The Holy Ghost - M.E. Clayton Page 0,16

so I wasn’t privy to the aftermath of Michael’s error in judgement. “We found out that there were extenuating circumstances behind young Michael’s attempted theft.”

“Really?”

Ciro finally let go of Robert Miller’s hair, but instead of his head collapsing, his frantic blue eyes were wildly trying to get my attention. The scent of urine was strong, even from where I was sitting. “It seems that our young Michael overheard his mother talking on the phone with her new boyfriend and, in exchange for drugs and money, she made the unfortunate decision to trade her daughter for those…items.”

I could feel my body tense, and now I knew why Ciro had specifically mentioned the warehouse when he talked about old times. I didn’t bother to hide the anger in my voice. “And how old is the daughter?”

Ciro’s voice was ice, and that was a bad thing. Normally, Ciro was a hothead. He often erupted and it was never pretty. But when he was so angry that he couldn’t even express it, that was never a good thing for his victim. But, then, calling Robert Miller a victim wasn’t entirely accurate. “Eight,” he bit out. “Eight fucking years old, Ghost.”

I almost snorted. Ciro rarely called me Ghost. He was doing it now to emphasize for poor Robert Miller just who exactly had him in their clutches. And it worked because Robert Miller started thrashing about. Too bad for him, that chair was solidly bolted to the floor.

I stood up, smoothing out my slacks and adjusting my cuff links, as I strolled over to Ciro. Casual was only permitted at home. We always wore suits or dress clothing.

Always.

“Let me guess,” I replied. “Michael, overhearing this conversation, wanted to protect his sister and snagging that gun at the last minute was a desperate decision?”

“Ding, ding, ding,” Ciro sing-songed. “Give the man a prize.” Ciro went back to his tray of goodies. “Robert was scheduled to go by and collect his…purchase tonight, and Michael wanted to be ready and waiting for him.” Ciro smiled at me. “Guess what Robert found instead?”

I smirked. “You?”

His grin widened. “Me,” he confirmed.

I picked up a scalpel. “What happened with the mother?”

The revulsion on his face turned his otherwise good looks wicked. “She’s been dealt with. And Michael and his sister are now staying with their mother’s cousin, where they will be safe.”

I put the scalpel down and picked up the mallet. “That’s good,” I said conversationally. I glanced over at the asshole tied to the chair. “And I take it Robert, here, swore it was a misunderstanding.”

Ciro laughed. “Yeah, but only after I kicked his ass and secured him to the chair. Before that, he was telling me shit was none of my business.”

I tsk’ed. “Not good.”

“Oh, well, then you’ll love this,” Ciro added cheerfully. “He also told me I could suck his dick and to go fuck myself.”

I laughed.

I couldn’t help it.

See, Ciro’s claim to fame was a bit unconventional. When someone was unfortunate enough to cross his path, he didn’t order a group of guys to beat his latest toy into submission. He didn’t knock the guy out and then tie him up. Nope. Ciro abducted his prey and then gave the poor soul a chance to save himself. Ciro meets with the guy, one-on-one, and if the guy can beat Ciro, he lets them go. If he can’t, well…they end up in the chair poor Richard Miller is currently sitting in. Ciro had his own code of honor and it didn’t involve kicking a man when he was down. No. Ciro was a man’s man, and he took down his prey fairly, but ruthlessly. In the entire six years that we’ve been doing this, Ciro has never lost a fight. It could be because he was trained in more than one fighting discipline or because he was simply crazy, but whatever it was, Ciro was unbeatable. Unfortunately for the women who’ve crossed his path, they didn’t get that same chance to escape. Ciro wasn’t fond of beating women, so he usually just got down to business and killed them if the job was a female. However, Luca was good at leaving the women to the Benetti members who were able to stomach that shit.

“Was that before or after he knew who you were?” I asked. “I mean, did the urine stain come before or after you told him The Son had found him?”

“Before,” Ciro confirmed. “Once he knew who I was, well…I’m just grateful he didn’t shit himself.”

I