Michael started crying harder, but hesitantly did as Joey said. “See, letting you leave isn’t an option. You are a liability, and the fact you could rat us out to the Feds and get in WitSec means I have to cut the ties right now.”
Michael tried to turn his head, but Joey pulled the trigger. The click of the chamber emptying once sounded ominous in the small room, and Joey’s blood pumped hard and fast.
“I have five empty chambers, and one bullet in here with your name on it,” Joey said, and watched as the sweat beaded along the other man’s brow. Joey could have just outright killed Michael and been done with it. All they were doing was sending a message that a rat was as good as dead.
But Joey liked toying with Michael, liked seeing the fear of knowing he was about to die flash across his face. Call him a sick bastard, a mind fuck of an asshole, but Joey got the job done in the end.
He pulled the gun free from Michael’s mouth, and the guy gasped for air. Joey held his free hand out, and Niklo put a hunting knife in his palm. Joey smiled at Michael, and the other man started struggling harder. He opened his mouth to scream, but promptly shut it. Little Johnny had a hand on Michael’s forehead, and one on his chin, and held Michael’s head back.
“Mikey, now, you need to hold still so this can be done and over with.” Joey smiled again, and tapped the end of the blade against Michael’s lips. “Now, open up for me again.”
Michael shook his head violently, and the tears mixed with the blood that covered his face. Little Johnny pried Michael’s mouth open when it was clear the rat wasn’t going to do as he was asked and act like a man. Joey held the gun out to Niklo for a second, and before Michael could struggle further Joey reached in, grabbed his tongue, and brought the blade across Michael’s tongue.
The blade went through the muscle like a hot knife through a stick of butter. Blood poured out of Michael’s mouth, and Joey grabbed the rag Niklo handed him.
“We have to make a point, Michael, but since you want to act like you are tough shit on the street, you should know how this works.” Joey tossed the tongue aside, placed the gun back in Michael’s mouth, and stared right in his eyes. “See how little we had to do to get the information we wanted out of you? That shows me that with a little bit of pressure from outside influences you’d crack like a fucking egg.”
Joey straightened, rubbed his thumb along the gun, and then pulled the trigger again. He did that repeatedly, and the sweat just kept beading and sliding down Michael’s face. Joey leaned down so he was right in Michael’s face. The other man was panting now, his fear tangible. “A rat never makes it, Michael.” He pulled the trigger, and it just happened to be the round with the bullet. The shot rang loud, and the back of Michael’s head blasted across Little Johnny’s shirt.
“Fuck, man,” Little Johnny said and held his arms out.
“I want him placed where his crew can find him easily and get the ‘through the mouth’ message,” Joey said to both of his men, and stared at the corpse. “Also, have the tongue visibly on his mouth so there isn’t any mistake as to what the fuck happened. Anyone who fucks with a Bacelli will find out the hard way.” He turned and left Niklo and Little Johnny to finish the job, headed out to his car, and knew he needed to get this energy out of him. The only thing that would solve that was a stiff drink and a hot pussy. He pulled out of the parking lot and headed to his bar, because right now he needed to get good and liquored up, and find an easy woman to fuck. After killing a man that was running his mouth about the Bacelli crew, there wasn’t anything more satisfying.
2
One week later
Marra grabbed the two croissants, placed them on her tray, and made two cappuccinos. She took her tray to one of the small tables on the patio, and then cleaned off one of the empty tables. The sun was pretty potent today even though it was the end of September.
The small café she worked at was on the corner of two old streets, Franneli and Gretatta. They were streets that were prominently homes to Italian descendants, and because of that everyone pretty much knew everyone. They were close, stuck together, and ran in the same circles.
“Marra, can you watch these while I take a call in the back?” Henrietta, the wife of the owner of this small café, called out through the small window.
Marra asked her table if they needed anything else, and then headed inside. Francesco, the owner of Vincenzo’s Bakery and Café, was a man in his seventies and worked harder than any person she had ever met. She may have only moved to the small and almost intimate Italian town of Bourbon a year ago, but thanks to him she had a job, made decent money, and could support herself and her dream of one day going back to college.
Marra wasn’t Italian, and although to some in this small community that might have been frowned upon, Francesco treated her as if she were blood. But her grandmother had lived here years ago, and Marra had visited Bourbon back in the day. It wasn’t until her mother remarried and moved overseas and forgot all about Marra that she decided to come back to the only place that had ever held any meaningful memories. She couldn’t even use the excuse that she had a broken childhood and that was why she never felt like she belonged anywhere, because that wasn’t the truth.
Her mom was just not the mothering type, and certainly shouldn’t have had the unprotected one night stand that ended in Marra being conceived. She had been a mistake, and her mom made sure to let her know that on more than one occasion.
Marra set her tray down, pushed her memories of a neglectful past away, and waved to Henrietta right before she slipped behind the back door. Vincenzo’s was known in the neighborhood for their homemade baked goods and imported Italian coffee.
Henrietta and Francesco were Sicilian, coming over here when they were in their teens with their parents, and meeting right in this very neighborhood.
She took out the Biscotti Regina and set them aside. The sound of the bell above the door opening alerted her to a customer. “Welcome to Vincenzo’s,” she said and then turned around. The customers that walked in had her heart immediately dropping to her stomach. The four men that entered the small café came in here several times a week, and although she had been seeing them for the last year regularly, she would never get used to “seeing them”.
Niklo, the man in front, tipped his chin in acknowledgment to her greeting, but other than that they stayed silent. She stood still as she watched them walk over to the small table they always sat in when they came to the café. The four of them all wore suits, and when they removed their jackets and sat down she finally breathed in. Marra stayed still for a second and stared at Joey, the ruthless, dangerous, and violent boss of the Bacelli crime family. Living in this small Italian community meant she heard a lot about who ran things, and because most of it was spoken inside of these four walls, it was not something she could escape.
She exhaled deeply, not sure why she felt this attraction to a man that was so wrong for her on every level. And she wasn’t sure why he wanted her either. He could have any woman he wanted, thin and gorgeous, and the total opposite of her. She was thick and curvy, and a size sixteen to boot.
And then Joey lifted his gaze to her, and it was like everything else faded away. She turned from Joey and gathered the espressos and cannolis that the men always had when they came here. Although she knew they were part of organized crime—everyone who even uttered or heard their names knew, in fact—no one talked about it. It was just known, and that was that. She brought the items to them, but didn’t make eye contact.