31
Alessio
This factory’s a fucking dump and reeks of mold, piss, and rotting garbage.
Cooper, my ex-surveillance guy from Demoni’s , is tied to a rusted-ass chair in the middle of it, sweat dripping down his temple like he already knows he’s fucked.
His eyes dart around like some cornered rat, looking for a way out that doesn’t exist.
Chris was walking an underage girl straight to him before the little shit bolted.
Chris didn’t say a damn thing before he met his maker.
Let’s see if Cooper’s got more to offer.
He’s still gonna end up the same way.
“You thought you could hide from me, huh?”
Kota and Nathan dragged his sorry ass out of whatever rat-infested hole he was hiding in, sulking around this rotting steam plant, thinking he could vanish into thin air .
Stupido pezzo di merda .
Even if I don’t finish him, this hellhole might.
“Alessio, p-please,” he stutters, his is voice trembling like a coward.
“Save it.” I hold up a hand, shaking my head.
“You’re in no position to beg.”
I glance at Kota, leaning against the wall with peeling paint, arms crossed, grinning under his grizzly beard like the devil himself.
He already had his fun, turning Cooper into a punching bag.
Nathan’s outside, setting up the cleanup crew for when I’m done.
I only need one thing—a name.
Cooper’s not leaving here breathing, so he might as well make himself useful.
I crouch down, leveling my gaze with his bloodshot eyes.
“Who’s running this?”
“I-I don’t know,” he sputters, his voice cracking like a kid whose balls just dropped.
My jaw clenches, fire spreading through my veins, feeding the rage inside me.
He really thinks I have all night.
I should be at home, balls deep in my feisty redhead.
But instead, I’m stuck here dealing with this stronzo .
“Wrong answer.” I pull out my knife, leaning in close, getting a kick out of the panic that floods his eyes.
“Maybe this’ll help you hear me better. ”
A high-pitched scream tears from his throat as I slice his ear clean off, blood streaming down his neck.
I hold the severed ear up to my mouth like a microphone.
“Let’s try this again. Who’s running the ring?”
He’s trembling so hard the chair rattles under him.
“F-Franco…”
A dark laugh escapes me.
Now we’re getting somewhere.
“Good.” I toss his ear onto his lap.
“Does Franco have a last name?”
He gulps with sweat dripping down his face.
“I don’t know—”
“Wrong fucking answer.”
The blade glides through his skin like butter, and his other ear hits the floor with a wet, sick splat.
His scream turns into a broken sob, his body jerking against the ropes, digging into his wrists.
I crouch again, picking up the bloody ear from the floor and holding it in front of his face.
His wide, panicked eyes flick between me and the mangled piece of flesh.
I bring the ear to my mouth.
“Let’s try this again.” His blood drips down my arm from my man- made microphone.
“Full name?”
Cooper’s body trembles, a strangled gasp escaping before he sputters, blood and spit dribbling down his chin.
“Bianchi… Franco Bianchi.”
I stand up, flicking the ear toward him like trash.
It lands on the ground, in a puddle of blood with a wet smack.
Cooper won’t need his ears anymore.
He’s no longer of service to me.
One of my men steps in, handing me a bottle of water.
I take my time rinsing the blood off my hands while Kota grabs a sledgehammer.
He doesn’t say a word, just swings.
The clang of metal against bone fills my ears.
Cooper’s legs buckle, bending at angles they’re not meant to.
His screams grow weaker with every hit, but Kota doesn’t stop.
He’s calm as ever, like this is just another day in the office.
“Franco Bianchi,” I repeat, looking at Cooper, who’s barely coherent.
“Where can I find him?” I ask as Kota raises the hammer for another blow.
“Detroit... I swear,” he chokes out.
I nod, tossing the water bottle aside.
“See? That wasn’t so hard.”
Kota swings again, like he’s chopping firewood in the winter.
The sound of Cooper’s bones breaking sounds like fresh celery snapping.
Kota doesn’t even flinch, years of being my second has desensitized him from this shit.
After the third blow, Cooper’s body goes limp.
He might be dead, or maybe he just passed out from the pain or the blood loss.
Kota gets bored and tosses the sledgehammer aside just as my men fill the dusty room.
They’ll take care of the cleanup while I reach out to the Don in Detroit.
I won’t step on his turf without giving him a heads-up, but I also need his connections.
I glance at Kota, wiping his hands clean.
He may look calm on the outside, but the guy is fucking ruthless.
That cool, steady expression never cracks, even when he’s knee-deep in blood.
I don’t even know what time it is when we land, but it’s late, and I’m fucking exhausted.
All I want is a few hours of sleep.
Hell, maybe even fucking the sass out of my Sirena .
But no, Kota and I are on our way to a damn pussy auction in downtown Detroit.
The same shit Dad and the Commission worked their asses off to shut down years ago.
Gio has a car waiting for us at the terminal.
I slide into the driver’s seat, my grip tightening on the wheel as exhaustion simmers under my growing rage .
Gio and Seb filled us in on the plane.
Seb was able to track Franco’s phone and pin him to this sick fuck-fest.
Seb also included a recent picture, so I know who my target is.
Franco’s auctioning off girls like they’re cuts of meat, selling their virginity to the highest bidder.
And the men buying them?
Every single one of them deserves a bullet to the head.
Gio’s men have the place surrounded, waiting for us to make the move.
No one’s interfering until we’re inside, we can’t risk blowing the operation too soon.
But once I’m through that door, Franco’s little operation is going up in flames.
I kill the headlights as we roll up to the rundown restaurant.
The place looks as shitty as I expected.
I slide out of the SUV, brushing a hand over the wrinkles in my black pants and button-down.
Gio’s already outside, dragging a girl behind him.
The cheap bubblegum pink wig slipping halfway off her head makes her look even younger than she probably is.
She jerks away, but he yanks her back hard.
“You bought one?” I ask, raising a brow.
“It’s not what you fucking think,” Gio snaps, shoving her into the back seat like a pissed-off babysitter, buckling her in like a damn kid—hell, maybe she is.
Looks exactly like what I think, but I bite my tongue.
Gio’s not that guy.
If he were, I’d have put him six feet under by now.
He barks something at the driver, and the SUV peels out, tires grinding against the gravel like they’re as pissed as he is.
Gio turns back, rolling up his sleeves, letting the ink on his forearms show.
His eyes narrow on me, and whatever the hell that was, it’s gone now, and he’s all business.
“Don’t ask,” Gio sighs, clearly looking frustrated.
“Wasn’t gonna,” I reply, waiting for him to start talking about the real reason I’m here.
“Franco’s inside,” he says, flexing his fists.
“A dozen girls. All young, too young. My men have eyes on him, but he’s running the whole show.”
“How many buyers? All men?” I ask, my jaw tightening.
“Twice as many buyers as girls,” Gio mutters, scrubbing a hand over his face.
“Mostly men, but some women too. Women are easier to recruit and groom. They’re worse than the men.”
My stomach churns.
Twisted fucks.
Most people assume trafficking is just men, but once you’ve seen this world up close, you realize how many women play their part too.
They make the girls feel safe before dragging them deep into hell.
That shit’s colder than anything I’ve ever done.
The back entrance swings open without a sound, and I step in first with Gio at my side.
Kota and Gio’s second, Dash, are right behind us.
Gio’s men are scattered inside, blending in as fake buyers, while the rest wait outside, ready to storm in if shit goes south.
The place reeks of sweat and sex.
These bastards don’t even bother taking the girls anywhere decent to fuck them.
The place is dark, except for the strobe lights focused on a makeshift stage at the far end.
Probably where they used to set up for bands, but now it’s something vile.
The light flashes on the girl stepping out.
She can’t be older than eighteen, and she’s trying to smile like this isn’t the worst moment of her life.
Some greasy bastard with yellow teeth grabs a mic, calling her Jess.
She perks up when he opens the bidding at fifty grand, like she believes she’s getting that money, and my stomach knots.
“She thinks she’s getting paid?” I ask Gio without looking away.
“At least most of it,” Gio whispers back.
“But Franco pockets almost everything.”
“Fuck!” I turn to him, feeling my grip on my temper starting to slip.
“None of them know,” Gio says darkly.
“Franco hooks them with promises of easy cash, untouched girls bring in top dollar. But they leave with barely enough for a rideshare home, if they’re lucky,” he says, shaking his head.
“Some get passed to sex rings, whorehouses, or dumped on the streets to work off what they owe. They never see a fucking dime.”
My fists curl tight.
These fuckers deserve worse than death.
“And they come back?”
“They want their cut,” Gio says bitterly.
“He strings them along. One more time, more money next time . By the time they realize they’re screwed, it’s too late. They’re already sold off.”
A scam’s one thing but this is just fucking sick, and it needs to be gutted at the source.
My eyes zero in on Franco across the room.
He’s lounging back like a king, with some blonde draped over his lap.
Her expression is vacant.
She’s either given up completely or is high on something.
All while his fat gut hangs over the edge of his pants, straining against the fabric of a white button-down that looks ready to burst at the seams.
I want to rip him apart, piece by piece, until that smug face is nothing but blood and regret.
Fucking disgrace.
He’s a smear on the Italian name.
Then he sees me, and I know he knows exactly who I am.
That flicker of panic flashes across Franco’s face before he schools it, pretending to stay calm as his fingers move quickly over his phone, texting someone, like I don’t notice.
Nice try, asshole.
I lean against the wall, arms crossed, letting the moment sink in.
Gio’s men start clearing the place.
Buyers are yelling over each other like panicked fucking animals, chairs scraping, drinks spilling, but not a single one has the balls to throw a punch or resist.
Gio’s guys are bulldozing through the room with their guns drawn, clearing out the place.
The assholes who were all smug and flashing cash ten minutes ago are now pissing themselves trying to run, waving their hands in the air, pretending like they weren’t just trying to buy underage girls.
Some of the girls scream, others stand there like they’ve gone numb and look dead in their eyes.
They’re crying, clutching what little they’re wearing, but you can see the relief on their faces.
About fifteen of Gio’s men start grabbing them, probably with more gentleness than anyone’s shown them in weeks.
Throwing coats over shoulders, just getting them the fuck out of here.
Then there’s Franco, sitting like the fucking king of sleaze with the girl still on his lap and that bullshit smirk.
But I see that split-second of panic before he hides behind his smug mask.
He pulls out his phone again, texting God knows who, like I’m too fucking stupid to catch on to what he’s doing.
One of Gio’s guys grabs the blonde off his lap, and Franco tenses like he might say something, but he doesn’t.
The girl doesn’t even glance back.
She stands up, like her legs were just waiting for the signal to move, and when she’s ushered toward the exit, she goes quickly, as if she stops for one second, she might not get out alive.
I push off the wall, stepping toward him.
“Franco Bianchi.” His eyes dart around, searching for a way out.
Yeah, good luck with that.
He’s never been on my radar, but he’s been on Gio’s.
“You’ve been sending underage girls to my casino.” My tone is deadly calm.
“You thought I wouldn’t notice?”
He tries to play it cool with a shitty grin that barely holds.
“You mean my casino.”
I scoff.
“The fuck makes you think it’s yours?”
The color drains from his face.
I’m done with this bullshit.
I shove him hard against the wall, my hand wrapping around his throat.
His breath stutters, but he’s trying to act tough, but he’s already breaking.
“Cut the bullshit,” I say, leaning in until he can’t look anywhere but at me.
“You’re gonna tell me everything.”
He squirms, wheezing half a breath, but I don’t loosen my hold.
I watch the panic in his eyes and damn does it feel good .
“What’s it gonna be, Franco?” I say with a cruel smirk.
“Or do I need to show you just how fucking bad this can get?”
The bastard stays silent, he knows he’s out of options since what few men he did have ran out like fucking bastards.
He locks eyes with me like he’s got a shot at walking out of here.
Yeah, fucking right.
I flick my head toward two of Gio’s men, leaning against the wall, waiting for my signal.
“Restrain him. Bring him to the cells.”
They move in, each grabbing an arm and haul Franco’s sorry ass toward the exit.
My mind’s already racing through the ways I’m going to make him bleed for every girl he’s destroyed.
But before they get to the door, a shot rings out.
Franco’s head jerks back, then drops forward.
Gio’s men let go of his arms, pulling their guns to find the shooter.
Franco is dead before his body even hits the floor, a perfect hole right between the eyes.
Fuck.
“Shit!” I duck behind a pillar, gun drawn.
Gio’s men spread out, surrounding the room.
Boots slam against the floor.
Chairs crash.
I fire a round toward the door the shot came from.
It looks like it leads to an office.
“Find them!” I bark.
Adrenaline has me wired; my hands clench my gun so tight my knuckles crack.
Kota’s already moving, leading a few guys to sweep the perimeter while I grit my teeth, trying to keep the rage boiling inside me from exploding.
Someone just stole my revenge right out from under me.
And whoever the fuck they are, just made the top of my list.