Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 129676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 648(@200wpm)___ 519(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 648(@200wpm)___ 519(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
Enzo, their younger brother, was also present. He was playing with a Swiss Army knife. I knew there was a sister in the mix too. The youngest child of the Ferrante family. Thankfully, I hadn’t met her.
The last thing I needed in my life was more of this fucking family.
The sound of bone cracking like a pistachio shell soaked my ears. It was followed by a scream, stifled by the burlap sack. Blood painted the tied man’s knee over his pants. Achilles swiveled my way, blasé.
He twisted his wrist and frowned at his Patek Philippe. “It’s twenty seconds past midnight.”
“As I said—Tuesday.” I surveyed my surroundings, deeming the place too unsanitary to remove my gloves. “Where’s my fucking spot at that dementia clinic?”
“We’re working on it.” Luca lit a cigarette, peering over the ledgers on his desk. As the oldest, he was also the least deranged of the three. Which didn’t say much.
I had studied the Ferrante family closely before we got into business. They depopulated the state of New York at a rapid speed and with much enthusiasm.
Most mobsters I knew sent their soldiers to do the killings, but Luca and Achilles had a particular taste for violence.
The Ferrantes were wolves in silk clothing. I immediately found myself drawn to their pack.
I appreciated that they were Camorra and not the Cosa Nostra. The organizational structure was less hierarchy-based, more horizontal, and therefore chose its leaders based on merit and cruelty.
Luca being the oldest son did not necessarily mean he was Vello’s natural heir to the throne. I had a feeling Vello was going to let his sons battle it out for the don’s title when he finally expired.
I was going to secure a front-row seat to that shit.
Luca, now thirty-two, was initiated into the Camorra when he was fourteen by taking the life of an enemy.
He did so in spectacular fashion, subjecting the man to a Viking eagle death. He’d broken his ribs and withdrawn his lungs from the chest cavity and watched as the man died slowly.
Four years later, Achilles was initiated on the promise he would up his brother’s ante.
As legend had it, when it was his turn to kill an enemy, he plucked out the heart from the man’s chest and ate it raw, still connected to its arteries and beating its last pulses.
One could only imagine what Enzo had to do to match his brothers’ brutality.
One day, when I was in less hurry and gave more fucks, I’d look into it.
“You’re taking too long.” I cracked my knuckles.
“Power is like a horse, Blackthorn. You need to rein it with restraint or you lose it altogether. We’re examining all angles. Speaking of.” Luca gestured to the handcuffed man with the sack on his head. “We just found out the whereabouts of one of your father’s killers.”
I peered at the faceless bastard, then glanced around me. It was the first time I paid attention to the setting—not hygiene—of the place since their housemaid, Imma, ushered me in.
I had noticed the upstairs door was padded and soundproofed. Now that I was inside, I understood why.
The exposed gray brick walls hid the worst torturing weapons on planet Earth. An iron maiden device, an armchair of inquiries, a hanging cage, a Judas cradle, and a fucking cranium crusher.
These assholes seemed to be having way too much fun killing people.
Some families played pickleball. The Ferrantes bonded over genital mutilation and skull crushing.
“Are you done with your My Little Pony TED talk?” I plopped down next to Enzo. “Good. Now, the clinic space is contingent on an important deal I need to execute.”
“And we’ll be sure to let you know when—” Luca started before another hair-raising shriek erupted from the burlap sack.
Achilles appeared to be gouging an internal organ out of the man’s gut with gusto.
Luca turned to his brother. “Christ, Achilles, would you kill him already? Mama taught you not to play with your food.”
“He’s not even a snack,” Achilles murmured around a lit cigarette, squinting. “He vomited out all the information before we even brought him to the basement. What kind of world do we live in that you don’t have to extort secrets from the enemy?”
“A dull one.” I drummed my gloved fingers over the table. “Is my father’s second killer local?”
Luca uncrossed his arms, readjusting his holster. “Lives upstate. This guy’s been providing him with a steady stream of underaged, undocumented sex workers.”
Another shriek of agony punctuated the damp, cold air, coming from the handcuffed victim.
Luca sighed. Pulling his gun out of his shoulder holster, he pointed it at the man and shot him square between the eyes through the sack. The screaming ceased at once.
Achilles’s sulky expression was comically boyish on his scarred, grotesque face. “Hey, I was having fun with that one.”
Luca spun and tucked his gun back into his holster. “We’ll get you another toy soon. I want to unburden myself of this fucker first.”