“How about Molly?” I suggest. “Surely, you can remember that.”
“Please,” he whimpers. “Please.”
The pulley strains against his weight, and it’s a test of my endurance as I turn the crank and pull the rope up by his wrists. I have the stomach for most things, but even I can admit this is a rather gruesome sight. I focus on his feet until I hear the telltale snap of his shoulders dislocating, followed by his screams of sheer agony.
One glance at his arms hanging like useless meat sacks from the hook sours my breakfast, and I’m already considering the next phase when he surprises me.
“Molly! Molly! Molly! Let me down. Please. I’ll tell you fucking anything. Oh God, motherfuck. I’m going to die. I’m going to fucking die.”
“That’s a bit dramatic.” I lower him to the floor and stare at him, waiting impatiently. “Spit it out then.”
“He’s in Miami,” he pants, delirious from the pain. “The address is in my phone, under Pizza Hut. He’s leaving in two days to try to stash the rest of the money in the Bahamas.”
“See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” I walk over to my bag and retrieve a shot of morphine. “You could have saved yourself a lot of pain.”
“What are you going to do to him?” he whimpers.
“I told you. It’s not my call to make.” I lean down and stab the needle in his arm. “He stole from The Ruin. Actions have consequences, and we all have to pay, no matter how much we may not want to. But you get to go home tonight. You get to see your little girl, your wife, and your son. Life will go on, and with some luck, you may forget this ever happened.”
“What did you give me?” he whines.
“Just a little morphine.” I remove the restraints from his wrists. “You’re going to thank me for it when I move these joints back into place.”
2
Alessio
Luca drives me to my penthouse in downtown Manhattan with an efficiency that reminds me why I pay him so well. He navigates New York traffic with ease, never flustering over the permanent chaos that seems to reside on the streets here. The journey is quiet, as I prefer it, and I take the time to review the candidates I will be interviewing this afternoon. Their names blend together, and my eyes blur as I read through the files, complete with background checks. I have no particular draw toward any of them, but I won’t until I meet them in person. I prefer to keep socialization to a minimum in my personal life, but my gut instincts about people are next to none. A side effect of my trade, perhaps. Regardless, I have no doubt I will decide within seconds if any of the candidates are trustworthy. And if they are not, I will have to contend with Gwen when I return home empty-handed.
I lean my head back against the seat and close my eyes briefly, not to rest but to clear my mind. Typically, I would have a long, punishing session in my home gym after an assignment, but there isn’t time today. I have contracts to review and two additional meetings with clients I must contend with before concluding my business in New York. For the sake of efficiency, I intend to carry out both contract killings this evening, and still have time to spare to study the new file on my desk before my 6 a.m. appointment in the morning.
“Mr. Scarcello, would you like me to wait?” Luca asks.
I blink and glance at the tower outside. My penthouse is in the heart of Tribeca, and though I do not feel a particular kinship with New York, I can appreciate the location and the views.
“Take a break, Luca,” I tell him. “I’ll be ready at three o’clock.”
“As you wish, sir.”
He waits for me to exit, then whisks the car away as the doorman to the building greets me with a respectful bow.
“Dominus et Deus, Mr. Scarcello.”
I nod in return and make my way over to my private elevator. This building is owned by Imperium Valens Invictum, also known as The Society, and only members are residents. But among them, I am the only Sovereign Son. The title means I am a descendant of one of the founding families. Our organization is powerful and secretive. We have our own hierarchy, rules, and expectations, and we are self-governed. Our members span the entire world and include influential figures in politics, religious institutions, finance, tech, law, and government organizations. The list goes on. In the pecking order, my family name means I belong to the upper echelon, which dictates that other members regard me highly. They often greet me with this common phrase as a sign of respect, but sometimes I wish they didn’t acknowledge me at all.
I use a biometric keypad to gain access to the elevator, and it whisks me directly up into the gallery of my apartment. The space is bright and airy, with floor-to-ceiling windows and panoramic views of the skyline spanning the Brooklyn and Manhattan bridges and both rivers. It meets my requirements for when I’m in the city, including a library with a view of the Empire state building, a lap pool, a state-of-the-art kitchen, and a children’s playroom. I usually find myself contained to the office during my time here, which is where I head today.
After several hours of reviewing my contracts and making preparations for the busy night ahead, I take leave to the kitchen. I retrieve the chef’s prepared meal for my lunch, eating quickly and grimacing at my watch. As I suspected, there will not be time to push my body’s limits in the gym. I’m only halfway through the salad when Luca buzzes to announce he’s arrived.
Discarding the rest of the meal, I take a few mints from my pocket and suck on them as I step into the elevator. The descent is quick, and the journey to the coffee shop even quicker, given the proximity I chose. Luca idles at the curb and tells me he’ll wait nearby for me. I thank him and step out of the car, adjusting my tie. It’s only at that point I notice the speck of blood on my shirt cuff. Annoyance at the blemish has me trying to scrub it away to no avail, so with a sigh, I head inside.
A Society daughter greets me at the door with a shy smile. “Mr. Scarcello. So nice to see you again.”
I dip my head, avoiding eye contact with her. “Please thank your father for lending me the space today.”
“Of course. It’s our pleasure. Would you like me to stay and serve drinks while you conduct your business?”
I consider it and decide for my stomach’s sake that I would enjoy a coffee, but also because the type of beverage a person chooses speaks volumes to their character. I want to set the tone, and then I want to take my candidate’s choices onboard in the decision-making process. Every minute detail matters.
“That would be appreciated. I’ll have a true macchiato.”
“As you wish.” She curtsies before me, and I try to hide my grimace as she hurries off to do my bidding.
I sit at a table in the back and glance over the files one more time, committing the names and photographs to memory. There are already a handful I’m quite certain I won’t be considering, and I intend to dismiss them without delay when my gut confirms my suspicions.
The barista approaches with my macchiato and sets it down with an eagerness that betrays her motivations for volunteering her services today. As a Society daughter, she would be expected to offer regardless, but I suspect she envisions me much like I treated my client this morning. A prize fish to be hooked, captured, and displayed like a trophy.