But what I prefer, isDeath.
Chapter 4
Octavia
The car rolls to a stop, and I’m out of the vehicle before the driver even thinks to move. I push the door open myself and step into the faintly cool night air.
Once the message came through, I changed into jeans and a hoodie, pulled on a Fendi jacket and a pair of trainers, released my hair from its bun, and walked straight out of the door.
I took the Lamborghini to the helipad, boarded the helicopter, and flew across to the mainland.
Adriano circles the SUV a moment later and comes to stand beside me, his posture alert, composed, and ready.
The driver stays by the vehicle as Adriano and I make our way toward the rusted metal door.
Two of our men stand guard, they nod in greeting before one of them pulls the door open. The hinges let out a slow groan, and in that instant, I see him.
The piece of shit is strapped to a chair in the centre of the room, wrists bound to the armrests, ankles tied to the legs, a thick rope braced across his chest to stop any thrashing.
A bruise spreads along his jaw, darkening into purple. His lower lip is split, dried blood crusting at the edge.
I let a slow smirk curl at my mouth.
Adriano stands beside me, perfectly at ease. “I couldn’t help myself,” he says.
Exactly the sentiment I had.
I shake my head, amused. “You should work on your self-control.”
He grins. “I’ve got plenty, boss. Just not for men like him.”
I almost roll my eyes at the title. Technically, yes, I’m his superior. But to me he’s family, the closest thing I’ve ever had to an older brother.
Still, in public, hierarchy matters, and he addresses me accordingly.
The man in the chair starts thrashing the moment I move toward him.
“Who are you?” he sputters, his voice cracking. “What do you want with me? This is a mistake, you’ve got the wrong man—”
I stop in front of him, looking down with disdain.
“Is your name Ryan Connors?”
He goes still. “Yes.”
“Then I don’t have the wrong man.”
His throat bobs. “What do you want with me? I didn’t, I didn’t do anything—”
I tilt my head, studying him like the filth he is. “Do you remember Emily?”
The colour drains from his face so quickly it’s almost… interesting. His pupils blow wide, his jaw locks, and there it is, the exact moment the truth sinks its teeth into him.
One name.
That’s all it ever takes. They always give themselves away with a single word.
“She—she asked for it, whatever she said, she lied,” he stammers, his breath hitches in his throat.
