Free Omerta (The DeLuca Family #1) by K. A. Ware

terrified of the horror I could unleash. For the next three hours I tortured the treacherous, loose-lipped men before letting them bleed out on the board room table in front of everyone.
    …
    Unfortunately, the lack of communication from their informants must have tipped off the Russians because by the time I had made it down to Portland to deal with them personally the Kashnikov clan had closed up shop and left town. Of course since they had no sense of loyalty they had fled in the night leaving their men as sitting ducks for the taking, and take I did.
    …
    The bell above the door chimed as I walked into the Deli that acted as a hub for the Kashnikov’s business, with Antonio, Enzo, Sal and Jimmy trailing behind me. The smell of onions and vinegar permeated the air. The man behind the counter stood up straight from where he’d been leaning over the counter reading the newspaper.
    “Where are they?” I demanded, raising my gun to his face. His hands immediately shot up in a placating gesture, the universal sign for ‘don’t shoot, I’m unarmed’ as if that would stop me. He pointed to a door at the back of the store. “Jimmy, stay with the clerk,” I called as I made my way to the door that would lead me to answers.
    Pushing through the door, we continued down a narrow hallway. It was dimly lit and the forest green walls made it feel even smaller. Silently we came to another door at the end of the hall. Enzo intercepted me when I reached to open the door, shaking his head once. He positioned himself in front of me and pushed it open, Antonio following him in immediately before I was even able to cross the threshold. There were two men at a small card table playing poker in the center of what appeared to be a storage room. Both the men jumped up when we entered, reaching for their guns.
    “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” My tone ice cold.
    The men looked at each other as if the other had the answer of what to do next. This gave Enzo and Antonio time to position themselves in front of the men, guns drawn, eliminating their decision.
    “Tell me where Vitaly is,” I commanded. When neither of the men spoke I continued, “Why are you looking at each other? I’m the one with the gun, I’m the one asking questions, you should be looking at me. Fucking idiots. Now tell me where he is!” My patience was growing thin, I wanted this done with.
    “We don’t know who you’re talking about,” the shorter and rounder of the two said. He was wearing a zip up track jacket and running pants that made a swishing sound every time he moved, it was annoying as shit.
    Way to keep the stereotype alive, asshole.
    “So you’re the idiot of the two, good to know. I only need one of you to tell me where he is anyways.” I said, aiming my gun and letting two bullets fly into him, one between the eyes and one in the chest. “Back to my original question,” I turned to the other man in the room, his face was blank but I could see the fear in his eyes. “Where?” I demanded.
    When he still didn’t respond I moved closer, “Are you fucking deaf? I asked you a fucking question.”
    “I tell you nothing,” he said, spitting at my feet.
    “Wrong answer,” I said, shooting him in the left knee. He fell and a tortured cry ripped from his throat. Impatient to get this over with I holstered my weapon and stood in front of him, gripping the back of his neck and pushing his face into the concrete floor. With my free hand I reached into his back pocket and retrieved his wallet. Straightening, I gave him a vicious kick in the side, causing him to collapse completely to the ground.
    “What do we have here?” I asked pulling his ID out of his wallet, “Kirill Sokolov,” I read aloud, “8213 SE 86 th Ave. Portland, OR 97266. And look there’s even a family portrait.” Flipping the picture over, I read the inscription, “Alina age nine, Dimitri age seven, and Natalya age four. Now Kirill, it would be a shame if anything