{MICHAEL}
I press a finger against the fucker's head, and it lolls to the side, lifeless. He's dead.
Damn it. I was too angry—came in on him too strong. I wanted to draw it out, make him feel every second of his miserable end. But I let the rage take over. Now that opportunity is gone.
Lorenzo hands me a wipe, and I scrub the blood off my hands as best as I can. It'll have to do until I can take a proper shower.
"What do we do about his body?" he asks.
"Decapitate him," I say, tossing the soiled wipe aside. "Wrap his head up for me and send the rest of his body to Aldo."
Lorenzo shakes his head like I'm crazy. I narrow my eyes, and he quickly raises his hands.
"Can I know what you want to do with his head?"
"No, you cannot." I walk past him, leaving the interrogation room and my order in his hands. Up the stairs, through the shed, and out into the late afternoon sun—its harsh glare hits me square in the face, momentarily blinding me. I was in there longer
than I thought.
