5
SCAR
The sting of a hand against my cheek sent me jolting to sit up from the ground. “Wake up, kid,” a man said. I blinked back the fog in my eyes and brought my hands up to rub the sleep out of them, then I stared into the dark eyes of a man I knew only by reputation.
I’d seen him on the news when I walked past stores with televisions lining the windows. I’d heard his name whispered on the streets, like even saying it out loud might summon his wrath.
Franco Bellandi straightened to his full height, tilting his head to the side as I blinked up at him. “Do you know who I am?” he asked, his voice calm and measured. There was no rage in his expression, no fury that I’d killed one of his dealers.
Only a mild irritation that he had to bother with some punk kid and take time out of his day to deal with me. The Bellandi family operated under the notion of an eye for an eye. To fuck with them, you had to be prepared to be fucked back harder.
There was nothing else they could take from me.
“Yes,” I said, lifting my chin despite the ache in my head. It throbbed, seeming to pulse in time with the flow of blood in my body, reminding me with every passing second that I was alive.
And Cesca was not.
“And do you by any chance know how hard it is to find good help these days?” he asked, lifting his hands and picking the underside of his fingernail with his thumb.
“No,” I said, shaking my head in emphasis. I didn’t have the first concept of what it was to trust anyone, let alone have people who worked for me.
Franco raised a brow, tilting his head as he studied me. “You’re angry,” he observed, nodding to a boy my age who stood off toward the corner. He walked forward, his movements lethal despite his youth, and grabbed a chair from against the wall. Placing it in the center of the room that seemed to be some sort of gym, he held out a hand for me.
I looked at it in shock, confusion flooding my body as I reached up and accepted his grip. He pulled me to my feet, leaving me to sit in the chair while he returned to Franco’s side and crossed his arms over his chest.
He was blond where Franco had dark hair, but the shock of blue eyes and stern set to their jaws left me with little doubt that the two were closely related.
Word on the street was Bellandi had a son, a sole heir to his kingdom of sin.
Matteo Bellandi.
“Tony said something about your sister,” Franco said, nodding down at the butterfly charm that hung around my neck. Blood stained the edges of the twisted, old metal, age having turned it to the copper of rust.
“Overdose,” I grunted. “On your heroin.”
He raised his hands placatingly. “I accept no responsibility for what happens once the drugs are sold.”
“Nobody ever does,” I said, turning my head away from him. “Are you gonna kill me or what? Just get it over with.”
“You took down two men twice your weight in that fit of rage,” he remarked instead, narrowing his eyes on me and stepping closer. He tucked a thumb and forefinger under my chin, tipping my head up to meet his eyes again. “That kind of fight is valuable to men like me, once you get the right training.”
“And what happens if I don’t want to fight?” I asked, ripping my chin out of his grip.
He shrugged, stepping back as if it mattered little to him. “You’re a pretty boy. I’m sure we can find some other use for you, if you’re too fucking dumb to see the opportunity I’m giving you. Use your brain, and you’ll realize your life just changed. You owe me a debt. How you pay it is up to you.”
“I have one condition,” I argued, watching as the son tipped his head and raised a brow. I couldn’t be bothered to care that I was pushing the limit of what the elder Bellandi would tolerate. Dead or alive hardly mattered.
“You really think you’re in a position to be bargaining right now?” Franco asked, reaching under his coat. The knife I’d wielded against his dealer was paltry in comparison to the gleam of black in the gym lights as he pointed the barrel of his handgun at my face. He took a step closer.
I swallowed as the cold metal pressed against my forehead, staring up at Franco and waiting for the death that was sure to come. It would be quick.
It would be far less painful than living.
It would be a gift I didn’t deserve.
“I have nothing left to lose,” I said, shrugging my shoulders lightly and waiting for him to make his choice. He studied me for a moment, seeming to test my resolve. When I didn’t move or beg for my life, his mouth spread into a wide grin and he pulled the gun away from my face.
“You’ve got balls, kid. I’ll give you that,” he laughed, tucking the gun back under his coat. “What’s this condition?”
“I have a list,” I said, watching as he rolled his eyes to the ceiling.
“A list of what? Fucking demands?”
“Names,” I said, feeling my resolve harden. If Bellandi could give me the only thing that would help make up for some of what Cesca had suffered, then I would owe him everything.
I’d owe him my life.