ANTONIO
The air in the subterranean interrogation room held a thick, metallic tang. A single halogen bulb cast harsh shadows over the blood-stained concrete floor. Tied securely to a heavy iron chair in the center of the room, a Calabrian soldier slumped forward. His breathing came in shallow, ragged gasps.
Lucius stood in the corner. He held a pair of heavy pliers, waiting for a direct order.
"Wake him up," I told my second-in-command.
Lucius grabbed a metal bucket and threw freezing water over the prisoner's battered face. The man sputtered, jerking his head up. Blood poured from a deep laceration above his left eye. He was the rat responsible for coordinating the drive-by shooting that nearly killed the woman I loved.
"You have a very limited amount of time left to breathe," I said
