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There were times my generosity could be considered a detriment. But in this case, I knew what he was getting at. If a man had a heart and cared about anyone, the weakness could be used in a way that provided information without going through the act of torture.

“Then we shall see how much he cares about his family.” I walked around my soldier, moving to within a few feet of Dante. “I understand you have a baby on the way. Congratulations are in order.”

A man’s first reaction told you everything you needed to know. “Please. Don’t… I’ll do anything.”

There it was. The reality of who and what Dante was. He adored his wife and child. “Then tell me what I want to know. If you don’t, you’ll be forced to watch my response.”

He blubbered for a few minutes and I could tell a couple of captains were uncertain whether or not I’d go through with something so heinous. Let them think what they want. My actions were all that mattered.

Dante hung his head, still whimpering loudly. I waited for a full two minutes for him to say anything.

He did not.

“Alright, Mario. Hunt the wife.”

“No!” Dante’s scream could likely be heard outside the compartment.

“Then tell me.” My voice was deep, the command harsh, and I was running out of patience.

“Gunner. His name is Gunner.”

“Gunner.” I glanced at my men ending with Sergei to see if any of them had a clue who this man was. Everyone shook their head. “Who is Gunner, Dante? I’m losing patience.”

“Henchman for the Dixie Boys.”

Sergei moved beside me, guffawing as he did. “Dixie mafia.” Yes, they’d made more of a presence in the city and throughout the Carolinas and Georgia with several chapters. In my mind they were little more than biker gangs. Although I’d heard rumors they’d become much more organized under the tutelage of a new leader. In their crude world he was called the president.

The Dixie mafia had been so far down on the radar I hadn’t given the possibility more than a basic thought. I was surprised my father hadn’t disowned me when I’d mentioned the situation before. He’d taught me to be thorough in eliminating all possibilities.

“The Dixie mafia,” I repeated.

I had a sense Dante was close to losing consciousness. “Yes.”

“Who is the president and where does he like to play?” I knew enough about them to realize there’d been reported a clubhouse of sorts. Maybe that’s what the warehouse office could have been called.

Only we didn’t gather together to chug down beer and fuck women. Yes, I was stereotyping, but the rage continued to fester.

“His name is… Rocky. Rocky Torrent.”

Sergei registered the name and once again, I crouched by Dante. “Where is the clubhouse? You’ve been there. Right?”

He muttered off some address at least twenty miles outside of town and lolled his head to the side.

Because the information was damning, I needed to keep to the rules I’d implemented for myself the day I’d become Pakhan. “How do I know you’re not lying?”

“Andrey and Gunner went way back. He was never loyal to you.”

Andrey. The man seen in the picture with the bald man, the one I’d thought a respected soldier and the one whose death was meant as a deterrent.

“Why? Why did he turn traitor?”

I don’t know why it was important to me. I’d never worried about it before. “Money. Just… money.”

Well, at least his answer was honest.

Once again, I stood, taking a few seconds longer than normal to try to decide what to do with him.

I headed toward the exit, Sergei stopping me. “What do you want done with him?”