no problem with a fight, but that I prefer to be the underdog, to punch up instead of down. But I proved with Santo that I have no qualms with doing what is necessary.
The Family comes first. Always.
I type in the code and the door swings open. Benjamin has his knees drawn to his chest, arms wrapped around them, head hanging low. The room reeks of human waste from the bucket in the corner. I feel an involuntary pang in my chest. I remind myself that this man has killed children, trafficked women, and sold drugs to crack-addicted pregnant women.
He’s a monster.
But it’s hard to remember that right now.
“Peter Piper picked a peck-peck-peck,” he gasps, shaking his head. He looks up, eyes wide-eyed and bloodshot, sneering. “Oh, it’s you,” he says calmly. “I guess this is it, then. Are you going to shoot me or stab me? I’d prefer stabbing. I want to feel it. I don’t want to die fast.” He laughs, unhinged. “That’s the opposite of normal, isn’t it?”
I give Nario a look. He just nods: yep, he’s crazy.
“I want to talk with you, Benjamin.” I kneel down next to him. Nario stands close by warily, hand near his hip just in case he tries anything. “You have information I need.”
“About Daddy’s business.”
I cringe. Daddy? This man is my age.
“Yes,” I say.
“You don’t know him,” Benjamin whispers. “He’s a devil. He’ll kill me. He’ll skin me. He’ll make me like it.”
I shiver, picturing the dossier of all the crimes Benjamin Sweeney has committed that we have a record of: the arson, the torture, the time he kicked a dog to death outside a restaurant for seemingly no reason.
“Would you like a bed, Benjamin?” I ask.
“Nah,” Nario grunts. “He doesn’t deserve one.”
“I think he does, and a warm meal,” I say.
Nario tuts. “A warm meal? For this son of a bitch?”
“Ignore him, Benjamin. You can have a bed, a warm meal, a real toilet. Just give me something. Just the name of a business. It will look like a civilian operation. But you know, don’t you? Because you’re smart, you know it’s really an Irish operation?”
“The Elephant never forgets,” Benjamin says breathily. “You don’t know him. None of you know him.”
So good cop-bad cop won’t work. Time to change tactics.
With a sigh, I nod at Nario. He takes out his pistol and places the cold metal against Benjamin’s head. Maybe the threat of a bullet between the eyes will loosen the Irishman’s lips.
But far from getting the desired response, the deranged man smiles. He closes his eyes as though savoring the moment.
“This motherfucker’s got a death wish,” Nario says, pressing forward. “Maybe we should grant it.”
Benjamin opens his eyes a slit. “Yes, maybe you should, Nario Sartori.”
Nario betrays nothing at this use of his full name, except for an impatient twitching of his trigger finger.
“Benjamin, don’t make us hurt you. I really have no desire to.”
“I don’t know,” Nario muses. “I’ve heard he likes to play the piano. Wonder how nice he’ll sound with nine fingers. Pretty good, I’m betting. But eight, seven? Maybe he’ll be able to work through it. But four, Carlo, you think he could still play with four fingers?”
I shake my head, sighing sadly. “I don’t think even the best pianist in the world could make that work.”
He licks his dry lips, shuddering. “You—you wouldn’t. Daddy will hurt you.”
Nario scoffs. “Maybe he will, son. But we’re all destined to die one day. And that won’t save your fingers.”
Benjamin looks at me now. “Would you let him?”
“I just want to give you a warm meal,” I tell him. “A bed. A real toilet.” I point to a place in the wall. “See there? If you look closely, there’s a crack that runs from floor to ceiling. There’s a secret room next door, one we reserve for well-behaved prisoners. The sheets are silk. There’s a shower.”
“I don’t know,” Nario murmurs. “Maybe just let me take one, Carlo. Let him know we’re serious.”
“But he already knows we’re serious. Don’t you, Benjamin?”
I almost feel sorry for him. I have to remind myself, forcibly, of all the evil this man has committed. It’s hard to square who he is now with what I know about him. I wonder if it’s the same for Hazel. She is no fool. She must have guessed the nature of my business, or at least some shadow of an explanation. And then that gets me thinking about how I’m her shadow—the nickname that, far from