“Five years ago,” he choked out. “Five years ago…”
I wondered how many innocent children he and his family had fostered over the years, and how many of those children he had touched while his bitch of a social-climber wife ignored it. She came into Macchiavello’s regularly with her fake friends. He had fucked half of them.
“Mari—” He went to say her entire name, but I shook my head, daring him. “Do you want her last name?” He had caught his breath, but his voice was like sandpaper.
“Yeah, give it to me,” I said.
“Flores.”
“What do you remember about her?” I rolled my teeth over my bottom lip. “Specifics.”
He caught the gesture and nodded. “Just give me a second.” He took a few deep breaths and then sighed. “Young. Around thirteen, maybe younger.”
No, you fucker, she looked younger because she was in foster and never had a steady stream of proper meals. Which made his offense even worse. He thought she was younger, and he still put his hands on her.
“Her face had the potential to become something special. Her nose was weird, but her body was tight. She had nice tits. And that ass? She was skinny, but it was already boom.” He laughed. “We touched each other—” When he caught the look on my face, the roll of my teeth over my lip again, he was quicker and smarter this time. He changed his story. “I touched her. All right! I touched her. She was irresistible.”
“She fought.”
“Not at first. She didn’t expect it. The last time she pulled a knife on me. Then she was gone. Took off. They had her down as a runaway for a while, but she was a system kid. No one really looks.”
“You made her believe that kindness comes with strings.”
“It does. I took the homeless bitch in.” His face was pinched, but all of a sudden, it relaxed. “That’s her! Palermo’s kid! You’re looking for her.” He was stupid in some ways, but too perceptive in others. He knew if I was asking, there was a reason.
“The Scarpones have a hit on her.”
He made a disbelieving noise. “Yeah. There’s money on her head. Has been since that night. It only grows with time. More interest gained with the years. The first one to bring Arturo her severed head gets the entire sweet pot. Man.” He shook his head and whistled.
I knew he wished that he would’ve pieced it together sooner, recognized her, so the entire sweet pot could’ve been his, along with full access to her pussy before handing her over. The pot wasn’t about the money; it was about being in better graces with Arturo and his attack dog, Achille. If Quillo had to answer to Arturo, he dealt with Achille on a regular basis.
“I still can’t get over you calling the Scarpones the Scarpones. Man, have times changed.” He sighed and then his eyes widened. “I do remember something else about her. Her lips. Those lips.” His eyes softened at the thought. “You looking for her now? I can help you out. I can’t remember hair or eye color, but it’s really no issue. I know people, and I’d recognize her anywhere. And if you’re worried about me running back to tell your family, you know I won’t say anything. You and my sister—”
He stopped himself, and lucky for him he did. I was about to sever his head and deliver it to the Scarpone family free of charge.
“Just offering.” He held his hands up.
I leaned to the side, took out another small gun from behind my back, and set it on the table. Quillo glanced at it before he trained his eyes back on me. I leaned forward and steepled my hands, my fingers covering my mouth. “I don’t need to look for her, Quillo. I know where she is right this fucking second.”
“You do?”
“Yeah, I do. She’s at home, in our bed, sleeping. My wife. You fucked with my wife, Quillo. You touched her when she was a child in your care. What should have been a safe place, you made into a scum prison. You wanna know why I did what I did? Why I saved Marietta Bettina Palermo?” I rolled my teeth over my lip.
“I saved her because she was innocent. I traded my life so her innocence could live. And then you know what I learn, Quillo? I learn that a sick fuck made her believe that kindness was a nasty thing. That it came with strings. You took all that I sacrificed for her and twisted it up. You took that innocence and made her feel ashamed. You made something that was supposed to be clean, the only time in life it can be, seem filthy by putting your hands on her. How do you think I feel about that, Quillo? What do you think I’ll do to make sure you never do it again? Not to mine. Not to anyone.”
He didn’t say anything for a while. He didn’t even try to deny it or defend it. He couldn’t. There are some men who will sit and listen to excuses. Not this one. There was no excuse that could save his life. Business matters could be negotiated, but a personal offense? Unforgivable.
He was sweating again, his lips pursed. “You fell in love with her. You fell in love with Palermo’s kid.”
I smiled and Quillo moved his head back in response, but he was about to use anger to cover his fear. Old habits die hard, but I never forgot.
He pounded the table with his fist. The gun trembled. “You fucking love her! The spawn of that fucker Palermo! He was as evil as your father! My sister. She was a good girl. She didn’t deserve what happened to her! And you sat there and watched it. And now you sit in front of me and condemn me when your conscience is as filthy as they fucking come. You watched them tear my sister in two, and you felt nothing! She wanted you to love her! She loved you. And you couldn’t even say it. You didn’t even fight for her! And now you marry Palermo’s daughter. A whore! A bi—”
I leaned across the table and grabbed him by his throat again, and this time, he tried to fight me. He clawed at the glove but was otherwise subdued. “You’re out of shape, Quillo. All those rich, fatty meals have gone straight to your heart. All that wheezing.” I shook my head. “It’s not good. Careful with that mouth, or I’ll have to take that tongue out. Open your airway up a bit.”
Once he relaxed and stopped fighting me, I released him, and he fell into the chair again. He wheezed this time, banging on the table for air. I picked up the gun, examined it, and then set it down when he calmed.
“This is not about love. This is about loyalty. Respect. Something your family never knew anything about. So.” I pushed the gun toward him. “What’ll it be? The gun or me?” I smiled at him, showing some teeth.
He snatched the gun from the table, put it to his temple, and closed his eyes. He shot me the bird, said, “Fuck you, Pretty Boy Prince. I’ll see you in hell one day,” and then pulled the trigger.
Click.
It took a second, but his eyes sprang open when he realized the gun was empty. Click. Click. Click. His finger was frantic as it continually pulled the trigger.
I threw my head back and laughed. “They might’ve killed me, but some things always stay the same, Quillo. Apparently, the same goes for you. You never learn.” I sighed. “You should know better. I’d never go that easy on you.” Then I rose from my seat and hit him so hard in the chest that I felt his bone crack against my glove. Then I set my hand over his mouth and nose, draining the life out of him.