I keep my weapon visible as I scan the room, making eye contact with each witness. “Vincent Torrino was a traitor to the Vitelli family. This is what happens to traitors. Remember that.”
When my eyes find Alessandro’s across the room, I see something that makes heat erupt in my chest.
His hazel eyes are darker than usual, intense and focused entirely on me.
There’s no horror or disgust at what I’ve just done.
Instead, his gaze is hungry, appreciative.
His jaw is tight with what looks like restraint, and I can see the slight flare of his nostrils, the way his chest rises and falls just a little too quickly.
He’s watching me like a predator watches prey, except I’m not sure which one of us is which.
His tongue darts out briefly to wet his bottom lip, and when our eyes meet, something electric passes between us.
The way he looks at me—like he’s seeing me clearly for the first time, like he wants to cross the room and pin me against the wall—tells me everything I need to know.
He’s not just pleased with my ruthlessness. He’s turned on by it.
That knowledge makes something dark and satisfied settle in my bones.
“Have a pleasant evening, gentlemen,” I say, holstering my weapon.
Alessandro and I walk out together, our exit as controlled and professional as our entrance.
The message has been delivered.
The lesson has been taught.
And I feel absolutely nothing about taking a human life except a cold satisfaction that I’ve proven what I’m capable of.
The ride back to the penthouse is silent except for the hum of the engine.
My mind keeps replaying the moment—the weight of the gun in my hand, the look of fear in Torrino’s eyes, the sharp crack of the gunshot echoing through the social club.
But what strikes me most isn’t the violence or the blood or even the finality of taking a life.
It’s howrightit felt. Hownatural.
Alessandro parks in the hotel’s private garage, and we take the elevator to my floor without speaking.
The silence isn’t uncomfortable—it’s charged, electric, like the air before a thunderstorm.
Once we’re inside my suite, I pour myself some whiskey from the bar cart, my hands steady despite everything that’s happened.
Alessandro watches me from across the room looking dangerous and controlled and absolutely fucking magnetic.
“So,” I say, taking a sip of the amber liquid. “How did I do?”
“You know how you did.” His voice is rougher than usual. When I look at him, those hazel eyes are dark with something that makes my pulse quicken.
The corners of my lips quirk up. “I want to hear you say it.”
He moves closer, stopping just out of reach. “You were perfect,” he breathes. “Cold, efficient, completely in control. You made it look easy.”
“Itwaseasy.” The admission should probably disturb me, but it doesn’t. “That’s what scares me.”
“It shouldn’t.” He takes another step closer. “It should thrill you.”
