Page 98 of Chains of Recompense
“Then you should feel fortunate,” I reply. “You’ve been living on borrowed time, Luigi. Put the knife down, and I’ll consider giving you a small extension on the loan.”
He hesitates, and for half a second, I think it might work.
Then he lunges, his trajectory shifting from Sandro to me with rather impressive agility for a man of his size.
He’s clearly unfamiliar with wielding a weapon, but his job has given him more than enough practice chopping into things, and he aims the knife with lethal precision as he lunges straight for my abdomen.
It’s only quick reflexes and a strong survival instinct that have me jumping back in time, my arm coming up defensively.
But I have nothing solid to shield myself with, and pain explodes across my forearm, hot and immediate, as his blade parts my skin, the slice brief but vicious.
I grunt, more surprised than hurt, stumbling back as blood wells and drips to the tile floor.
Chaos erupts.
Sandro and Miko are on the butcher in an instant, knocking the knife away with brutal efficiency.
The Murray brothers pile on next, fists and boots and curses flying as they haul Luigi down and teach him exactly how stupid his choice was.
“Enough,” I bark, grasping my arm to staunch the bleeding as best I can.
The Irish brothers pause, their eyes turning to me.
The butcher sobs, curled on the floor at their feet, broken nose bleeding profusely, face swelling, eyes glazed with terror.
I step closer, hot crimson dripping from my fingertips, and crouch so he has to look at me. “Just because my father is dead doesn’t mean your debt died with him,” I say quietly. “It means you got an extension you didn’t earn.”
He nods frantically.
“One week,” I continue. “When we come back, you’ll have every dollar. If you don’t, this conversation is going to get much uglier.”
We leave him broken but alive, which is more mercy than he deserves—more than I think he expected to receive, either.
I’m aware of the hospital visits he’s had after my father sent men to collect on his previous debts.
But right now, we can’t afford the unwanted attention.
Not until we have the right people in our back pocket once more.
Speaking of which, the message on my phone from Commissioner Doyle’s secretary is burning a hole in my pocket.
I need to talk to Aisling about it.
But perhaps it would be best to stop the bleeding first.
Sandro and I part ways with Miko and the Murray brothers at the cars as we head back to the Chiaroscuro estate so Evi can patch me up.
Sandro’s wife is as gifted with sutures as she is with a sewing needle, and I know she’ll stitch me back together without a problem.
I’m just grateful it’s me she’ll be fixing this time.
I know she hates how often she’s had to nurse Sandro back to health—and I imagine that sentiment has only grown since discovering they have a couple of babies on the way.
My arm throbs the entire ride home, but the pain keeps me grounded, and Sandro doesn’t say a word—even if his scowl says it all for him. I was reckless.
My guard was down because I let myself get distracted.
And I know that if Sandro had his way, I wouldn’t be putting my neck on the line at all.
