“The Lombardis don’t have shit to offer,” I point out. “Why them?”
The man’s expression changes. But he’s still white as a sheet. Though that may just be from the blood loss. “The Lombardis have more than you think,” he says. “Lots of men were left without a leader when you killed Giorgio. They want someone to band behind.”
“Drago Lombardi doesn’t have what it takes.”
“Rokiades does.”
“They wouldn’t bow to an Irishman, but a Greek don is fine with them?” I balk. “That’s the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard.”
He bites down on his lower lip, clearly worried that he’s talking too much. “It wouldn’t just be a Greek don.”
I frown. “What the fuck does that mean?”
He looks at me through half-narrowed eyes. He’s trying to fight back his own fear, but I can see that it’s getting the best of him. “It means they’re putting their differences aside and joining together.”
“I’ve worked that part out for myself,” I reply sourly. “I need details.”
“I’ve told you everything I know.”
I don’t blink. Don’t so much as hesitate. I warned the son of a bitch what would happen if he lied. He can tell what’s happening an instant before it comes. “No, no, n—!”
But the crack of his lower leg breaking beneath my boot reduces his words to a bloodcurdling scream.
I notice a window clamp shut a few feet away from the house in the corner. Which means our little operation is being noticed. We don’t have much time left.
The moment his howls subside somewhat, I lean in and look him right in the eye.
“I told you,” I sigh. “I hate liars.”
His eyes glaze over as he realizes he’s not gonna make it out of this alive.
“Now, tell me what you know,” I order him. “Or I’m going to make your last moments really fucking painful.”
He looks at me with defeated eyes.
Seems like I’ve made my point.