His hand moves trying to aim his gun at my face but I’m faster. I’m always faster.
I close the distance between us in two long strides, and we collide.
It’s brutal from the first impact. Antonio might be older, but he’s not soft. He’s been in this life for decades. He knows how to fight, how to hurt people, how to survive when survival seems impossible.
His elbow cracks into my ribs. Something shifts wrong inside my chest, but I don’t let it slow me down.
I drive my fist hard into his jaw and the sound of bones leaving their position reverberates through the air. His head snaps sideways with the force. He stumbles into the desk and papers scatter everywhere, books falling, everything expensive and pristine getting destroyed in seconds.
Good. Let it all burn.
He recovers faster than I expect, lunging at me with his gun still in hand. The man has stamina. I’ll give him that. The barrel swings toward my face and I grab his wrist, twisting hard until I hear something pop. Bone or tendon, I don’t care which.
He roars and drops the weapon. It clatters to the floor and the girl scrambles away from it, pressing herself against the wall.
Antonio throws a wild punch and catches me in the temple. Stars burst across my vision, but training keeps me moving. Muscle memory takes over. I grab his shirt and slam him backward into the bookshelf behind his desk.
Wood gives way with a crack that sounds like thunder. Books crash down around us, heavy hardcovers that probably cost more than most people’s rent. A heavy marble statue wobbles on its pedestal and crashes to the floor, shattering into pieces that scatter across expensive carpet.
We’re destroying his office and neither of us cares. This isn’t about preserving anything anymore. This is about dominance. About who walks out of this room alive.
He gets his hands around my throat, fingers digging in, trying to crush my windpipe. His grip is strong, his face twisted with rage and the absolute certainty that he’s not giving up the ledger.
Then you fucking die with your secrets.
I bring my knee up hard into his gut once, twice, three times until his grip loosens enough for me to breathe. Air rushes back into my lungs and I use the momentum. I grab his head with both hands and drive it down into my rising knee.
The impact is loud and ugly. Wet. Blood bursts from his nose in a spray that splatters across both of us. He staggers backward, blinking through the pain and the blood running into his eyes.
But he’s still standing. Still fighting.
Tough bastard.
A lamp goes flying as Antonio lunges at me again, wild and desperate. It shatters against the wall behind the girl and she flinches, covering her head with her arms.
I catch Antonio mid-lunge and we crash through a side table. More destruction. More expensive furniture reduced to nothing but kindling and splinters. The sound of breaking wood fills the room.
He’s weakening. I can feel it in how his punches are getting slower, sloppier. Blood is pouring from his nose and mouth. His breathing is ragged and uneven. One of his ribs is probably cracked from my knee.
But he’s not quitting. Won’t quit. Men like Antonio don’t surrender. They fight until their body gives out or someone puts a bullet in them.
Good. Neither do I.
I pin him against the wall, too close to the girl for comfort but she doesn’t scramble away. My forearm is across his throat, and I look him dead in the eyes. Blood covers his face. His expensive suit is ruined. But there’s still fire in his gaze.
“Last chance, Antonio.”
Blood bubbles on his lips when he speaks. “Fuck you! The ledger dies with me. You’ll never find it!”
I know.
The realization has been building since the moment I walked in here. Antonio Marchetti isn’t the type to break. He’ll die before he talks because that ledger is the only thing keeping him relevant and powerful in a world that would chew him up otherwise.
Without it, he’s nothing. Just another middle-aged gangster in an expensive suit.
With it hidden forever, he’s a legend to be feared. Even if he doesn’t deserve it.
Fine. Be a dead legend.
