"Please don't?—"
The pliers close around his left pinky nail.
Adrian screams before Marco even pulls. The sound is shrill and ugly, and when the nail tears free, blood wells up fast, dripping onto the chair, onto the floor. The stench of copper mixes with the whiskey on his breath and I take a step back, keeping my expression neutral even as my stomach turns.
Not from the blood, I've seen worse than that. Done worse.
It's the drunk, pathetic whimpering that gets under my skin.
"Stop—stop, please, I'll do anything?—"
"Anything?" I arch a brow, pulling a handkerchief from my pocket to wipe a fleck of blood from my shoe. "You just told me you have nothing."
"I'll work! I'll do jobs, I'll—whatever you need, just give me two weeks, please?—"
"Two weeks." I laugh, low and humorless, wondering if this idiot actually understands the trouble he’s in. "What are you going to do in two weeks, Adrian? Win the lottery?"
His phone buzzes on the table beside me, screen lighting up. The vibration cuts through his sobs, and I glance down.
The name Bianca flashes across the display, accompanied by a photo.
I pick it up.
She's smiling in the picture—really smiling, the kind that reaches her eyes. Hazel-green, I think, though the lighting makes it hard to tell. Long chestnut hair pulled over one shoulder, a simple blouse, nothing flashy. She looks warm. Genuine. The kind of woman who probably bakes cookies for her neighbors and remembers birthdays.
The kind of woman who has no business being anywhere near a man like Adrian Morelli.
"Who's this?" I ask, turning the phone toward him.
His face goes pale. "That's—that's my girlfriend. Please don't?—"
"How long have you been together?"
"Three years. Dante, she has nothing to do with this?—"
"Three years." I study the photo again, something cold and calculating clicking into place in the back of my mind. "And you've been gambling the whole time?"
He doesn't answer.
"Does she know what you do? Who you work for?"
"No." His voice drops to a whisper. "She thinks I'm just an accountant."
Of course, she does.
I set the phone down, cross my arms. Marco sets the pliers down, waiting for orders. Adrian's hand is still bleeding, but he's stopped screaming, reduced to pathetic whimpering and shaking.
"I can settle this another way," Adrian blurts out suddenly, voice cracking. "I can repay you. Just not with money."
I raise an eyebrow. "You just told me you have nothing left, boy, don’t fucking play with me."
"I have something." He's talking fast now, desperate. "Something valuable. My girlfriend."
The room goes quiet.
I tilt my head, studying him. "Your girlfriend."
"Yes. Bianca. You can have her. As collateral. She's—she's worth more than the debt, I swear."
