“You know I can’t say nothing.” Tumino shifted, grimacing painfully. “I can’t talk just like you can’t talk.”
“I couldn’t give a fuck less about omerta right now, asshole,” Dom said. “As long as I’m alive, I am the boss of the Maisano organization. Which means I can order a bullet into your head if I’m so inclined. I could even ask the Georgian to fire it for me.”
Tumino’s eyes flicked toward Sergei.
“So.” Dom folded his arms. “You ready to talk?”
The man still didn’t speak.
“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Sergei held out his hand. “Give me the gun.”
Dom hesitated, but gave it to him, butt first.
Tumino watched the exchange and paled.
Sergei stepped in front of him, dug the gun into a couch cushion beside Tumino, and fired. The couch muffled the shot enough that it wouldn’t draw attention from the main house, but it was still enough to leave his ears ringing a bit.
He jammed the pistol against Tumino’s forehead.
Tumino pressed his lips together, wisely stifling what was probably a scream.
“Hot, isn’t it?” Sergei snarled.
“You son of a—”
“Tell us what we want to know, or your balls are next.” He shoved the weapon into the man’s crotch, and when Tumino whimpered, he added, “Don’t think I won’t shoot one of them off if you keep testing my patience.”
“You fucking psycho! You’re—”
“I’m going to give you a ballistic vasectomy if you don’t—”
“All right! All right!” The man gulped. “I’ll talk.”
Sergei withdrew the gun and stepped back. “You’ve got five seconds to start talking.”
“Okay, okay.” Tumino fidgeted on the couch, eyeing the bullet hole. “It’s Felice. Everything… it all goes back to him.”
Dom’s expression hardened. “Tell us more.”
Tumino nodded. “Felice’s been pulling the strings from the start. The orders never come directly from him. It’s always one of his boys. But I know who’s in charge. They give me the order, and I pass it on to, well…” He nodded toward Sergei. “A while back, after Barcia was killed, Felice was pissed off that Corrado wouldn’t authorize a hit on the boys who did him in. He knew he needed to raise the ante to get Corrado to fire back.” He gestured at Dom. “So he had someone rough you up.”
Dom blinked. “Felice ordered that?”
Tumino nodded. “He didn’t think the men who did it would wind up dead, but they did, and that gave him even more leverage against the Cusimanos.”
Sergei and Dom exchanged wide-eyed glances.
“It’s the same reason he wanted you offed out on the boat that day—because if his father realized you’d been killed, and he saw how easily it could’ve been Felice, he’d have had no choice but to retaliate. After Corrado didn’t react when Felice had Eugenio Cusimano framed for killing Nicolá Cannizzaro, he—”
“Wait, what?” Dom cocked his head. “So who did kill Cannizzaro?”
Sergei thumbed the trigger guard. Heart speeding up, he said, “I did.”
Dom’s eyes widened. “What?”
“I was specifically paid to make it look like Eugenio killed him.”
“So then…” Dom shook his head. To Tumino, he said, “Are you saying Felice arranged for Sergei to kill Cannizzaro and make it look like Cusimano did it, so that Corrado would issue a contract on Cusimano?”
Tumino nodded. “So Corrado had Eugenio taken out, but Raffaele Cusimano didn’t retaliate the way Felice wanted him to, so Felice had to stir the pot a little more.”
“But why?” Dom asked.
“Because he wanted the families at war. The more he could convince his father that the Cusimanos were getting violent, the more he could convince his father to respond with the same.” Tumino squirmed, grimacing, though it was hard to say if the discomfort came from his condition or the looming threats. “Once things were going to shit, he could get his brother and father out of the way, and take over the family without anyone thinking twice.” He stared up at them. “That’s all I know. I don’t know what else I can say.”
“That’s what we needed.” Sergei pulled a folded piece of paper from his back pocket. “But before we go, I want to get one thing very, very clear.” He unfolded the paper and held it where Tumino could see it, and then pressed the gun to his forehead again. “You see this?”
Tumino shifted his gaze, holding his head perfectly still. “Yeah?”
“You recognize those addresses?”
Tumino squinted, and then the color rushed out of his face. “Those are my children’s addresses.”
“Uh-huh. They are.” Sergei slid the paper back into his pocket. “If I have even the faintest reason to believe you’re squealing to anyone about this conversation, or that you haven’t kept your mouth shut about any of this, I will—”
“I believe you!” Tumino showed his palms. “Just don’t hurt my kids.”
“Good. We understand each other.” Sergei looked at Dom and jerked his head toward the door. “Let’s go.”
They made a quick escape, hurrying off the property to where Sergei’s car was parked a half mile or so down the road.