Page 26 of The One
Tiero glances at me, never breaking his stride. “Your truth serums aren’t reliable. He could still make shit up.”
I groan. He’s right, of course.
When I first came across truth serums, I was fascinated and experimented. Turns out the effectiveness of sodium thiopental and sodium amytal is largely fictional, popularized by media and movies. Sadly, there is no substance that can guarantee someone will tell the truth.
Still, these drugs can induce a relaxed, sedative state, lowering inhibitions and making a person more talkative. For some, that’s enough, yielding the results we want, but with Rizzo? He won’t break that easily.
We stop in front of the door to the basement, and Tiero turns to me, grabbing my shoulders.
“Don’t worry, I’ll make him bleed lots,” he assures me.
What a comfort. No, I’m being serious. It really is.
“I still have a lot of aggression inside me that needs an outlet,” Tiero says.
“I get that, but we could still give my way a try. If it works, we can sit back in the jacuzzi with a whiskey within an hour.”
Tiero just grins.
Yeah, I get it. He’ll feel better once he’s used the guy as a punching bag.
I shake my head, pretending to be exasperated.
“Fine. Have it your way. You’re the boss.”
***
Three hours later, Tiero and I soak our sore muscles in the jacuzzi. Rom departed a while ago, and if I had to guess, he’s already balls-deep in whoever he’s got lined up for tonight.
Tiero got the answers he needed without my help. I should have just left him to it, but it’s always good to have another set of ears there.
I stare at my hands, making sure every last splatter of blood is washed away. The faded scar on top of my left hand mocks me, and I clench my teeth, willing myself to forget how it got there.
Fuck, I’m thirty years old. I should be over this.
I force my gaze away and focus on my brother; he’s lost in his thoughts.
Like so many nights in the past few weeks, I pick up the bottle of whiskey that’s sitting on the table by the hot tub and pour us each a generous amount.
I hand Tiero a glass, and he takes a long sip, sinking deeper into the water as he leans back against the cushioned edge of the jacuzzi and closes his eyes.
“Now that we have the names of the last of the Molinaro supporters, we should be able to quash this ridiculous uprising. Though you have to admire their persistence.”
Tiero huffs. “It’s stupidity. They should have realized long ago they can’t win against us.”
He sounds cocky as hell, but he’s just speaking the truth. We have resources and manpower few possess.
“Rizzo had connections to the Chicago and New York mob. Should we expect retaliation from them?” I wonder out loud.
“He wasn’t that big a fish. Whatever his dealings were with them, they can find another avenue. Better yet, they can come to us. Call Maximo tomorrow and tell him to keep his ears to the ground. He can steer anybody who asks questions our way.”
“Sure, I’ll call him,” I agree.
Maximo is about to step into the role he’s been groomed for his entire life, ready to take over the business from his father.
As hard as it will be to lose Uncle Alfonso, he has been clinging to his power, refusing to let go. But health issues are catching up with him. He’s been ignoring them for years, brushing them off like they’re nothing. He won’t admit his time is almost up.
Just like Tiero, our cousin was raised to be the next Don. He’s eager to take the reins, to leave his own mark on his empire.
