I wasn’t sure about the ice, but I didn’t think I could tolerate my leg resting on his for very long. He appeared clueless to the fact. I adjusted my position on the sofa, wriggling back as far as I was able.
He pressed the bag of frozen peas to the side of his head. It took me a moment to recall how I’d thumped him with the wrench during our struggle last night. My lips twitched as he grimaced in pain, and when he caught my smug expression, he sneered.
Get used to it, asshole. I won’t make this easy for you.
As though determined to prove himself tough as nails, he tossed the peas on the table. “There’s no easy way to tell you this, so I’m gonna come straight out with it. The Wolf Street Mafia has put a hit out on you.”
I stared at him unblinking. The notion of a hit on me was absurd. I’d understand if I was being held hostage to force Justin into compliance. I’d even understand someone wanting to murder my brother if he’d screwed up bad enough. But killme? That didn’t make sense.
“You think the Wolf Street Mafia, as in, the Italian Mob, wants me dead?” I asked, staring at him as if he’d told me aliens were about to invade earth.
“The upper ranks of the organization are Italian, but they recruit far and wide nowadays. I guess you could say they’ve embraced diversity.”
How very woke of them. But he’d neglected the important part of my question. The part about them wanting tomurderme.
“This can’t be possible.” I shook my head. “It has to be a mistake. You’ve kidnapped the wrong McKenzie.”
“No. The contract is for you, not your brother.”
“How? Why?” A cool sweat broke out across my skin. God, this conversation felt like a fever dream I couldn’t wake from.
“Your brother pissed off the wrong person, and now they want revenge. Franky was using the threat against you to flush your brother out. It didn’t work. Unfortunately for you, Franky’s a man of his word, so he wants the hit done.”
“Wait. Franky who?”
“Franky Russo. You haven’t heard of him?”
I shook my head. The name didn’t sound familiar.
“You’ve probably seen him in the Palermo Pizza commercials. Few know this, but he’s the boss of the Wolf Street crew.”
I racked my brain and came up with an image of a late-fifties man wearing wire-framed glasses, a fake moustache, and a cheesy Italian-inspired costume. If it was the same guy, I recalled his friendly, polite manner as he promoted a chain of pizza restaurants.
A choked laugh escaped me. Inappropriate timing, perhaps, but this had to be some kind of fucked-up joke. “Are you seriously trying to tell me that the cheerful guy who owns Palermo Pizza is the boss of the most powerful organized crime syndicate this city has ever known?”
“He wears that mask well. I know him to be very different from the man on the commercials, but yeah, they’re one and the same. Franky hides in plain sight.” He shrugged. “I’m sure that’s hard for you to believe, but can you think of any good reason I would make shit like that up?”
I guessed not.
“I still don’t understand. Did Justin rob one of his restaurants?”
“Your brother screwed up much worse than that. He stole drugs and cash from him. The order to take you out has come right from the top.”
While the serious expression remained on my kidnapper’s face, my stomach cramped like I’d eaten something rotten. “You really aren’t lying, are you?”
He gave a subtle shake of his head, his lips pressed into a straight line. It almost looked like he felt sorry for me, and that unnerved me most of all because it meant he was likely telling the truth.
Fuck. Someone had paid to have me killed. My heart rate rose with my terror. “Isn’t there another way to settle this? How much does Justin owe?”
The ice pack slid off my ankle, so he shifted it back, applying light pressure to hold it in place. The unwanted contact seemed like the least of my problems now. “More than you’d be able to pay back. But it’s gone past that now. They gave your brother a chance to return the goods in exchange for your safety. He chose not to.”
I rubbed my eyes so hard I saw stars. “Jesus, Justin.”
How was I going to handle all of this? I’d been kidnapped, the Mafia wanted me dead, my brother was more of a fuck-up than I’d realized and neck deep in shit himself.
Too much. It was all too much.
I took in the mountain of a man sitting opposite me and had a terrible, sinking sensation inside. “Tell me the truth. Who are you and why am I here?”
Steely eyes held my stare. “Name’s Shep, and I’ve accepted the contract to kill you.”