Page 19 of Primo DeLuca

The team rappelled in through the skylight, sliding down a thin rope that lowered them into the loft’s living room. My eyes flicked to the camera that showed me the first team. They were sweeping the first level living room like members of a SWAT team.

As soon as the feet of the two rappelling from the skylight hit the floor, their bodies started to jerk violently, like they were doing a high-impact version of the hokey-pokey. Clenched teeth, gaping eyes, and spasming bodies, they looked a mess.

The rubber soled boots they wore weren't enough to ground them from the charge. The space around them was an electrical field. Their bodies collapsed into a heap on the charged floor, popping from the electricity coursing through them.

The two inching up the steps to the second level were smart enough to stop in their tracks at the high-pitched yells and frantic thumps their electrified friends’ made, disrupting the quiet. They eyeballed each other, and appeared to be thinking twice about proceeding any further.

One of the two on the first level living room had his hand up to his ear, receiving or replying to a message. Soon after, the team spun with caution, their weapons moving fast and securely up and down while they searched for the danger they knew lurked.

The overwhelming scent of burning hair and skin assaulted my nose and polluted my lungs with every pull of my breath. The remaining four continued their search. I watched one on the lower-level inch closer to the X marking the spot I saw through the special blacklight lens of the camera.

“One more inch,” I mumbled under my breath, smiling because the man’s feet danced near the mark.

“Aww!” he yelled when the floor fell from beneath his feet, and gravity sucked him down to the basement level right into my special prison cell.

The one left on the first level and the final two who entered the second level loft proceeded with caution. It was too late for caution. When they entered the loft and saw their baked friends, I’m sure they reached the same conclusion.

I headed for the basement, sliding down the chute that landed me face to face with the frantic man pacing inside the cell. The side of his head was busted and bleeding, a gift from the fall he’d taken. He’d managed to keep a hold of his gun, so he lifted it and fired off three rounds. The bullets bounced off the clear bulletproof wall of glass in front of me.

“You son of a bitch! Let me out of here,” he growled before firing off a few additional rounds. The floor he stood on hummed when I flipped the switch that turned on the magnetic pull inside the cell. The polarizing force jerked his weapon from his hands, leaving his mouth hanging open. The bulge under his shirt protruded, indicating that his belt was caught in the pull of the magnet before I turned it off.

“Now that we’re better acquainted, why don’t you tell me who hired you?”

Based on the devilish gleam in his eyes, I was certain he wouldn’t give me an answer. A smirk spread across his lips, letting me know that he was unaware of how much hell he was about to pay whether he gave me an answer or not.

“The room you’re in is fully contained, which means anything can happen to you in there, and no one outside this room would be the wiser.”

He contemplated my words, his eyes aimed up in thought. The sound of me flipping another switch got his attention.

The floor was lined with burners, spewing flames that shot up about a half foot high. The heat licked at his feet and ankles, making him dance around uselessly. I wanted to see him try and climb those glass walls.

His eyes were as wide as silver dollars. Now that I had gotten his attention, I turned the fire off, enjoying the way he continued to hop around like a tiptoeing, hot-footed thief.

“Who hired you?”

A goosebump-inducing scream sounded from above, followed by a barrage of curse words. The others had found out by now that the only way they were leaving my house was in a body bag.

My question hadn’t been answered by the one glaring at me with a look that had the potency to kill. The sight prompted me to flip the switch again so I could enjoy my daily dose of entertainment. This man’s knee lifts were of the caliber of a fitness instructor.

“Let me out of here, you fucking sick freak! I don’t know who hired me. It’s not like they did a face-to-face interview.”

“Tell me something I want to hear,” I said, observing the way the heat melted the skin of his boots and cooked his feet. He wasn’t screaming yet, but his pain level was written in the deep creases of his face and his tightly gritted teeth. I’d turned the fire off, but the swish of sprayers followed and captured his full attention before they started spitting accelerant onto his pant leg.

His head rocked back and forth so quickly I expected his vertebrae to snap.

“Don’t do this shit, man! You can’t be that fucking evil!”

“This coming from the man who broke into my house with five others along with your biker friends out front, each with intentions of torturing me before you took my life,” I pointed out before folding my arms across my chest. Despite his erratic movement, I managed to see the question among the fear flashing in his gaze.

I was in the same business as he was and knew damn well they would torture me before killing me. My position within my family meant that I was a book of secrets they wanted nothing more than to crack open.

“It’s business. That’s it. I don’t know who hired me,” he whined, his voice high-pitched.

“See, that’s the fucking problem with half-assed hitmen. You don’t take the proper time you need to study your target or invest in finding out who hired you. It’s all about the money for you these fucking days.”

The below average behavior of this group of hitmen was beginning to piss me off because I was wasting a perfectly good setup on them, and it would take weeks to restore my apartment.

“What happened to the good old-fashioned art of studying a target so intensely, you end up knowing them better than the people who knew and loved them? What happened to the days when you became so good at your job that getting caught was next to impossible unless you wanted to be caught? You’re not an amateur. But now that I’m up close and personal with you, I can clearly see that you’re not The Malizioso, either. Right?”

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