Page 28 of Deal with the Devil
I stand off to the side, arms folded behind my back.
The camera starts recording, and Joseph hesitates for an uncertain second before he gives in and starts reading from the script in a wooden tone.
“The time is 7:34 in the morning on February 22nd. My name is Joseph Tuco, the son of Titus Tuco. Last night I was taken by Il Diavolo and will remain in his custody until Portia James is returned safe and unharmed,” he recites. “Thus far, I havenot been harmed myself, but that will no longer be the case if Il Diavolo’s demands are not met within the next twenty-four hours.”
He stops in the middle of reading to glance off camera in my direction.
And I thought he couldn’t get any paler. He turns a chalky ghost white, gulping down some air and then turning back toward the camera.
This kid is no mafia heir.
If he is, Tuco is even more foolish than I thought. Joseph’s soft and cowardly, not at all cut out to withstand the barbarity of our lifestyle.
But that’s not my problem. He’s the bargaining chip I’m using. He’s the currency I have to get Portia back, and I’ll use him in whatever manner is necessary.
“If… if she’s not returned in the next twenty-four hours,” he continues, reading from the cue cards. “Then prepare for me to lose some f-fingers… among other p-p-parts. And just to show this is serious, you now have twenty-three hours.” He breaks into a sudden sob, bowing his head and finally going off script. “Please don’t do this! Please I’ve got nothing to do with it! Don’t take my fingers. I need those!”
I motion to one of my men to cut the camera. We’ve gotten the footage we need. Within the hour it’ll be sent off to Titus and he’ll make his choice. Either he’ll return Portia, or I’ll be taking things out on this pathetic, weeping mess he calls a son.
“Stop crying,” I command. “I said shut the fuck up.”
My fist clenches his hair as I wrench his head up and produce a switchblade I press against his throat. He goes still at once, tears leaking down the sides of his face as he peers up at me.
“What the fuck you crying for?” I growl at him. “Do you think I’ll feel sorry for you? What is there to feel sorry for? Your fateis in your father’s hands… or would you rather I slit your throat right now, maledetto codardo?”
Joseph can’t hold his whimpers in as I press the blade more firmly against his throat. The blade sinks into his skin, beads of blood bubbling to the surface. If I keep going, I’ll cut straight through. I’ll slice his throat open, and then Titus won’t even have twenty-three hours to return Portia. His son will already be dead.
But will it even matter? I can kill him right now and it’ll make no difference?—
“I’m glad we could come to an agreement, Mr. Calderone,” says Archibald Warner, grinning wide.
I blink, going from the dark, dimly lit space of the cell where I’m keeping Joseph Tuco to the middle of a boardroom crowded with executives in business suits.
It’s the middle of the day, all eyes on me as the liver-spotted mogul speaks.
Joseph Tuco is gone. So is the blade I’d been pressing into his throat. My pulse is pumping fast in my veins as seconds go by where I sit and stare at the others in the boardroom and process what the fuck is going on.
I look down and find bloodspots on the cuff of my dress shirt. How the hell did those get there?
The state of confusion feels like déjà vu. It’s a lot like the morning I’d woken up at the Echelon Hotel and first discovered Portia was missing.
A whole chunk of the night is still a mystery.
Now another piece of time has disappeared, and I’ve gone from standing in the cell with Joseph Tuco to sitting in this boardroom in the blink of an eye.
When so many seconds go by that my lack of response becomes awkward, one of my assistants jumps in and savesme. They announce to the boardroom the meeting is adjourned, thanking everyone for their attendance.
I remain where I am as the room empties. Only Archibald Warner approaches, eyeing me with the same toothy grin. Many compare him to the crypt keeper, liver spots freckling his pruned skin.
“I trust everything’s alright, Rafael?” he says. “Our business arrangement is still good to go?”
“Business arrangement,” I repeat slowly.
He raises a thick silver brow. “Yes, regarding the shipments. My company was providing the transport for your… ahem,product.”
“Right. Of course, everything’s still in place. The deal is on.”
“Excellent, I was worried there for a moment. You seemed out of it this morning. We all have those days, I suppose.” He shakes his head and titters to himself as he turns and walks out of the room.
