[POV: Venezia Casadei]
"You really are something, huh," Auden said strolling over to me, a dangerous glint in his eye. The look on his face was one of hunger. I'd seen it before on the bloodthirsty faces of Made Men just before they'd shot someone i...
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"So what does Don Niccolò have for us today?" The question came from a man with one eye and a jagged scar running from his hairline to the corner of his mouth. A matching one crossed his throat from ear to ear. Roman Volkov.
"The usual," I remarked. "Five thousand pills of molly and twenty kilos of coke. Already sorted into little baggies for your little boys. Were you expecting something else?" I looked from him to his goons standing in a line about two feet behind him, and back.
All were dressed in black suits with crimson handkerchiefs prodding out of their breast pockets. Clever. Good for wiping bloodied knuckles without leaving a noticeable stain on the fabric. Around their necks were gold chains with a cross at the end. Cute given their line of work. Possibly their attempt for a spot in heaven. Or maybe they were worn as a symbol for their ability to send people to heaven.
Roman laughed, his Russian accent carrying through the raspy sound. His eyes sparkled but his body was poised to strike at the drop of a hat. "No. I thought he would show a bit of love and give us a gift." He spread his arms out wide. "We have been doing business for over a few months now, no?"
I let out a small chuckle and lifted my chin. "Yes, we have. But gifts from the Godfather are reserved for those that have earned his respect." I heard the shuffling feet of a few of my men behind me as they eyed the opposing party. "No offence meant," I smiled.
"None taken." He returned the same synthetic smile and held up a hand to placate his men.
"So what happened to the other guy?" I inquired. "Pavel, wasn't it? He usually did the trade for Odessa." I made a show of scanning the line for the scoundrel. He was a beady-eyed bastard known for raping women and children, and taking more than his allotted cut.
"Ah. That mudak," he huffed. "The asshole tried to muscle his way into one of the local clubs with his gun. Got arrested and the next morning he was tsk," his thumb drew an invisible line underneath his chin. "Throat slit in the middle of the night. He was skinned and his face pounded in. Served him right." He spat on the ground. "Why do you ask? You miss him sucking your dick? I have plenty of Russian men to do that for you if you like the type," he let out a loud laugh. "I joke, I joke." He pretended to wipe a tear from his eye.
A corner of my mouth lifted. "Shooting you wasn't on todays agenda, Volkov." I glanced down at my watch. Water dripped from the ceiling, landing on the face of it.
"It's not on anybody's agenda, I hope," he laughed again. "If it is, I must have forgotten to kill them." He raised the brow that his scar ran through, challenging me.
This motherfucker laughs a lot. I should cut out his tongue.
I looked up at the beams of the empty warehouse we stood in, trying to spot where the leak was coming from. "No, it's on mine, just not for today." I focused my gaze back on him, ignoring his provocation. "Maybe tell the joke again next Thursday and if I'm feeling generous, I'll cut off your dick and make one of your men suck it." I shrugged a shoulder. "If I'm not feeling too giving, I'll just shoot you through your remaining good eye."
