Page 25 of The Mafia King's Lost Son
I need to say more. Need to give him a reason to listen.
“I have information,” I say, committing to the lie now because it’s the only card I have to play. “About that night.”
It’s complete garbage. I know nothing. I was too busy fighting for my life then running for my life to pay attention to whatever criminal business was happening around me.
But he doesn’t know that.
“I’ll trade you,” I push on. “Information for protection. For me and my son.”
I close my eyes and wait for his response, hoping he’ll say yes.
Hoping I haven’t just made the biggest mistake of my life for the second time.
8
DANTE
The man’s pleading stops the second I walk into the room.
Smart. He knows begging won’t save him now.
The warehouse in Red Hook is one of several properties I own throughout Brooklyn. Most people think it’s abandoned—boarded windows, rusted metal siding, location just isolated enough that screams are not heard. But inside it’s been converted into something useful. Soundproofed walls. Reinforced steel doors. Drainage systems built into the concrete floor that make cleanup efficient.
My father taught me that real power isn’t just about killing people. It’s about knowing when to kill them, how to kill them, and making sure everyone else learns the right lesson from it.
Tonight’s lesson is about loyalty.
The man tied to the metal chair is named Danny Russo. He’s been running numbers for me in Queens for eighteen months. He’s good at math, reliable with collections, and kept his mouthshut when he needed to. Everything you want in someone handling your money.
Until three days ago when Viktor’s people caught him skimming.
Not much. Five hundred here, a thousand there. Amounts small enough he probably thought I wouldn’t notice. But I notice everything. That’s how you survive in this business.
“Danny.” I stop a few feet in front of him. Close enough that he has to look up at me. Close enough that he can see exactly what’s coming.
He’s thirty. Wife and two kids in Astoria. Mortgage on a house he can’t really afford. The kind of guy who gets into this life thinking he’s smart enough to play both sides.
He’s not.
“Bo…Boss.” His voice shakes despite his best effort to keep it steady. “I can explain. I was going to pay it back. I just needed?—”
“Stop.”
He stops.
I pull out my phone and check the time. Two in the morning. I’ve been dealing with problems since six yesterday evening and this is the last one on my list before I can finally get some sleep.
“Do you know why you’re here, Danny?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Tell me.”
He swallows hard. “I took money that wasn’t mine.”
“Not just money. My money. Money that you were trusted to handle and that you decided to steal. How much is the total?”
“Seventeen thousand, four hundred.” The number comes out quickly. He’s been doing the math, probably hoping that knowing the exact amount might somehow help him.
