The Venetian and the Rum Runner - L.A. Witt Page 0,119

Tommy pretty good. They was trying to get Liam to tell them who we worked for. Threatened to kill Tommy right in front of him just like they’d killed Francis, and then they’d beat us all to death one at a time until he told.” He shuddered, squeezing his eyes shut. Then he looked at Carmine, eyes full of exhaustion but bright with renewed fear and, Lord, a hint of tears. “Don’t punish him. Liam, I mean. The lad was terrified, and he thought they was really going to kill—”

“I won’t punish him,” Carmine said softly. “Even if I wanted to, the poor kid had been through more than enough by the time he came to me.”

Danny’s brow pinched. “But he’s really all right?”

“Yeah, he’s all right. Gonna take a while for him to heal, especially the fingers they busted—”

Danny swore. “They busted his fingers?”

“Three of them. He had some bruises and scrapes that looked fresher than others.” Carmine grimaced. “They must’ve gone at him for a long time.”

“Damn them,” Danny breathed, and he picked up his glass and took a deep swallow. “Bastards tried to get us all to talk. I don’t know who did, who didn’t—just that they wanted to know who we worked for and who was in charge. And someone must’ve told them about me and Ricky il Sacchi.” He looked in Carmine’s eyes again. “It ain’t their fault. These lads—we’re thieves. We’re not… We wasn’t made for—”

Someone knocked at the door, and Danny jumped so hard, the glass tumbled from his hand and shattered on the boards at his feet.

He gasped. “Christ! I’m sorry! I—”

“Danny.” Carmine touched his shoulder. “Relax.” He nodded toward the chair behind his desk. “Why don’t you sit down a minute?”

Danny regarded the chair uncertainly, but then he took it with a murmured thanks, and he sat just before it seemed like his legs would’ve given way.

Carmine opened the door and found Sal standing there with a sandwich on a plate.

“Bernice said to send this down to you,” he said flatly.

“Thank you.” Carmine took it. “We won’t be much longer.”

Sal gave a sharp nod, then took his usual post beside the door before Carmine shut it.

Carmine went back to the desk with the plate in his hand, and at the sight of the sandwich, Danny suddenly had more life in his eyes than he’d had all night.

“Here.” Carmine pushed the plate across the desk. “Don’t know if that’s what you like, but there’s not many delis open this time of night, so she got what she could from the speakeasy and—”

“It’s fine.” Danny picked it up and took a bite. If he didn’t like it, he sure didn’t let it show. Carmine guessed he was eating slowly and gingerly because it hurt, not because he didn’t like the food, especially the way he winced with every movement of his jaw. His mouth wasn’t swollen, so Carmine didn’t think he’d lost any teeth, but there was a bruise on one side of his jaw, and his lip was split.

While Danny ate, Carmine swept up the broken glass and stole a few glances at him. The lights in his office were relatively dim, but they gave him a better view of Danny’s face than the headlights had outside. And in here, he wasn’t so worried about someone noticing how much he scrutinized the young Irishman.

Danny’s face was bruised, his left eye almost black, and some crusted blood at his temple hinted at a cut somewhere. The way he’d walked, something hurt—his leg? His back? It was difficult to say. Carmine suspected there wasn’t much that didn’t hurt after being at the mercy of the il Sacchis for that long. Nothing that wouldn’t heal, though.

When he’d finished his sandwich, Danny pushed away the plate and sighed as he stood up. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. And the other boys…” Carmine shook his head. “Nothing’s gonna happen to them.”

Danny looked at him, uncertainty written across his blood-crusted and bruise-mottled face. “Nothing?”

“Nothing. But we are gonna have to be careful. Agosto il Sacchi, I can keep a handle on. But Salvatore?” Carmine exhaled.

“You said before he’s a loose cannon.”

“He is. Always has been.”

Danny’s shoulders slumped. “And now he knows it’s me that killed his brother.”

“Yeah. He does.” Carmine tapped the box containing the pistol and its ammunition. “That’s why I want you to keep this with you. My men can protect you, and we’ll try, but we can’t be everywhere at once, and Salvatore doesn’t give a