12. Dario
12
DARIO
I adjust the weight of my gun in the waistband of my pants as the car cruises through the dimly lit streets.
Tonight, Esteban’s getting a visit he won’t forget. I warned him, publicly and clearly, yet the bastard thought he could outsmart me—tried to disappear into a shiny new house on the outskirts of the city. The fool should have known better. Now, he’s made it personal.
The car screeches to a halt in front of Esteban’s Mansions on the Upper East Side—his latest pathetic attempt at hiding after he tried to scam me. A bitter chuckle escapes my lips as one of my men swings the door open.
I’ve had a guy on the inside planted within his security team for months. Esteban, that clueless bastard, didn’t have a clue that every move he made was my business all along.
I’m not one to boast about my street smarts, but in moments like this, I savor just how easily I play these games. He thinks he’s been running the show. But I’ve been pulling the strings, waiting for the right time to cut him off for good.
It’s a shame he’s not even going to live to tell anyone how he tried to double-cross me.
I step out of the car, straightening my coat as the night air bites at my skin. My men surround me, ready for action, but the truth is I don’t need them for this. I’m here to finish this with my own hands. The thrill of what’s about to happen rushes through me, my fingers itching to grip the cold steel of my gun.
Like I said, I’m not proud. Just too damn good at what I do. And Esteban? He’s about to find out the hard way that no one crosses me and walks away breathing.
My black coat flutters in the cold breeze as I stride toward the entrance, my mind locked on one goal. My men fan out ahead of me, shadows moving with precision. Each one grips a custom Glock fitted with suppressors, their sleek black barrels glinting under the dim streetlights.
A brief, almost inaudible phut breaks the stillness, just a soft whisper of death as the silenced rounds slice through the air. Esteban’s guards don’t even have a chance to react, their bodies crumpling to the ground with barely a sound. The modified pistols make quick, clean work of them. No loud shots, no alarms—just a quiet, professional elimination. Exactly how I want it.
I can’t afford to draw any attention tonight. Not yet. At least until the moment I’m standing right in front of him.
When I reach the first door, I don’t waste time knocking. I slam my boot into it, the wood splitting under the force. The door creaks and groans before giving way. My men flank me as we head straight for the bedroom.
“Wakey, wakey, Esteban! We’re here for a little chat,” I singsong, my voice echoing off the walls. The sound alone is enough to rattle the coward out of his sleep.
We reach the main bedroom door—locked, of course. I raise a brow at my men, and with a quick shove, they force it open. What greets me inside makes my blood boil, and a smirk curl my lips at the same time. Esteban’s lying in the middle of a king- sized bed surrounded by five naked women of all shapes and sizes.
Amusement quickly turns to disgust. The man has a family—a cousin he’s lost because of his own stupidity—and here he is, rolling around with whores as if his world isn’t falling apart.
“The room’s soundproof, boss,” one of my men mutters, his teeth gritted.
I pull my gun from my waistband, taking aim at a ridiculously expensive lamp beside the bed. The shot rings out like thunder, and the glass shatters, sending shards flying. The bang jolts Esteban and his little harem out of their sleep. The women scream, scrambling off the bed in a frenzy of confusion and terror.
Esteban stumbles to his feet, eyes wide with panic as he locks onto me. Reality hits him like a bullet—and I’m the one holding the gun.
Esteban’s voice trembles as he stumbles over his words, trying to pull a pair of boxers over his waist, his hands shaking. “What’s going on?”
I step closer, the dim light casting shadows across the room. “Hello to you too, Esteban,” I sneer, my voice low and menacing. “You really thought you could run? After I gave you a clear warning, you still made me come after you?”
He stumbles backward, his eyes wide with panic as I close in on him. He’s already pleading, his voice dripping with pathetic desperation. “Dario, please, let’s talk about this. I can explain?—”
“Talk?” I cut him off with a growl, my patience gone. “I don’t talk, Esteban. Not after what I did to your cousin to show I wasn’t bluffing. I gave you one week. You’re out of time. And yet, nothing. Not a single word about what we discussed.”
He gulps, sweat beading on his forehead. “Look, Dario, it’s not as easy as I thought. Retracting the contract—there’s legal paperwork, processes?—”
“Don’t fucking piss me off further by lying to my face, Esteban,” I snarl.
I flick my hand, signaling my men, and they begin tearing apart the house, searching every room and corner. I watch Esteban’s panic rise as he sees them ripping through his belongings. He’s losing control, and he knows it.
“What are you looking for?” he asks, his voice shaking, eyes darting around.
“Just making sure you’re not hiding anything,” I reply coldly, never taking my gaze off him. “You had some balls thinking you could con me, Esteban.”
Before he can respond, I grab a fistful of his hair and slam his head against the bedside table. The sharp crack of his skull hitting wood echoes in the room. Blood splatters across the polished mahogany surface, and he grunts in pain, disoriented and stumbling. I pull him up, and he’s barely standing—his legs wobble, one side of his face already swelling, blood pouring from his ears and nose.
“Perfect,” I muse before shoving him into a chair my men have set up in the middle of the room. They tie him down, his body limp, and I unzip the bag we brought with us.
I pull out my switchblade—one of my favorites. Its blades gleam under the dim light, varying from curved to jagged, each designed to inflict maximum pain. When I approach him slowly and grab his hands, which have been tied together in his front, his eyes widen, and I can see the realization dawning on him.
“Dario, p-please,” he stammers, his voice cracking. “We can negotiate. I’ll give you whatever you want.”
I let out a dark chuckle. “You had a whole week to do that, Esteban.”
I grab his hand, his fingers trembling beneath my grip as I run the blade over his skin, choosing which one to slice first. His pleas turn into a desperate wail as I press the blade against his left index finger, cutting through flesh and bone. The finger drops to the floor with a wet thud, blood spraying across his lap.
“You know how ruthless I am,” I snarl, the blade gliding over his pinky next. “And yet, you still thought you could play with fire.”
“I’m sorry! Please, Dario, don’t—” His voice is raw, choked with sobs as I sever it and move toward his thumb. Blood pours from his hand, soaking the chair beneath him.
“Dario, please,” he cries, his voice breaking as tears stream down his face. “Don’t kill me...please, for old times’ sake.”
I ignore his pathetic whimpering, slicing through his remaining fingers with precision, his cries drowned out by the sound of bone cracking under my knife.
“Be quiet,” I say with a cold smile, “and maybe I’ll consider forgiving you.”
He’s a broken mess now, sniffling and whimpering as I casually count the remaining fingers on his left hand.
“Seven left,” I muse aloud. “I think I’m being too generous.” I press down on his right hand. Another loud cry leaves his lips when I twist the middle finger of his left hand, feeling the sharp tip of my blade piercing skin and muscle.
Just then, one of my men bursts in, his face pale. “Boss, we found someone in the basement.”
Esteban’s eyes widen in terror, tears streaming down his face as they drag in an unconscious girl.
I laugh, a dark sound, until my voice dies in my throat. “You sick, twisted?—”
It’s Ginny.
My breath hitches. She’s been tied up, her face bruised and smeared with dried blood. A slap mark streaks across her cheek, nothing life-threatening but still enough to make my stomach twist into knots. My mouth dries up with an odd, bitter taste as my eyes trace her body. Her head hangs low, her posture slumped. Defeated. I’ve never seen her like this before. She looks so small, fragile, and weak.
“Take her to the car and stay with her,” I order Anton, my most trusted man.
As they head out of the room, my mind reels as I imagine what they must have done to her. My eyes go red in fury as I turn to Esteban and grab his neck.
“Did you touch her?” I hiss, tightening my fingers around his throat. His eyes widen in terror, shaking his head frantically, but I squeeze tighter.
His breath comes out in short gasps, desperate for air, while his face turns crimson under my grip.
“I didn’t... I swear!” he rasps, choking out the words. “My men brought her in this afternoon. She wouldn’t shut up, so they roughed her up a bit, but I didn’t lay a finger on her.”
I release him, and he collapses onto his knees, wheezing like a dying dog. Relief washes over me knowing she wasn’t violated, but that doesn’t extinguish the rage burning inside me. She was locked up, beaten like some lowlife criminal. It stirs something deep, something primal.
“You’ve just crossed a line even I can’t save you from,” I growl.
“I didn’t think?—”
“How and why did you find her?” I cut him off, grinding my teeth. “Of what use is she to you?”
Esteban trembles, desperation leaking from his every pore. “I invested in her brother’s company,” he sputters. “I lost millions of dollars. I was just trying to get back at Lorenzo.”
The pieces start falling into place. “You’re a creditor of the Bianchi Group. You screwed me, then dumped the money into their company...”
He nods frantically, words spilling out. “I lost everything. I could have paid you back, but Lorenzo’s company bled me dry. I was just trying to survive! I just wanted revenge. He took everything from me.”
“Survive?” I sneer, glancing at the luxury around him. “Yet you had enough to host your whore parties. You still live well.” Then it clicks. My eyes narrow. “You sent her the bomb, didn’t you?”
Esteban’s face goes pale, his lips trembling. “It wasn’t supposed to...I just wanted to...I didn’t mean to hurt?—”
Too late.
With a flick of my wrist, I snap open the switchblade and plunge it into his neck. Blood spurts out, drenching my face and chest as I pull the blade free and stab him again. His body jerks violently, a sickening gurgle escaping his throat as life drains from his eyes. He slumps backward, knocking the chair over, his lifeless body sprawling on the floor. Blood pools beneath his head, dark and thick.
I stand over him, my chest heaving with the rush of anger and satisfaction. Wiping my face, I clean the blood from my hands and swap my shirt before walking out.
As I approach the car where Ginny waits, something gnaws at me. The anger that’s been driving me cools into something more dangerous—uncertainty.
Did I kill Esteban for his betrayal?
Or did I kill him for her?