Mafia Heir by L. Steele

3

Michael

I stare across the length of the garden at the man who’s tied to a straight backed wooden chair. He’s at the perimeter of the garden, where the lawn slopes down to meet the sea.

I have no neighbors for a mile on each side of the shorefront. Which means the people I bring in here for questioning can scream all they want. They won't be heard by anyone else. It's one of the reasons I had chosen this specific building for my residence. It's just outside of Palermo, with a view of the sea I appreciate most mornings when I have my espresso on the terrace of the house.

When the weather doesn’t permit, and if I still need to carry out questioning of the sort about to take place today, I have a soundproof room in my basement, tucked away two levels below the house.

For now, though, I prowl over to the man who is slumped in his chair. Blood drips from his temples and his nose, splattered on the front of his no-longer-white shirt, which is torn in places.

"Untie him," I order, and Antonio walks toward him. He loosens the restraints and the guy almost falls over. Antonio props him back up on the chair. The man’s eyes flicker open; he glances up at me and pales. He opens and shuts his mouth, but no voice emerges. He blinks rapidly, then wets his lips.

"Get him over there," I jerk my chin toward the rectangular coffee table with the settees on either side of it on the terrace.

I walk toward it and Antonio and Sebastian support the man between them as they bring him over. I take a seat and they lower him onto the sofa opposite me. The man sinks into the back of the settee.

"Get him some coffee and food," I order. Antonio walks away and the man glances up at me. He can’t be over thirty, but his hair is already thinning. His shirt outlines a paunch over linen pants which still retain their careful pressing.

"You’re close to your mother, aren’t you?" I murmur, and he gapes at me.

"How…how do you know?"

"Probably the only son?" I take in his pale features. "Father passed away a few years ago and now your mother cooks dinner and waits for you to come home so you can eat together. She has a circle of friends she plays card with every Saturday, has dinner with them, comes home a little tipsy and is occupied enough that it’s the only day of the week when you don’t feel guilty about leaving her alone, so you can head out and meet your girlfriend."

"C...capo," the man gulps, "please don’t hurt them."

"That’s in your hands entirely."

"I… I didn’t do it," he whispers

"My colleagues here don’t think so—" I frown, "What’s your name?"

"Tobias." He swallows, "My mother calls me Toby."

"Of course, she does." I look him up and down, "Tell me, Toby, what will it take for you to tell me who you were siphoning off the information from our books to?"

"I… I wasn’t," he insists. "I am just an accountant. I was doing my job."

"Who were you doing the job for?"

"For you, Capo." He presses his hands together in his lap, "I am loyal to you, just like my father was to your father, and my father before that."

"Hmm," I stroke my chin, "so your family has served mine for generations."

He nods, "That’s what I mean when I say, I wouldn’t dream of betraying you."

"Not even for your girlfriend."

He pauses, "My g…girlfriend?"

"Does she have a name?"

He opens and shuts his mouth again as he stares at me. "Her…her name?"

I tilt my head and he lower his chin.

"C… Clara," he mumbles.

"What’s that?"

"Clara." He juts out his chin, "Her name is Clara."

"And I assume Clara likes good food, good wine, and flowers and…expensive lingerie?"

His gaze skitters away.

"And diamonds…"

His throat moves as he swallows.

"Did you buy her a diamond ring to propose to her?"

"I did," his chin wobbles, "but it’s not what it looks like, it—"

Just then, Antonio arrives with a tray on which there is a jug of water, a glass, a plate of food and a mug of coffee. He places it on the table in front of Toby who stares at it longingly. "Eat," I order. When he hesitates, I lean back in my seat. "We have plenty of time, Tobias. You may as well as eat and drink and fortify yourself before we proceed."

Toby shudders, then squares his shoulders. He reaches for the panini, crunches down on it, pausing only to take a few sips of the espresso. He inhales the food, then leans back with a sight. I pour some of the water from the jug, push it toward him. "Drink," I command, and this time, he grabs the glass of water. His fingers are steady as he drinks from it.

"Who did you give the information to, Tobias?"

He shakes his head, lowers the glass of water. "I didn’t." He jerks his chin toward Luca, "He’s lying."

"Asshole," Luca growls, and I raise my hand.

"Why would he lie?" I fix my gaze on the man, "What possible reason would my brother have to frame you?"

"Because…" He licks his lips. His fingers tremble and some of the water spills onto his lap. "Because he is jealous of you, because…" Toby glances around the space, "he wants your position; he—"

"What the hell—?"

Luca moves toward Toby, but I am faster. I grab my knife from the sheath at my side and throw it. The knife whizzes past them, embeds in the grass beyond the sofa.

Toby screams, the glass drops from his fingers, and he slaps a hand to his bleeding ear. "Don’t kill me, don’t kill me," he warbles as he sinks from the sofa to his knees. He places his forehead on the glass table. "I swear I don’t know anything about this. I am just a man trying to make an honest living—"

"Except when it’s about fulfilling the expensive tastes of your wife-to-be."

"Please," he raises his head, tears flowing down his cheeks, "she has nothing to do with this."

"I know," I lean forward with my hands between my knees, "but this situation has everything to do with you so," I raise my shoulder, "confess to what you did, give up the people you are spying for, and I swear you will live."

"I don’t know anything." He snivels and snot leaks from his nostrils. "I swear, I don’t." He hunches his shoulders, glancing around the space, wildly, "Please don’t hurt me. Please don’t."

"Get up," I growl. "On your feet, Toby."

He stumbles upright, his knees knocking together so badly he can barely stay upright. "Run."

"What?"

"Run," I repeat, then draw my gun.

He pales and I point it at him. "If you manage to evade my mark," I drawl, "you can escape with your life."

The blood drains from his face. "Capo," he pleads, "you must believe me. I would never be unfaithful to you."

"And yet you came into money suddenly?" I drum my fingers on my thigh. "How do you explain that?"

"I…" He folds his fingers together. "I did move some money out of the company account and into my account," he swallows, "but I did not leak any information to your rivals."

"You expect me to believe that?"

"Why should I lie to you, when it’s my life at risk?"

I stare into his pale features; his gaze holds mine. Strange, I could have sworn that he was lying to me, and yet all of the signs are that he is not.

"Enough talking." I jerk my chin, "Run, or lose the only chance you have at escaping."

"I…I…"

I pull out my gun and he turns away. He races around the settee, down the lawn. I hold the gun, take aim, let him run onto the sand, up the curve of the sea on the beach. I let him run until he visibly slows down, his figure getting smaller and smaller, until I am sure he’s beginning to think he has escaped. Then I fire.

He drops to the ground, and I fire again. No sense in leaving things half-way done.

I nod at Antonio, who springs into a steady jog, as he runs toward the fallen guy. I pocket my gun in its holster, then rise to my feet. Luca steps toward me. "He was lying, fratellone."

"I know." I tilt my head toward him, "If I had any doubt, you wouldn’t be standing here, fratellino."

Luca holds my gaze for a second, then nods, "I’d never lie to you, Mika."

The hair at the back of my neck prickles. I stare at him, then nod, "You’re lying to me now."

His forehead wrinkles. "What do you mean?"

"You’ve one chance to come clean."

He tenses, "I have no idea what you are talking about."

"You don’t?"

He shakes his head, and I prowl over to him. I fix his collar, smooth it down. "Earlier, you said you have a business meeting."

"I do."

"Clearly, it’s a date."

Luca scowls, then his body visibly relaxes, "Stronzo di merda."

I chuckle, then grab him around his shoulder, "Testa di cazzo." I kiss him on both cheeks in a brotherly fashion, "I’ll let you go on one condition."

"What’s that?"

"We’re coming with you," Massimo declares.

"What?" Luca growls, "No fucking way."

"Hell, yes, way." Christian laughs. "You’re not getting out of this, bro."

"Hear, hear." Sebastian, smirks. "You take all of us, or no one goes." His grin widens, "What’s it gonna be?"