He wasn't alone. I know that. He was the bait, the opener. The real order came from someone higher. Someone I intend to gut, slowly and precisely, until they beg for the swift end I’ll deny.
We pull into a warehouse in a forgotten corner of the city. The warehouse is isolated with soundproof walls and concrete floors. The kind of place I rarely use anymore, reserved for the most sensitive interrogations, for the most brutal lessons.
Tonight, I’ll gladly use it.
For her.
She’s the fuse to everything I’m about to ignite.
When we arrive, I haul the attacker out myself, ignoring Enzo's offer to assist. I drag him by the collar like a rabid animal, his unconscious body bumping against the concrete. I toss him into a steel chair, secure his wrists with zip ties, and wait for him to wake up.
When he does, his eyes flutter open, then widen in terror as he sees me. The warehouse is dim, lit only by a few harsh fluorescent bulbs that cast stark shadows across the concrete.
Perfect for what's coming.
"Welcome back," I say, my voice conversational. "I trust the ride was comfortable?"
He spits blood, trying to summon defiance. "Go to hell."
I nod once, as if considering his suggestion. Then I pull the gun from my waistband, the metal cold and familiar in my hand. "You know what you did wrong tonight?"
"Breathe?" he rasps, still trying for bravado.
"You threatened to harm the woman I love." The words come out quiet, matter-of-fact. "In front of me."
I tell myself this isn’t personal.
But it is.
It always has been.
I shoot him in the knee. The crack of the gun echoes in the concrete space, followed immediately by his animalistic scream echoing off the walls. He convulses against the chair, his body straining against the restraints.
"That was for touching her," I explain calmly. Blood pools beneath the chair, dark and spreading. "Now, let's talk about the information you're going to tell me."
"Fuck you," he gasps, tears streaming down his face. "I won't tell you?—"
I put a bullet through his other knee. This scream is worse, broken, desperate, the sound of a man realizing he's not going to die quickly.
But he will die.
"Wrong answer." I pull up another chair, sitting down across from him. "Let me explain how this works. You're going to tell me who sent you. You're going to tell me where I can find them.And you're going to tell me who else knows about the plan to hurt her."
"And if I don't?" He's panting now, shock setting in, his face pale and slick with sweat.
I lean forward, my voice dropping to a whisper. "Then I start removing pieces. Small ones first. Fingers. Toes. Ears. I'll keep you conscious the whole time. I'll make sure you feel every cut, every break, every burn. No matter how long it takes. And when I'm done with you, I'll move on to your family."
His resolve crumbles then, as I knew it would. They always break. It just depends how much pain they can tolerate first.
"Grassi," he gasps. "He's... he's the one who ordered it. Scorpione Nero captain. They wanted to test you. See if she was really your weakness."
"Where is he?"
“Slaughterhouse... an abandoned meat processing facility outside the industrial ring. Building 47. He’ll be there tonight, celebrating.”
"Celebrating what?"
"Your... your humiliation.”
