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5
TOMMASO SANTORINI
I pinch the dart between my index finger and my thumb and close one eye. I’m not sure why people close an eye when they’re trying to see a target. Doesn’t make any sense to me, but I’m trying to win here, so fuck it. A flick of the wrist, and the dart sails through the air. It misses my intended target by a few inches, but the accompanying grunt soothes some of my disappointment.
“Jesus, fuck. You almost took my eye out that time.”
I narrow my gaze at the man spread out in front of me. He’s so low-level that I normally wouldn’t even bother with him. We have plenty of trustworthy men to handle our own special brand of information gathering.
But if I had to spend another morning trapped in that apartment with my brother, I was going to kill someone. Better it be this guy than him.
Plus, I signed the three of us up for a dart competition at one of our hotels next month, and I need to practice. Nic’s going to lose his shit when he hears I booked his entire weekend at The Golden Goose for this tournament.
“Practice makes perfect, man. I’m confident that in another thirty minutes, I’ll be able to hit your eye.”
“You’re fucking crazy, man!” Eric Miften yells. He’s one of our soldiers—well, he was one of our soldiers.
My left eye tics like it always does when someone throws out baseless blanket statements like that. I squint, trying to line up my shot. Now I’m fucking determined to hit my bullseye—literally.
“If you can’t keep your mouth shut, I’ll have to tape it shut for you.”
The psychological aspects of my information gathering sessions always yield the best results with the least amount of physicality. I don’t need to pull a dude’s fingernails off to get him to spill his secrets. I mean, I have done that, but that’s because that’s how my father did it. He called it family tradition. Like how fucked up is that? Apparently, his father, the late Alfred Santorini, was a real hardass that way, taught Dad all kinds of shit that he then passed on to me.
Dad doesn’t do much in the way of torture these days. He prefers to laze on his throne and watch his worker ants do all the dirty work.
Just another one of the many things my father does in the name of tradition.
“I know you didn’t set it up, just like I know that you gave them passage into the city when you know we have a strict leash on all the narcotics here.”
He stares at me through one swollen eye, his fear pungent in one of the hotel rooms we use for this sort of chat. “I swear I didn’t have a choice.”
I’m growing bored with his refusal to tell me. We both know he knows more than he’s letting on. He hasn’t had the proper motivation yet. I sigh and prepare to dangle the proverbial carrot.
“Just tell me who ordered the hit, Eric, and then you can go.”
Hope brightens his gaze as he shifts his weight from foot to foot. “You’ll let me go?”
I raise another dart and get into the proper stance. “I need the name.” I count to three inside my head and let the dart fly, purposely wide this time. The dart shoots through the air and cuts through his hair, embedding itself in the drywall right next to his ear.
Eric’s trembles are visible from this far away. Good. That asshole should be scared. The quicker he gives me the name, the quicker I can get the fuck out of here. I’ve got shit to do today. Like watch the ‘80s movie marathon.
“Okay, okay. It was Marco. Marco Stockton.”
I keep my expression blank while I process this bit of information. Seems like the road captain of our neighborhood MC needs a refresher on our agreement. The Hell’s Vipers MC has been more trouble than they’re worth, if you ask me.
A spike of irritation slashes through me when my phone vibrates in my pocket. I dig it out and see my little brother’s name. I debate on letting it go to voicemail for a moment, but guilt kicks in and my finger taps the accept button before I talk myself out of it.
“Yeah?”
“You still having a chat with that one guy?” Romeo, asks.
I rock back on my heels and side-eye Eric. “Sure am. Just got some interesting news too.”
“Good. It’ll have to wait though. Our sister just called. She’s coming Sunday. Got herself a date with Elvis.”
I cock my head to the side. “She called you?”
There’s a pause.
