At the mention of cutting her tongue out, the grip he had on his revolver made his knuckles white. He felt the same urge as when he plugged the junkie that killed Francine. He never laid a hand on his girls, bruises were bad for business but he never felt the need to hit a woman. Oh, Francine really put that to the test sometimes, but never did he crack. But cutting a girl's tongue out. He looked to Mancini, thinking just how easy it'd be to plug him right then and there. Open up his throat with his knife, throw him out of a fucking window. Push him out of his chair and smash his head in with his boot heel. He slowly exhaled through his nose and drew in a breath, trying to calm himself. Nothing would be gained by letting himself slip back to his old murderous ways. His brothers weren't here to drag him out of the shit like they used to be.

He stepped in front of Joel, it seemed his body got warmer from the waves of malice emanating from the other man. He could see it in his eyes. He spoke in a voice quiet enough to go unheard by Mancini and to lend some weight to his words, “Now, you remember where we are. Remember who this piece of fucking dog-shit is in front of us,” And he met eyes with the soldier, “You and I don't need to make enemies of the Lazzaris by doing what we both are itching to do.”

He let his gaze linger on Joel, trying to make his point sink in. He and Joel had survived this long in their businesses and going around killing capos for junkie whores down on their luck was not the reason. He stepped away from the soldier and met eyes with Mancini, or at least looked at Mancini's eyes while they rolled around aimlessly in the high. “Well, Mancini. The Golden Globe doesn't have a use for a girl who can't talk and is fucked in the head, so I can't put her to work there. No tourist's going to pay me for a broad who's crazy. I'm having a hard enough time with Bobbi.” He shrugged.

He turned to go for the door, but as his hand was a finger's breadth from the knob, he stopped. The questions picked at him like a crow at a corpse. Nothing about this felt right the more he turned things over in his mind. Mancini seemed... off. His hand rested on his hip, his thumb just happening to brush the metal frame of his revolver. Fancy that. “Say, why're you being so goddamned vague about this chick? If she's no use to you, why didn't you just off her instead of wasting another man's [i]precious damned time[/i]...” He had to stop himself from rushing Mancini and stabbing him until he could make even Joel blush, he continued calmly, “...Precious time and frankly insulting him by trying to dump damaged goods in his lap. I pay my dues to the Lazzaris. Same as any businessman in your lot's neck of the woods, and by extension, I'm paying you. So do me one kindness in return for not being a prick in your side. Take off her hood.”

One, he was very agitated that he came all the way here expecting a job with guaranteed caps. Two, the man was trying to sell him damaged goods- 'Oh, this apple? Yeah, it's fucking rotten and there's a worm on the inside. Had to cut off a moldy bit, but look at the rest of it! Ain't it beautiful? Got a sheen, don't it? Whaddaya say?' Anyone else made him a proposition like that, they'd be dead in the gutter as an example. Before Mancini could make a move towards the girl or not, he spoke in a quiet voice, "The two cleaners alone with you in this room would very much like you to remove that girl's hood, Mancini." He realized his revolver was in his hand, but he had no complaints about that.