The Venetian and the Rum Runner - L.A. Witt Page 0,113
like Big Bill Dwyer or Joe the Boss or Rothstein himself—you did what he told you to, you stayed out of his way, and you didn’t rat on him.
And you definitely didn’t steal his booze.
Il Sacchi chuckled. “You know who I am, then?”
Danny nodded. “I do. Yeah.”
“Well.” Il Sacchi smiled coldly. “That means I don’t have to explain much, do I?”
He didn’t need to explain who he was, no, but he might’ve explained what was about to happen to Danny and his crew. Or…maybe he didn’t need to.
Danny cleared his throat. “You’re a Catholic man, ain’t you?”
Il Sacchi nodded. “Like any self-respecting Italian.”
“All right. Well.” Danny shifted nervously. “Would it be too big a thing to ask for a priest before you kill us?”
The boss didn’t answer. His expression didn’t change.
Danny’s heart dropped into the pit of his stomach. Pushing out a ragged breath, he reached up to shakily cross himself, but the instant he moved, the other wise guys both jumped. A pistol came out, and a hammer creaked.
“Easy.” Il Sacchi motioned for them to back off. With an unreadable expression, something almost like the beginning of a smirk on his lips, he looked right at Danny. “Let the boy have his moment with God.”
Danny gulped. He hesitated, then—with some effort—crossed himself with a shaking hand.
The drive was long, silent, and terrifying. Danny eventually began to recognize some of the roads leading from Long Island back to Queens and Manhattan, but knowing where he was didn’t settle his fears. Not when he was trapped in a car with Agosto il Sacchi.
Eventually, the caravan of cars were in Brooklyn, and there they started to follow the roads that went between the endless warehouses in Industry City. The lights of Manhattan seemed far away, and he was all too familiar with how many shadowy places there were out here. How easy it had been for him and his crew to break into the warehouse that had turned out to be Carmine’s, and to escape without drawing notice. Whatever happened out here tonight, there wouldn’t be many people to witness it. Chances were, they could be paid not to see anything, same as the guards who’d let Danny and the crew leave that night. They could probably also be paid to help just like those men had. Maybe help toss them into the water or something.
Danny closed his eyes and exhaled, his teeth preemptively chattering at the prospect of drowning in that icy river. He silently prayed these men were going to shoot him and his boys. Dying terrified him, but a bullet to the head sounded better than a freezing, watery grave.
Would someone find his body? Would word reach his parents? What about Rowan? James? Or would he just disappear, and they’d spend the rest of their days wondering what became of him? There was a woman in Rowan’s building whose husband had left for work one morning and never come back. The whole block had helped keep her and her children fed and housed while she found work, but four years on, there was still no word of her husband. Had he abandoned them? Had he been kidnapped? Killed?
Maybe run afoul of a bootlegging gangster and dumped like garbage into the Hudson?
Danny shuddered. Whatever happened to him tonight, he just prayed to God someone found him and that none of his family was haunted by questions the way his brother’s neighbor was.
“So, Daniel.” Agosto’s voice startled him. “From what my men gathered from your friends, I understand you and they were involved in some theft on New Year’s Eve.” He glared across the narrow space as he pulled out a revolver and casually rested it in his lap. “Including one that, shall we say, went awry.”
Utter terror went straight to Danny’s bones, and he had no idea if he was shivering because he was cold, or because he was just anticipating how cold he would undoubtedly be before this night was over.
“Do you know what I’m talking about, Daniel? Do you know what happened that night that has caused my family so much grief?”
Danny gulped. “Ricky. I had no idea who he was. I never meant—”
“You had no idea who he was.” Il Sacchi took a few bullets from his pocket and began slowly loading them into the revolver. “Yet, you were in his suite. Presumably uninvited.”
Danny stared at the gun, which was barely visible in the darkness. “Only to steal. None of us was there to hurt no one.”