Salvatore
I close my laptop and regard the man kneeling in the opposite corner of my office. Nino is holding him by the hair, yelling into his face.
“I asked, who do you work for, Octavio?” he shouts and punches the man in the face. “You ratted on us? To the DEA?”
“It wasn’t me, Nino. I swear it wasn’t me!”
“Who else is working with you, selling info?” Another blow. Two teeth fly across the office in a mess of spittle and blood, leaving red stains on the wall.
“I want a name, Octavio!” Nino keeps yelling.
I take the phone from my desk and open the surveillance app, bringing up the feed from Milene’s apartment. During the past week, I periodically began checking the live video stream over the course of the day. I still watched the entire day’s recording in the evenings, but that had c
