The Venetian and the Rum Runner - L.A. Witt Page 0,172

trembling all over, blood and tears running down his face. Blood slid down the front of his throat and stained the white of his clerical collar, but he didn’t make a sound.

Slowly pulling back the hammer, Salvatore looked right at Carmine. “Tell me where to find Daniel Moore.”

Through chattering teeth, Carmine said, “I don’t know where he is. I told you, I came to see your uncle because you had him.”

Salvatore narrowed his eyes. “I will kill him, Battaglia. I will blow his brains out right here. Tell me where—”

“I don’t know. For God’s sake, I can’t tell you what I don’t know! Shoot me if you’re going to, but let the priest go!”

Salvatore stared at him. Carmine stared back. The priest trembled, eyes still squeezed shut as more tears and blood slid down his face.

Behind Salvatore, the guards exchanged uncomfortable glances. They did nothing to stop him, but they clearly didn’t like him threatening a priest like this.

So stop him, you cowards. Do something!

Abruptly, Salvatore yanked the gun free and let James go. The priest exhaled, murmuring something that sounded like a slurred prayer. He spat blood on the floor and swallowed more than once, as if he were trying not to get sick.

Salvatore pointed the gun at Carmine’s face, and even as Carmine stared into the black void of the spit-wet barrel, he could feel the man’s glare on him. “You’d better hope I don’t find out you’re lying to me.”

“I am not—”

Salvatore smacked Carmine across the face with the pistol. “Quiet.”

Carmine blinked a few times, his vision swimming for a moment. Then he looked up at Salvatore again. “He got the best of your men and escaped. How in the hell would I know where he went after that?”

“You can beat us all you want,” James said coolly, pausing to spit more blood on the floor, “but we can’t tell you what we don’t know.”

Salvatore glared at James, and Carmine braced, expecting another barrage to come the priest’s way. Instead, Salvatore nodded sharply at his bodyguards. As he strode away, they followed, leaving James and Carmine with the two men assigned to guard them.

Carmine tongued a place where his teeth had cut into his cheek. Would he have told Salvatore how to find Danny if he’d known? No. No, he couldn’t do that. But the alternative meant letting James die slowly and painfully in front of him. James was bound and helpless. Wherever Danny was, he still had the opportunity to defend himself. To run. Run from New York. Run and never look back.

I can’t give up a priest for Danny. I can’t give up Danny for a priest. God, what do I do?

Though it didn’t really matter, did it? He didn’t know where Danny was or if he was even alive. He was powerless to help Danny or James. The best he could hope for now was that Danny ran like the wind, and that while Salvatore il Sacchi had a stomach for a lot of things, maybe even he drew the line at murdering a priest.

With the way the son of a bitch had battered Father Carroll though, Carmine couldn’t take that for granted.

Salvatore hadn’t killed the priest…yet.

There was no telling how long that would last, and there was nothing Carmine could do to stop him. There was nothing he could do at all except pray Danny didn’t take the bait to come looking for him.

But deep in his heart, he knew he would.

For God’s sake, Danny—run!

Chapter 41

“And just who the hell are you?”

Cap in his hands, Danny set his jaw and forced himself not to look as terrified as he felt. Holding the irritated Italian’s gaze, he said, “I work for Carmine Battaglia. I need to speak to Joe Masseria, and it can’t wait.”

An eyebrow rose, but the man didn’t budge. “What makes you think he has time for—”

“Several of his associates are already dead,” Danny said, “and there’s gonna be more soon. Including a priest.”

That got the Italian’s attention. “A priest?”

Danny nodded. “It’s a long story and there ain’t time to tell it. I wouldn’t presume to ask this kind of a favor, but I’ve got no one else I can think to ask.”

The Italian studied him for a moment, then said, “Wait right here.”

Danny didn’t get a chance to respond before the man went deeper into the café. Carmine’s driver, Fedele, had worked out that this place—not far from the café where Danny had met Joe the first time—was where Joe sometimes