Mafia Bride: The DiLustro Arrangement #1 by CD Reiss

Author:CD Reiss [Reiss, CD]
Language: eng
Format: epub

Emilio Moretti sat in the back seat with Damiano. I was driving. This was before the big money hit, when Emilio was the only one who knew what the fuck he was doing. There was no Alfa Romeo. No big house. Just a beat-to-shit Lancia with more trunk space than seating.

We were driving down a desolate road, not a damn thing in sight—only barren fields with abandoned machinery and broken barns. Potholes colonized by rabbits. Swampy marshes ate everything in reaching distance, even the puttering of an archaic engine. Bleak shit. The smell alone stayed with me for weeks when Emilio first took me out there.

Damiano hadn’t had a first time yet, and he shook so hard he rocked the car.

“Come on, Dami. Don’t worry.” Emilio clapped him on the shoulder. “Sing a song with me.”

That was Emilio’s answer to everything—sing a song with me. Old folk shit from the toe of the boot that had enough Arabic tones to make you listen just to make sure you had the right song. His rich baritone filled cars and offices and parking garages and empty warehouses. He did it especially when nasty shit was about to happen and knew some of the guys had weaker stomachs, or it was their first time.

That’s what you did. You’d sing a song with Emilio. You’d get the fucking job done.

Dami, though, he was never around for the singing. He made a name for himself by muscling his way through the gig, throwing around weight and weapons and hot-shit talk. He didn’t have to put weight behind his words. Threats were his specialty, we had others for the follow-through.

Tonight—that night—there were no others. It was only Dami, Emilio, and me.

He took a special shine to us, Emilio. Called us the sons he never had. The brothers he always longed for. He was taking care of Dami. Trying to soothe him. Sing with me. Pay attention to me instead. This way, Dami, this way.

It didn’t work. He was too little a man with too many nerves. Emilio should have known better.

I parked by our usual spot and we all met at the rear bumper. Emilio made some smartass remark about soap and how tight it was in the back seat.

“You can drive home,” I said, pocketing the keys after I unlocked the trunk because I knew better.

“She’s a good car.” Emilio patted me on the shoulder. “You’ll miss her when she’s gone.”

“Unlikely.” I hoisted the lid of the trunk, its protesting creaks and groans eaten by the marshes. The guy tied and taped up scowled and thrashed against his restraints but Emilio had taught me not to underestimate the value of a good knot. The tighter he squirmed the tighter he made the restraints.

When Emilio first hired me, I thought we’d talk about guns and territories and family hierarchy…but no. It was all ropes and knots, like we were on a fucking sailboat.

I dragged the guy out of the trunk and threw him on the ground. Reached in the deeper recesses of the trunk for a shovel and slammed it shut.

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