Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 88182 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88182 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
“Hello? Ah, Mr. Spadaro, are you here—“
I kick hard. The door slams open, throwing Fontana’s wife backwards in a sprawl. She stares at me guppy-mouthed, dressed for bed in sweats, her hair in curlers. I step onto the threshold and breathe deep the smell of their house: burned candle wax, drywall dust, an undernote of rot.
“What—what—what are you doing?!” She tries to scramble backwards but stops when I raise a gun and aim it at her chest.
“Where’s your husband?”
“He’s—he’s not—what is—“
I cock back the hammer. “Where is he?”
“Upstairs! In his room!”
I release the hammer and lower the weapon. She begins edging away, mewling in fear, as I uncap the gas can and begin splashing liquid across the entry rug. There’s an ugly painting hanging on the wall, two lions fighting in a forest, and I make sure that gets a good soaking too.
“What are you doing, Prime?!”
“You’d better leave if you want to survive tonight.”
“But my husband—“
I glance at her. “Your husband is dead, Mrs. Fontana. I assume you don’t know much about his business?”
Her face pales. “I know… some things…”
“Does the name Shawn mean anything to you?”
“No? Why would it?”
“You should go.” I stalk to the stairs, pouring more gas down the hall toward the kitchen. “This won’t take long.”
“What are you—“
I flick open a lighter, hold it up, and smile to myself. I’ve always been fond of fire. Scares the shit out of people and smoke makes it impossible for them to stick around. Want to clear a room? Burn it to ashes.
I toss the lighter on the trail of gasoline. It erupts with a whoosh, flames spreading fast. The stupid lion painting curls and hisses as the oil melts. It was probably worth a small fortune.
“Oh my god! Please, no!”
“Now’s your chance to run.” I climb the steps as black smoke swirls into the space, filling the air shockingly fast. It hits my lungs like tar.
“Please!” she screams but I don’t stick around to find out if she’s smart enough to save her own skin. I keep moving, climbing out of the bad air and to the second floor landing.
I walk toward the master bedroom locked behind a pair of big oak doors. The house crackles and burns behind me. In years past, this place must’ve been crawling with staff, cleaners, cooks, and dozens of guards. But now there’s nobody; the whole mansion’s a ghost town. No men with guns to protect the boss, all because the money’s been gone for years.
Strange how it comes down to this. In the end, it wasn’t about catching Fontana and physically overpowering him.
It was about out-maneuvering him, starving his operations, stealing his people, and crushing him slowly.
Would Shawn appreciate this?
Probably not. He was a stupid fucking kid.
I kick open the bedroom doors. They smash against the far wall. Fontana’s sitting in his bed, his phone against his ear. The room is lavish: thick rugs, ornate crown molding, painted black and gray and gold like a king’s private chambers. “Oh fuck, he’s here—“ Fontana dives sideways, reaching for his bureau.
I fire once, shooting the alarm clock six inches from his face. He recoils, flailing, the phone thrown from his hands. It tumbles across the floor and I don’t bother going after it. Whoever he has on the other end can’t help him now, even if they want to.
“Good evening, Mr. Fontana.” I tip over my gas can with my toe and let the liquid seep out onto the carpet. I walk around to the side of the bed, keeping the gangster covered. “It seems your house is on fire.”
“Prime.” He speaks through his teeth. He’s trying to be brave but the fear’s all over him. “You foolish boy. You realize what’s going to happen now?”
“The real question is, do you?” I stand over him and marvel at how old he looks. Augustus Fontana, the devil in my dreams. How did I ever let a pathetic weakling like this bother me for so long? It seems absurd now.
“They’re coming and when they get here, they’re going to kill you.” Fontana sneers at me. “Unless you’re smart and cut a deal. We can still work together. It isn’t too late. I’ve always said you were clever and enterprising—“
“How many clever and enterprising young men have you ended over the years?”
His brow furrows. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“I wasn’t the first you tried to kill. I’m guessing you’ve been identifying potential trouble for years and cutting it down before it can bloom. Like you’re weeding the city’s garden. But you missed with me and got my friend instead.”
His cheeks turn red. “I thought you were done after that. You disappeared for months. I should’ve finished the fucking job.”
“Probably, but you didn’t, and by the time I emerged, I had some help and you couldn’t touch me anymore.”