Chapter 43
My mind was on getting my gun, calling my brothers, and figuring out what all this new info meant.
And – if I’m going to be honest – I was concentrating on Bianca.
When I held her hand, she was adorable.
I hadn’t thought anything of it –
But she acted like it meant a lot to her.
And I liked that.
I liked seeing her smile…
And I liked seeing her happy.
I liked making her happy. And not just in bed.
So I had a lot of things going on in my head…
Which is why I didn’t see them coming.
Actually, that’s not entirely true, either.
I was continually scanning the streets, always on the lookout. It’s a habit of growing up in the mafia.
The thing was, I was looking for guys in suits…
Or at least dressed with some degree of self-respect…
Or ‘roided out and built like a weightlifter.
In short, I was looking for mafiosos. Gangsters.
I wasn’t expecting a couple of tweakers who looked like they crawled out of a garbage pile…
And that was my mistake.
We had just turned into the alleyway to get my gun when I heard footsteps coming up behind us.
I instinctively thought Oh shit and swung Fiona behind me to protect her.
I was ready to launch myself at whoever it was – maybe one of the bouncers from the betting hall –
But instead it was two assholes with stains all over their tattered clothing and dark circles under their red-rimmed eyes.
The one on the right had a buzzcut.
The one on the left had long, greasy hair.
They stood about ten feet away, and they both looked like shit.
I was expecting them to pull a knife.
Imagine my surprise when Buzzcut pointed a gun at me. His arm trembled as he did it.
“Gimme your fuckin’ money,” he hissed. “Now.”
As guns go, his was a piece of trash. A snub-nosed revolver, cheap and badly made – what Americans would call a Saturday Night Special. Some small-time drug dealer had probably used it to pop somebody and then tossed in the gutter as he was running from the cops.
Gun laws in Italy are some of the toughest in Europe. You got caught with an unlicensed pistol on you, you were looking at three to five years.
Which meant if Buzzcut could avoid it, he wouldn’t shoot me. He didn’t want to attract any unwanted attention.
Which gave me an advantage.
Still, I played it super cool.
“No problem,” I said as I held up my hands so they knew I was cooperating.
That’s the thing about junkies: they’re twitchy and unpredictable, so it was best to play along.
That is, until an opportunity presented itself to take them down.
But then Greasy walked around to my left and started eyeballing Bianca.
“Well what do have we here,” he said with a big, ugly, rotten-toothed grin.
I felt Bianca move further behind, frightened.
I wasn’t frightened.
I was fucking angry.
“Hey – asshole – stay where you are,” I snapped.
Buzzcut took a step forward. “YOU shut UP and give me your money!”
“Then YOU tell your friend to – HEY!”
Greasy darted in and tried to grab Bianca.
I was about to punch him when I heard the unmistakable click of a hammer being cocked.
I turned back to see Buzzcut’s arm shaking.
He was terrified.
Normally that would have been a point in my favor…
But scared people do stupid shit.
Scared drug addicts do unpredictable, stupid shit.
“I’ll give you my money,” I said, “but tell your friend to leave her alone or I’ll fuckin’ kill him.”
“Pietro, leave her alone,” Buzzcut hissed.
Greasy little Pietro just cackled. I could smell his rancid body order from here.
“Look,” I said as I slowly reached into my pocket, “I’m getting you the money… I’m pulling it out…”
I produced my rubber-band-wrapped bankroll and held it at waist level so he could see it.
It was a couple inches thick – about five grand in 100-euro notes.
Buzzcut’s eyes lit up like he’d just seen the face of God.
That was a looooooot of crystal meth, or black tar heroin, or whatever the fuck he was on.
But Greasy took the opportunity to grab Bianca’s wrist and pull her away from me.
She screamed.
Okay, FUCK this shit.
“Here, I’m tossing it to you,” I said, and underhanded the bankroll into the air.
I specifically aimed for somewhere over Buzzcut’s head – on his gun side.
Being an idiot, he did what I expected:
He tried to catch it with both hands –
Which meant the gun was pointed up in the air.
I struck fast as a cobra – leapt over, grabbed the gun, and twisted it off to the side so the trigger guard broke his finger.
Snap!
“AAAAAH!” he screamed.
Then I put my hand against his head and SLAMMED him into the brick wall hard as I could.
There was a satisfying CRACK, and Buzzcut went out like a light.
His legs buckled underneath him and he slumped to the ground.
I pulled the gun out of his limp hand and turned around.
Greasy was standing behind Bianca now, his filthy arm around her neck.
Both of their eyes were big as saucers as they saw me turn.
Fury boiled up inside me –
But there was no way in hell I was going to fire the gun.
Number one: it was a piece of shit.
I had shot Sergio last night from an even longer distance than Greasy was from me now, but that was with my gun.
With this gutter piece, I might actually hit Bianca if I fired.
Hell, it might not even fire at all –
Or it might blow up in my hand.
Number two: if I fired a shot, that could bring the cops running if any were nearby.
So I was not going to shoot the gun.
Instead, I flicked the release switch, swung the cylinder out with a flick of my wrist –
And dumped the bullets out on the ground.
The brass casings tinkled as they fell around my feet.
Greasy grinned.
He must’ve thought he was out of danger –
That I was some pacifist dipshit who wouldn’t hurt him.
Wrong.
So, so wrong.
I flicked the cylinder back into the gun and grabbed it by the barrel…
Which turned it into a club.
A heavy, metal club.
And I lunged at him.
He realized too late just how badly he’d fucked up…
And just how bad things were about to get for him.
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