14. Nerio
14
NERIO
I pace the length of my office, phone pressed to my ear. "Tell me you found them."
"We traced them back to a Mantione safehouse on the west side," Sal reports. "Four of them holed up there thinking they're untouchable."
My jaw clenches. The image of Jazz standing before me, trembling as she put the box in front of me that held threats against her. "Get everyone in position. I want that place surrounded."
"Already done, boss. Just say the word."
I check my watch. It's 2:30 in the morning. Perfect timing for sending messages. "Light it up."
Twenty minutes later, I stand across the street watching flames engulf the safehouse. Screams echo from inside as my men block every exit. No mercy tonight.
"Please!" One of them staggers out the front door, coughing. "We didn't know what was in the box."
I stride forward, drawing my gun. "You targeted her knowing she worked for me. That makes you mine to deal with."
The shot rings out clean. Clinical. His body crumples to the pavement as sirens wail in the distance.
"Search for anything that survived the fire," I order Marco. "I want to know who gave the order."
"What about the other three?"
"Let them burn." I holster my weapon. "Then hit their legitimate businesses. Shut down their gambling operations. Freeze their accounts. I want the message clear — the Bueti family protects its own."
My phone buzzes. I don't have to look to know it's a text from Jazz about how bored — or safe as I see it — she is at the penthouse. The little reminder sends relief flooding through me, quickly replaced by cold fury. The Mantiones crossed a line targeting her. Now they'll learn exactly why the Bueti name commands respect in this city.
"Sir." Marco approaches with a laptop retrieved from the building. "Found something interesting. Looks like they've been running girls through that new club on Roosevelt."
"Shut it down. Tonight. And make sure our friends at City Hall revoke their liquor license first thing tomorrow." I straighten my jacket, watching the flames climb higher. "No one fucks with me without consequences."
The fire department finally arrives, but there's nothing left to save. Just ashes and a warning written in flame: cross the Bueti family at your own peril.
But I'm not done yet. We head across town to enact the next part of my revenge.
I lean against my BMW in the shadows of the warehouse district, Marco beside me watching the street. Right on schedule, headlights pierce the darkness — a black SUV carrying Salvatore Mantione, one of their top earners.
"Three guards with him," Marco mutters, adjusting his tactical vest.
I nod, chambering a round. "Take out the driver. I want Sal alive."
The SUV slows at the intersection. Our men emerge from hiding spots, weapons trained. The driver spots us too late.
Marco's shot shatters the windshield. The SUV swerves, crashing into a lamppost. Gunfire erupts as the guards scramble out, but we have superior position and numbers.
"Cover me." I sprint forward as Marco and our crew lay down suppressing fire. Two guards drop. The third raises his hands in surrender.
Sal kicks his door open, stumbling out with a pistol. I dodge his wild shot, closing the distance. My fist connects with his jaw. He staggers back. I grab his gun arm, twisting until bones crack. The weapon clatters to the ground.
"You really thought you could threaten my woman and get away with it?" I slam him against the SUV. Blood trickles from his split lip.
"It wasn't personal," he spits. "Just business."
I drive my knee into his stomach. He doubles over, wheezing. "Everything about Jazz is personal."
"The don won't stand for this-"
"Your don should've thought about that before targeting civilians." I zip-tie his hands behind his back. "Marco, get him in the car. We're going to have a long chat about the Mantione chain of command."
Sal struggles as we drag him to my BMW. "You're starting a war, Bueti."
"No." I slam the trunk closed on his protests. "I'm finishing one."
Once we get out to one of the warehouses I own on the eastern side of the city, I drag Sal down the metal stairs into the basement we use for situations like this. The room smells of rust and mildew, water dripping somewhere in the darkness. Marco flips on the industrial lights, casting harsh shadows across the concrete floor.
"Comfortable?" I circle Sal once he's zip-tied to a metal chair bolted to the ground. His expensive suit is torn and bloody from our earlier scuffle. "Let's talk about who is targeting my girl."
He spits blood at my feet. "Go to hell."
I backhand him hard enough to snap his head sideways. "Wrong answer. Marco, the tools."
Marco wheels over a stainless steel cart. Surgical implements gleam under the fluorescent lights - pliers, scalpels, various cutting instruments. I select a pair of wire cutters.
"You know what's fascinating about hands?" I grab his left one, stretching out his fingers. "Twenty-seven bones. Each one can be broken in multiple places."
The wire cutters snap shut on his pinky nail. He screams as I rip it clean off.
"That's just the beginning. Now, about that order..."
"I don't know anything!" Sweat beads on his forehead.
I move to the next finger. "Lying makes this worse. We traced the senders directly to your safehouse."
Another nail tears free. Blood drips onto the concrete.
"Wait! Please!" His voice cracks. "Luca... Luca told us to start sending messages. He's trying to prove himself before taking over for his old man."
I pause, studying his face for deception. "Why target Jazz specifically?"
"He... he said coming after her would draw you out. Make you sloppy." Sal's breathing comes in ragged gasps. "Show everyone the Buetis aren't untouchable."
"Thank you for your honesty." I set down the pliers and pick up a scalpel. "Now let's discuss the trafficking operation you're running through that club."
His eyes widen. "No, please. I told you what you wanted!"
"Consider this a bonus round." The blade glints as I press it against his throat. "Every detail you give me buys you a quicker death."
The screams that follow echo off the walls, a symphony of retribution. By the time I'm finished, the concrete is stained crimson and Luca Mantione's plan lies exposed like raw nerve endings.
I wipe the blood from my hands with a cloth, studying Sal's battered form. He's barely conscious, head lolling against his chest. But he'll live - for now.
"Get him cleaned up," I tell Marco. "I want him coherent enough to make a phone call."
Marco raises an eyebrow. "You're keeping him alive?"
"A gift-wrapped Mantione captain? He's worth more breathing than dead." I pull out my phone, checking the time. "Their entire operation will grind to a halt trying to find him. Meanwhile, we'll know exactly where he is."
"Please..." Sal mumbles through broken teeth. "Just kill me..."
I grab his chin, forcing him to look at me. "Death would be too easy. You're going to help us dismantle everything your family has built. Starting with that trafficking ring."
"They'll kill me if you don't..."
"Sounds like chances you'll have to take." I release his face. "Besides, the Mantiones are soft on you, right? They'll probably forgive you for spilling." I pat his face, knowing they won't. "But me? I don't forgive. Cross me, and I'll mail pieces of you to Luca myself."
Marco wheels over a medical kit. "What about his injuries?"
"Patch him up enough to keep him alive. Leave the cosmetic damage - I want him looking properly motivated when he calls Luca."
I crouch in front of Sal, pulling out a burner phone. "Here's how this works. You're going to tell them you're laying low after our attack. That you have sensitive information about their operations you need to protect. Make it convincing."
Tears mix with blood on his cheeks. "And then what?"
"Then you become my guest while the Mantiones tear themselves apart looking for you. Every lead they follow will be a trap. Every safe house they check will explode. And when Luca is desperate enough, he'll make mistakes."
I stand, straightening my jacket. "Marco, once he's stable, move him to the panic room beneath the club. Full security detail. I want eyes on him 24/7."
"You're a dead man," Sal wheezes. "Luca will-"
"Luca is a child playing at being don." I head for the stairs. "And children need to learn that actions have consequences."
I unlock the penthouse door, the weight of tonight's violence heavy on my shoulders. The scent of jasmine and citrus — her signature blend of essential oils — wraps around me as I step inside. Jazz sits curled on the leather sectional, wearing one of my shirts and her sleep shorts. And fuck, does she look damn good in it. The sight of her safe, here, releases some of the tension in my chest.
She looks up from her book. "You're here." Her eyes search my face, reading the darkness there. "Everything okay?"
"It is now." I shrug off my jacket, checking my cuffs for any traces of blood. Clean.
"Come here." She holds out her hand.
I cross to her, sinking onto the couch. She shifts to straddle my lap, fingers working at my tie. "You don't have to tell me what happened. But don't shut me out either."
I'm surprised by her take charge attitude. Usually, I have to coax her into giving in more. But maybe after she finally surrendered to me — not to mention her being lonely in this penthouse — she's ready to keep giving.
"I sent a message to the Mantiones." I catch her wrist, pressing my lips to her pulse point.
"Nerio..." She cups my face, thumbs brushing my cheekbones. "I don't want you to start a war over me."
"I'm trying to protect you."
"And who protects you?" She starts unbuttoning my shirt.
I capture her mouth in a bruising kiss, pouring my frustration and fear into it. She matches my intensity, nails scraping my scalp. When we break apart, she rests her forehead against mine.
"Stay tonight," she whispers. "Actually stay. Not just dropping in for a visit."
"I should set up additional security first-"
"The building's already a fortress. What I need is you." She slides off my lap, tugging me toward the bedroom. "Come to bed. Let tomorrow be tomorrow's problem."
I follow, knowing I'm only drawing her deeper into my world. But with her fingers laced through mine, the blood and violence of the night seems distant.
And when I bury myself inside her, fucking her long and slow until the sun rises, I remember exactly why I'm doing this.