The Venetian and the Rum Runner - L.A. Witt Page 0,115
kept it from the press that your nephew threatened my sister the night he was killed. How much liquor is that worth to you?”
Il Sacchi glared at Carmine, but Carmine’s expression didn’t change. He didn’t move. He didn’t even seem to be breathing—just staring right back at il Sacchi and waiting for him to make his decision. Danny’s heart galloped as he waited for someone—anyone—to do or say something.
Finally, il Sacchi nodded at the others. “Let ‘em go.”
The lads hurried toward the cars, some limping as they ran, and they disappeared beyond the row of headlights. The wise guy holding Danny’s arm released him, and Danny took a step toward Carmine—
But il Sacchi caught him again and dragged him backward. “Not you.”
Panic surged through Danny. He didn’t dare fight, but what was going on?
And for the first time, if only for a second, Carmine’s expression faltered just enough to let through some fear. His features quickly hardened, though, and he glared at il Sacchi. “Let them all go.”
“No, I don’t think so.” Il Sacchi narrowed his eyes. “Maybe that’s how men like you handle things in Venice, but here in New York, one man doesn’t hire the man who murdered someone else’s kin.” He put a tight, heavy hand on Danny’s shoulder, fingers digging hard into a bruise. “Or didn’t you know, Carmine?”
Carmine pointed a gloved finger at Danny. “He isn’t merchandise, and I’m not going to haggle over him. I want my men back. All of them. Now.”
Il Sacchi just chuckled. “I’m sure you do, Battaglia. I’m sure you do.” Then he shoved Danny at one of the wise guys. “Put him in the car. Let’s go.”
Shotguns racked and hammers creaked, and everyone froze. Everything was suddenly so still, Danny could hear the tide lapping at the docks not far away.
Il Sacchi eyed Carmine coolly. “You think it’ll end well for you, shooting me?”
“You think it’ll end well, taking—”
“I think he’s got a few things to answer for with my family, doesn’t he?”
Danny’s blood turned impossibly colder.
“He works for me,” Carmine growled.
“Mmhmm, I know.” Il Sacchi’s voice was low and threatening. “Tell me—was he working for you when he murdered my nephew?”
Danny couldn’t breathe.
“What?” someone asked. Danny turned his head as one of the wise guys stepped out from between the cars behind him. Gesturing wildly at Danny with a shotgun, he growled, “He killed Ricky, Uncle Agosto? Him?” He shoved the shotgun into Danny’s face. “Is this the bastard that killed him? Because I will—”
“Salvatore!” il Sacchi barked. “This isn’t the time to—”
“No, it is the time.” Salvatore sounded deranged. “He killed my brother?” He waved the gun at Danny. “You killed him?”
Panic surged through Danny. He couldn’t go anywhere or do anything, and the enraged brother of the man he’d killed had a gun, and—
“Salvatore.” Il Sacchi made a placating gesture at his wild-eyed nephew. “Now is not the—”
“No.” Salvatore shoved the shotgun’s muzzle against Danny’s chest. “Answer me, Mick. Did you kill Ricky or not?”
Oh God. So this was Salvatore. The man hellbent on avenging his brother’s death. He was Ricky’s spitting image. They could’ve been twins. Maybe they were. Looking into his frenzied eyes was like looking at a vengeful spirit—the man he’d killed, back to drag Danny with him down to hell.
Before Danny could answer, il Sacchi reached over and casually grabbed the shotgun’s barrel. “Salvatore.”
“I want him dead,” Salvatore snarled. “He murdered—”
“I know what he did. But this is a business negotiation.” He gestured toward Carmine and his men.
Salvatore glared at his uncle, then turned to Danny. “You.” He jabbed a finger at Danny’s face. “Whatever happens tonight, you’re a dead man. I promise you that.”
“Salvatore,” il Sacchi growled.
Nostrils flaring, Salvatore glared at Danny for a long, tense moment before he finally backed down and stood aside.
“Enough, il Sacchi,” Carmine said. “Let him go.”
“I don’t think so, Venetian.”
For the second time in mere moments, Danny had a gun on him. This time a pistol, the muzzle jammed against his temple as Agosto il Sacchi held him still with an arm around his throat.
“You paid your debt to me,” il Sacchi said to Carmine, “but this one…he and I still have a score that needs settling. One that is apparently from before he worked for you, so it’s none of your concern.”
“Il Sacchi, we—”
“Enough.” Il Sacchi drew back the hammer, the creaking sound seeming to echo off all the warehouses. “He’s coming with me, or I finish my business with him here and now.”