phil drops the butcher knife to his other hand. Micky wails in agony as I step around him. I shrug off my suit jacket and carefully drape it across the back of an empty chair. Unbuttoning my sleeves, I roll them to my elbows and look back at Phil and Matty.
“That’s enough,” I order.
All eyes turn to me, but I ignore them as I step back around the desk. Bracing my hands on the edge of the desk, I lean forward and meet Micky’s glare.
“Sign the fucking papers, Micky, and I’ll give you back your fingers so you can sew them back on.”
“Take all ten,” he growls. “I ain’t signing shit. Not in the fucking lifetime. My debt was with Vic. He’s gone and I worked too hard to hand over my whole life’s earnings to his little cunt of a nephew.”
I gotta hand it to the old bastard, he’s got balls of steel. In another life, I’d commend him for taking a stand against me. Maybe even applaud him.
But, unfortunately, that’s not an option.
Poor Micky is going to learn the hard way.
I lift my head and my gaze wanders around the room, taking in all the grim faces that wait for my command to kill. However, the words never find their way to my tongue and I jut my chin toward the door, dismissing them.
“Everyone out.”
“But—” Matty starts.
“Out!”
“You heard the man,” Rienzi says.
Everyone slowly starts to file out of the room, except for Rienzi who stays rooted in place.
“You too,” I tell him.
“Boss—”
“Now, Rienzi.”
His eyes dart from me to Micky.
“Wait a minute,” Micky says.
Ignoring him, I keep my eyes trained to Rienzi.
“As you wish,” he croaks hoarsely. “I’ll be right outside if you need anything.”
“Hold it,” Micky shouts as Rienzi turns around. “What the fuck is happening?”
Rienzi exits the room, closing the door behind him and I turn to Micky.
“Fuck,” he groans.
“Problem?” I ask, raising an eyebrow as I reach behind me. My hand closes over the piece tucked into the waistband of my pants.
“What are you going to do to me?”
“You wouldn’t be asking me that question if you would’ve just held to your end of the deal and signed the papers,” I volley.
“Come on, man,” Micky cries. “I’m the least of your fucking problems.”
The man is spot on.
He’s a pissant, but he’s about to become an example. It’s the first lesson I’m teaching and not receiving.
I bring the gun around and pull back the safety. Nonchalantly, I lift it and aim it right at him.
One and done.
That’s what Uncle Vic always said.
Sorry big guy, those rules don’t apply here.
Not today.
“Shit,” Micky hisses frantically. “Look, let’s talk—"
My finger closes around the trigger and I stare into his eyes as bullet after bullet whizzes through the air. His eyes go wide with fear and he screams just as the first one pierces his temple. Another punctures the spot right between his eyes. Blood splatters and his head falls forward, slamming against the desk.
It’s quick.
Painless, really.
Fucking perfect.
The door opens and I spin around with my gun still cocked. In rushes Rienzi and the guys but I don’t give any of them a chance to say a word. I point my gun at Rienzi.
Now is as good a time as any.
Pop! Pop! Pop!
One to the heart.
Two the brain.
For a minute, I remain completely still and watch as his body drops to the floor, then I turn to face the men who all stare at me in shock. The corners of my mouth curl as I lower the gun.
“Let that be a lesson to all of you.”
Never underestimate the underdog.
“Now, clean this shit up. There is a chipper in the lot you can use to break up the bodies, then load the dump truck and take the trash to the dump.”
I tuck my gun into the front waistband of my pants and grab my jacket. Pulling my phone out, I walk past the guys and step over Rienzi’s lifeless body. I bring up Joaquin’s contact and hit send. He answers on the third ring.
“It’s time,” I tell him. “Get your ass on a plane.”
Then I walk out of the garden center. Johnny opens the door for me, and I slide into the backseat. Leaning the back of my head against the cool leather I draw in a deep breath.
Some legends are born, others are made.
I’m a work in progress.
Chapter 29
Rocco Spinelli
Not long after Uncle Vic’s transfer went through, he put his plan in motion and started a riot. But that was just the beginning—a pathway to his last hit. He killed the G-Man, a notorious drug lord that terrorized the streets of New York for years and targeted the Satan’s Knights more than once. The man who had enough connections to be transferred had exhausted all his pull and was thrown in solitary confinement.
There were no more calls.
No visits.
Nothing.
Victor Pastore’s last days would be spent in a dark, cold cell.
I braced myself for the war that was sure to come, but nothing came easy. My first hurdle was Joaquin. The day after I whacked Rienzi, my best friend was on a plane to New York. We were finally going to take the streets we loved by storm—or so I thought. I was so busy playing the role of the don, I forgot Joaquin didn’t know how serious things had become between me and Violet.
There was no cushioning the blow, though. I told myself he could be mad, but he had to get over it. I might not be the perfect guy for Violet, but I was prepared to spend the rest of my life striving to be worthy. He played the Pilar card, but I didn’t let him get far with it. I made him understand that he and I were different, that he waited too long.
Too long to love Pilar.