OWN HER: A Dark Mafia Romance(2)

And when the mook finally stood up, drained his last glass of champagne, and announced that he needed to head home before he fell over from all the dancing and drinking, Gio waited for him to leave before giving the nod to Bruno and Julius, two of the Mancini family's enforcers. Together, they caught up with him in the parking lot and choked him out before he could make a sound as he pissed his pants. He slumped over in Bruno's arms and Gio unbuttoned his shirt, revealing a small microphone taped on his chest.



The microphone was removed and smashed under the heel of Gio's imported Italian shoes, and the three men dumped him into the trunk of Julius' car, slamming it shut.



When the mook woke up, he found himself sprawled on the concrete outside of a warehouse at the edge of town. The sedan's headlights glared at him like twin interrogation lamps, and the cold rain soaked him to the bone. Gio stood over him holding a gun as Bruno and Julius waited in the car, its engine idling.



Before the mook could even open his mouth to speak, Gio shot him through both knees.



“That's just so you know where you stand, Agent Masters,” Gio spat as the man yowled in agony. “It's only going to get worse from here. The sooner you understand that, the quicker we can get this over with.”



Gio did his best to keep the gun steady in his hand, keep his voice level, and maintain a dead-eyed leer like the tough guys from the gangster movies he'd idolized as a kid. But this was only the third time his father had tasked him with killing someone, and the first time he'd specifically ordered the victim tortured for information first.



As Mario's only son, Gio's official status within the Mancini crime family was unique. Although he was widely accepted as the crown prince of the organization and received all the power and respect that entailed, at the age of twenty-four he still hadn't earned the rank of “made guy” as men like Bruno and Julius had.



To prepare Gio for the day when he'd have to take over the family business, Mario had made sure that Gio was involved in many of the Mancinis' illegal operations from a young age, including extortion, hijacking, and arson. Gio had proven himself a capable bruiser and debt collector.



But the act of murder still made Gio's insides feel hot and watery, and filled his mouth with the bloody taste of adrenaline. Gio knew that killing was a natural and expected part of life as the head of the Mancini family, but at times like these, he wondered whether he'd ever really be able to fit the role of assassin—unlike Bruno and Julius, who'd carried out over two dozen mob executions between them, or Mario, whose personal body count was much higher.



Still, his father had given him an order. And as a child, Gio had learned the hard way that his father expected his orders to be obeyed without question or hesitation.



Gio steeled himself as he stared down at the mook. He felt nauseated by the pathetic look on the mook's face, by his squealing and blubbering, by the blood pouring from his knees, by his betrayal. Hell, by his entire fucking existence. Gio was so overcome with loathing and disgust that he thought he might puke.



“My name's not Masters!” the mook mewled, his words dribbling out together so quickly that Gio almost couldn't make them out individually. “Wrong guy, you've got, listen, you've got the wrong, I dunno who Masters is, I'm not, no, I'm Francis, you know me, Gio, I'm Frank Maserone, I'm just Frank...”



“There's nothing 'frank' about you, shitheel,” Gio sneered. “There never was, not from the first moment you opened your lying fucking mouth to me. Your name is Fred Masters, you're a goddamn Fed, you've been found out, and now you're going to die. Period.”



The mook shook his head, but Gio held up a warning hand. “I swear to Christ, if you look me in the eye and tell me your name is Francis again, I'm going to shoot your fucking cock off and stick the pieces up your nose. Understand?”



The mook considered this and nodded, his face contorted with anguish.



“Good. That's a good start. Now like I said, your little dress-up party is over. There's nothing you can do about that. But if you're smart, you'll tell me things so I'll make the rest of this short and painless for you. Starting with everything you've already passed along to the Bureau about us.”



The mook swallowed hard, his lips trembling. Gio could see his mind working, trying to decide what information he could safely withhold. Gio gave the mook's other knee a vicious kick and felt the shattered bones there grind together.



“Fu-u-u-u-uck!” the mook howled, the curse dissolving into a spew of whining and sobbing.



“You don't want to hesitate when I ask you this shit,” Gio said, raising an eyebrow. “That's just going to make me think you're not telling the whole truth. Now, let's try again. What have you already told the Feds?”