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exhaust
    toward the purring engine of the BMW.
    The threat of execution was made, and Paolo went into the backseat where he fought through pain and dizziness and nausea in an effort to keep track of
    every second that passed.
    For only time remained. How much, though, was the question.
    "This looks good," Milano said. Or perhaps it had been Endrizzi. Everything sounded as though Paolo had gone underwater and the fluid never drained from
    his ears after he surfaced.
    The vehicle decelerated and pulled to the right. The motion brought a swirl of bile up Paolo's throat. Unwilling to have his bloody vomit splash against
    the hood and pelt him in the face, he swallowed hard against the rising tide.
    Windows rolled down and wind rush overtook the silence. The warm, humid air full of the songs of crickets and cicadas felt warm against Paolo's frigid
    skin. For a moment, at least. The sensation faded against the welling fear that they were close to the drop off spot. At least, he hoped it would be a drop
    off spot, and not a place of execution.
    Solid asphalt gave way to a bumpy, gravely ride, further confirming Paolo's fears. Crushed rock parted underneath the weight of the vehicle and sounded
    like waves breaking. The BMW slowed to an eventual stop. The men in the front seats remained in place. A Zippo wheel turned. Smoke from a freshly lit
    cigarette filtered through Paolo's hood.
    "You can sit up now," Milano said.
    Paolo, with his hands tied behind his back, used his shoulder and legs to move into an upright position. As one of the men ripped the hood away, his head
    spun.
    "Steady there, Paolo," Endrizzi said. He extended the cigarette. "Smoke?"
    Paolo nodded. Endrizzi flipped the cigarette around so the butt faced Paolo. The palm of the man's hand glowed orange. He then stuck the butt between
    Paolo's parched lips. Paolo inhaled like he was sucking down his last breath. The cherry burned bright, illuminating Endrizzi's face. The man looked away
    as Paolo made eye contact.
    "How 'bout a drink?" Paolo asked.
    Milano reached for the center console and retrieved a silver-coated flask. It looked like one side had a coat of arms and the other something written in
    Italian.
    "My grandfather had these made," Milano said. "In his later years, he did a lot of research on the family. This specific coat of arms belonged to some
    Italian king I'm a direct descendant of. You believe that shit? I'm like royalty or something."
    Paolo said, "Just give me a damn drink."
    Milano handed the flask to Endrizzi, who pressed it to Paolo's mouth and turned it upward. After Paolo had taken a pull, Milano pulled the flask back and
    shook it up and down and back and forth, emptying the contents on Paolo's open wounds.
    Paolo yelled and kicked from the backseat. The two men in the front exited to avoid an errant boot connecting with the side of their head. One of them,
    likely Milano since he'd been in the driver's seat, kicked the rear driver's side door. Take a hundred thousand dollar BMW and treat it like shit. That's
    the way these guys treated their vehicles. They didn't care. The organization paid for the captain's cars.
    The door whipped open and a hand fell upon Paolo's head. Milano, he presumed, dragged him off the leather seat by his hair. With his arms tied and unable
    to slow the momentum down, he tried to wedge a foot between the front seats. Didn't happen. Temporarily suspended in mid-air, his hips slipped off the
    seat. He crashed to the ground. The impact sent a jolt of pain that traveled up his spine and down through his pelvis and legs.
    "Get up, you bitch," Milano shouted.
    Paolo rolled to his side and planted his forehead into the gravel. Jagged rocks stabbed the exposed flesh of the wounds on his forehead and the bridge of
    his nose. He gritted his teeth against the pain and drew his knees forward. Before he could lift his head off the ground, a leather-clad foot collided with
    his midsection. The air rushed out of his lungs. The