I follow them into the storage room. It’s small, with concrete walls and one metal chair in the center. They shove Tommy into the chair and zip-tie his wrists behind his back.
“Wait outside,” I tell them. “Make sure no one comes in.”
The door closes, leaving just me and Tommy in the room. He’s crying. “Please, Mr. Volkov. Please don’t do this.”
“You did this.” I roll up my sleeves. “When you decided my trust meant nothing. When you thought you could steal from me without consequences.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I believe you.” I move closer. “But sorry doesn’t fix what you’ve done. It doesn’t restore the respect you lost, and it sure as hell doesn’t send the message that needs to be sent to everyone else in my organization.”
I hit him until his nose breaks with a wet crack, and blood pours down his face.
He screams.
I hit him again.
Twenty minutes later, I open the storage room door. Tommy is unconscious in the chair, his face a mess of blood and broken features. He’ll live, but he’ll never work in this city again, and everyone in my organization will know what happens when you steal from me.
Silas takes one look and nods. “Hospital?”
“Eventually. Let him sit for a while first.” I look at my hands, and they’re bloody all over. “Clean this up. I need to check on my wife.”
I walk to the bathroom first, wash the worst of the blood off, but my knuckles are still obviously damaged. The skin is torn, already starting to swell.
Savannah is standing at the office window when I return, looking down at the warehouse floor. She turns when I enter, and her eyes immediately drop to my hands.
She doesn’t gasp. “Is it done?” she asks quietly.
“It’s done.”
“The personnel issue.”
“Yes.”
She walks over to me. Takes my hands in hers, examining the damage. Her fingers are gentle as they trace the split skin. “Does it hurt?”
“Not really.”
She meets my eyes. “Are you okay?”
The question catches me off guard. Notwhat did you do?Notwho did you hurt?
“I’m fine.” My voice comes out rougher than I intended. “I’m sorry you had to?—”
“Don’t.” She shakes her head. “Don’t apologize. You told me this is part of it. Part of your world. Our world now.”
“Savannah—”
“Did he deserve it?”
“He stole from me. From us. Twenty kilos over six weeks.”
“So yes.”
“Yes.”
She nods slowly, then leans up and kisses me. “Then I’m glad you handled it,” she says when she pulls away. “We should go and get your hands looked at by a doctor.”
