Page 41 of Tempted By the Devil

“Well,” I say calmly, “I’m glad that’s cleared up.”

He slumps slightly in his chair, releasing another breath. This one relieved. “Thank god, Diavolo. You’re a reasonable man. I always knew it.”

“I am a reasonable man, aren’t I? Maurizio.”

“What… NO!”

Milos leaps half out of his chair before Maurizio’s on him in a quick stride. Five-foot-nine skinny-fat Milos is no match against a wall of muscle like Maurizio who handles him like a rag doll.

He’s slammed down onto the leather sectional in the room. I stop in front of him as he squirms against Maurizio’s enduring hold.

“I swear you’re misunderstanding!”

“I don’t think I am, Milos,” I say. “Word is you pledged allegiance to Tuco. You agreed to distribute his product in your club. Is that not right?”

“He asked. I told him I’d think about it!”

“Adagio.”

“NO!” he screams out, but it’s too late.

Adagio has the pliers ready. Maurizio pins his arm down while Adagio positions the pliers at Milos’s fingers.

“Which one should we take first, Diavolo?” Adagio asks.

“You choose. Have some fun with it. Take two.”

“ARGH!”

Milos’s screams fill the office as Adagio doesn’t hesitate to do as instructed. He rips off the nail from Milos’s index finger, then the one from his middle. Blood oozes from the gashes where his nails are supposed to be, the tips of both fingers nothing more than nubs.

“Eight more. No—eighteen. There’re your toes as well.”

He’s busy sobbing, his whole body clenched up in pain. He’s an ugly crier, snot bubbling from his nose.

“Hey!” I say, losing patience. I snap my fingers in front of his face. “Pay attention or the rest are coming off. You want to save them—and other parts of you—then you’re going to do as we say. Is that understood, Milos?”

“Yes!” he chokes out amid more sobs. “Y-y-yes! Anything!”

“Then this pledge to Tuco means nothing. You won’t distribute his product. You’ll distribute ours.”

“Yes… of course… yes… just yours…”

“Excellent. Was that so hard, Milos?”

He shakes his head side to side, looking pitiful. Sweat mats his dark hair to his scalp and tears shine on his face. Snot’s dribbled onto his lips. His whole body’s tense from fear and pain.

“We’ll give you five.”

“T-Tuco was giving me ten.”

“We’re giving you five. You deserve zero for what you’ve pulled. And if we find out you’re still doing business with him… Adagio.”

He produces yet another photo, dropping it in Milos’s lap.

It’s a photo of Milos and his family at dinner in his home, shot by a long range camera.

I don’t like threatening people’s families—and it’s usually a last resort power move—but sometimes it’s necessary to illustrate a point.

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