Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 77205 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77205 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
His brother and Cosimo would be bearing the brunt of Lorenzo’s anger about this whole situation.
I just hoped someone would make Nero suffer for all the aggravation he’d caused.
“Wash again,” I said when he handed me his old suit in the bag. “Then walk right out. Don’t come back in here.”
He did as he was told, but the door creaked open again regardless.
“The fuck did I—oh,” I said when I saw Cosimo standing there, brow raised at me.
“Pleasant as always, Sil,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m taking Miko and Nero to see Lorenzo,” he said. “But I am gonna leave Venezio here,” he said. “Outside. You won’t even know he’s here. But if you have trouble lifting one of the bags, tubs, whatever… and just to keep an eye,” he said.
“Alright,” I agreed.
I didn’t know shit about Venezio. From what I understood, he was new in the organization. But my brother was fond of him, so I figured he was an asset to have around.
I didn’t usually struggle to drag around bodies, but I also didn’t usually have two at a time, which would sap my strength fast. And I was going to need that strength. Because these bodies were about to take a long trip.
As soon as everyone was gone, I slipped each body into a bag, then the bigger one into the tub, before making my way outside.
“Venezio?” I asked to the shadow over by the dumpsters.
He stepped forward into the light, a tall guy who was a scrappy sort of fit, dressed like a street kid, not a Made guy, in jeans and a tee, nothing on to fight off the late spring bite in the air.
He walked forward, posture like that of someone who was accustomed to a lifetime of needing to be at the ready, of being capable of throwing hands at the slightest provocation—shoulders leaning slightly forward, almost hunched, arms slightly aloft from his sides.
Other than that, he looked like one of the guys in the Family, even though he wasn’t related. Tall, dark-haired, good bone structure.
As he moved closer, though, I noticed his one really distinguishing characteristic. One and a half brown eyes. Yeah. One fully brown one. The other was half brown and half green.
Talk about being easy to identify in a line-up, if shit came to that.
“Yo,” he said, inclining his chin at me.
“Back my car as close to this door as possible,” I said, waving toward the opening where the garbage trucks likely came in to clear out the dumpster. “Black sedan. Yellow tree deodorizer hanging from the rearview,” I said, tossing him the keys.
“Got it,” he said, his voice sounding like he gargled glass for fun.
I waited for him to back up, popping the trunk for me, then coming out to silently grab the other end of the tote, and shoving it into the backseat with me, then helping me swing the much smaller, but more conspicuous in just a body bag, corpse into the trunk.
“Anything else?” he asked.
“No. Now it’s time to work,” I said.
To that, I got a nod from him as he slinked back into the shadows.
I took my last deep breath of fresh, non chemical-laden air, then moved inside, slipping fully into my hazmat suit, mask and all, and got to work.
I did the office first, knowing it would be the easiest, and a room I could close off when I was done to make sure nothing else contaminated it.
All lemon cleaner in there.
Same with the bathroom, though I grabbed the soap dispenser, and tossed the whole thing into one of my black bags.
The blood was next.
Easy enough work, when you were accustomed to cleaning that up.
It was the wiping down of every surface that got really fucking tedious. But when it was a brawl, not just a clean execution, you had to cover all your bases.
Then, once it was all clean, you had to air that shit out. Because nothing was more suspicious than a spotless back room, a missing person, and the stench of bleach.
It took hours to clean up what took five minutes to create a mess out of on a microscopic level.
By the time I was done, the bleach smell was overwhelmed by a lemon cleaner scent. Partially because I cleaned more surfaces with that before shuffling random crap around to make it look less professionally cleaned. Mostly, though, it was thanks to the bottle of lemon cleaner I left on its side in a cabinet with the other meager cleaning supplies.
Someone would smell it, and search for the source, only to find something very innocent. Not a potential crime scene.
When I was finally satisfied, I made my way outside, got out of my suit, since it would look suspicious as fuck to drive in one, loaded my shit into my car, nodded to Venezio, and took off.