Chapter Forty-five
Lorenzo
Slap. The sound cracks through the basement like gunfire.
“Wake the fuck up, you useless sack of shit!” Lev snarls, his voice dripping with that unhinged glee only he carries.
Thomas Beaumont jerks awake, head snapping to the side from the force of the slap. A groan leaves his mouth, low and pathetic. John is still slumped in the chair beside him, unconscious, his chin resting on his chest.
Lev doesn’t wait. He swings again, slap, the sound bouncing off the concrete walls.
Thomas’s eyes fly open, dazed at first, then darting frantically around the room.
The fluorescent light overhead turns his sweat to a sickly shine.
He sees John tied beside him. He sees the restraints.
He sees the hammer glinting in Lev’s hand.
And then, panic.
“W-who are you?” His voice cracks, fear pouring out of him like blood from an open vein. “Who sent you?”
Interesting. Not what do you want, not please let me go. He assumes someone sent us. Which means he’s already pissed off half the world.
Lev grins wide, manic, his teeth catching in the light. He lets the silence stretch before he swings the hammer down. Crack. The sound is dull, but Thomas’s scream is piercing. His finger bends in a way fingers aren’t meant to bend.
“Just a friendly conversation,” Lev purrs, tapping the head of the hammer against his palm like he’s keeping a beat.
Thomas gasps, sweat pouring down his temple. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
Smash. Another finger goes, knuckles splitting, blood welling. His scream chokes into a sob.
Behind the glass, I lean in, my jaw tight. Watching him squirm, seeing that terror in his eyes, it’s satisfying. But I’m not here for his cries. I want his truth.
Lev leans down, his shadow cutting over Thomas’s face. He lowers his voice, letting menace curl around every syllable. “You think I’m a patient man, Beaumont? Wrong. You’ve got seconds before I turn your knees into dust.”
The hammer swings again, thud, smashing into his left knee. The crunch is sickening. Thomas howls, thrashing against the chair, but the shackles hold him firm. His head jerks back, spit flying from his mouth as he pleads.
“I’ll talk! I’ll talk!” he wheezes, eyes wild. “Please, I can pay you! Whatever you want, I can pay!”
Lev cocks his head, amused. “Not interested in your money.”
Thomas shakes, trembling so violently the chair rattles against the floor. And then he blurts it out, desperate, clinging to life with words.
“Is this about the girl?” His voice is hoarse. “The girl who died?” His eyes widen, frantic. “I didn’t know! I swear I didn’t know they were going to do that to her! I swear!”
My blood runs cold.
What fucking girl?
Behind the glass, I straighten, my pulse thundering in my ears. Lev freezes, too, hammer still poised, and even Andres, silent, steady Andres, shifts his weight, his eyes narrowing.
Thomas’s chest heaves, tears streaking through the grime on his face. “I can pay you!” he babbles, panic twisting every word. “Please! I didn’t know they were going to kill her!”
I grip the steel ledge so tight my knuckles ache. My gut twists.
What the fuck did he do?
Andres already has Thomas’s phone cracked open on the table, screens glowing with encrypted files. His fingers fly across the keys, his jaw tight.
“Every file’s locked,” he mutters without looking up. “Layers on layers of passwords. Give me time, I’ll peel them all off. But it’s a fucking maze.”
Time. That’s the one thing I don’t have. Every second I stand here, my blood burns hotter, my patience thinner. I want answers now.
Lev leans into Thomas, his head lolling forward, sweat sliding down the lines of his face, dripping into the collar of his ruined shirt. Lev twirls a hammer like it’s a toy, grinning like the devil himself.
“Tell me the whole story,” he hisses, voice coated with mock amusement. “And maybe I’ll let you choose, slow death or fast.”
Thomas shakes his head violently, eyes wild, his words tumbling out in a broken rush.
“There’s not much I know. I swear. The girl I gave them…
she was found, she was,” his throat catches, “mutilated. I didn’t know they’d do that to her.
I didn’t know! Please, please, I can pay you, I’ll pay you whatever you want! ”
Lev flicks a look over at Andres, eyebrows raised. Andres doesn’t even pause his typing, just gives the smallest nod. Useless to me right now, but noted.
A groan cuts through my thoughts. John stirs in his chair, his head lolling before his swollen eyes force themselves open. He blinks once. Twice. Then his gaze lands on Thomas’s ruined hand, the blood soaking through the gray fabric of his suit. His face drains of color.
“Are you… are you from the Organization?” John’s voice cracks, his fear impossible to hide even as he tries to steel it.
Organization? The word slices through me like glass. What the fuck are they talking about?
Lev crouches down, smirk sharp and poisonous. “We’ll pay you,” John blurts, desperate now, his words tumbling over themselves. His eyes flick toward me, then away, then back again. He knows. He just doesn’t know how much I know.
Lev leans in, dropping the grin. His voice turns cold, a blade instead of a joke. “I don’t need your filthy money, Archibald. I need answers.”
John swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He looks at Thomas like a drowning man reaching for a lifeboat. Thomas gives him the faintest nod with his bloodied head, and John exhales, beaten.
“I don’t know what he told you,” John begins, voice trembling.
“But it was business as usual. We didn’t know she was so young.
We didn’t know who she was to them.” His eyes dart nervously toward the ceiling, as if expecting someone to crash through it.
“When they showed us the body, Christ, I barely recognized her. It wasn’t supposed to happen like that.
It was a mistake. An accident. We can pay for the inconvenience. ”
My vision darkens around the edges. Business. Mistake. Inconvenience. They throw these words around like bullets don’t shatter ribs, like blood doesn’t stain everything it touches.
I step closer, the Glock heavy and familiar against my palm. I don’t even need to raise it, but I do anyway, pressing the muzzle against John’s knee until he lets out a strangled sound.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” I murmur, my voice silk wrapped around steel. They both freeze, eyes fixed on me now. They know my face. They know exactly who I am.
I give Lev a nod. He straightens, grins one last time, then slams the hammer down on John’s fingers with a crack that echoes through the concrete walls.
John screams, his voice ripping raw, while Thomas squeezes his eyes shut, his whole body trembling.
Lev laughs low in his throat, winks at me, and strolls out, leaving the stench of blood and fear behind.
The room falls silent except for the sound of their ragged breathing. Perfect.
I circle them slowly, letting my shadow drag across their faces, letting them feel the weight of what’s coming. Then I speak, calm, deliberate.
“I’ll need some answers,” I say, my gaze slicing from one to the other. “I’m not a patient man. If you don’t give me what I want…” I tap the Glock against John’s jaw, watching him flinch. “…then I’ll make my own conclusions. And you won’t like how that ends.”
Above us, the faintest hum of comms. My snipers. Three red dots bloom across their chests, hovering like tiny burning eyes. A reminder. A promise.
They want to believe they still hold power. Attorney General. Chief of the FBI. Titles that might mean something out there. But here? Here, in New York, with my men in the shadows and my gun pressed against their bones, they are nothing.
We are everything.
The basement hums with silence, broken only by the drip of water somewhere in the corner and the faint crackle of Andres typing behind the glass. My gun feels like an extension of my hand, steady, ready.
John’s voice cuts through the air, slick and taunting. “What is this about, Lorenzo?” His tone almost bored, like he’s the one in control, like he’s not sitting tied to a chair with blood soaking his collar.
Beside him, Thomas glares at me, fury etched into every line of his face. “I won’t give my daughter to you!” he spits, venom thick in his voice.
I don’t even blink. “We’ll talk about that later.” My words are flat, controlled, but the heat under my skin threatens to burst. “Right now, I need to know where you both were the day my father died.”
John tilts his head, mock surprise flashing in his eyes. “This is about your father?” His lip curls into a smirk, as if the thought alone is amusing.
I take a step closer, my shadow falling over them. “I know you did it,” I hiss. “Both of you. I just need a confession, so I’ll know exactly how to end you.” My voice drops, deadly quiet. “When. And why. You killed my father.”
John chuckles, actually chuckles. The sound grates against my skull like broken glass. “You think we killed your father?” He shakes his head, his laugh building, mocking, ugly. “You should ask your psycho mother.”
My vision fractures, blood rushing to my ears until I hear nothing but the pounding of my own rage. That’s when the first sniper’s round grazes his ear, tearing cartilage and spraying blood. John jerks sideways, clutching at his head with a howl.
“John, shut the fuck up!” Thomas barks, panic leaking into his tone.
But John keeps going, his voice hoarse, taunting through the blood dripping down his neck. “You want to know who killed your father? Ask your mother.” He spits the words like poison.
Red fog floods my brain. My mother. Her. He wants to drag her into this?
I sneer, pressing the barrel of my Glock against his temple. “I’ve got you tied in my basement, John. Do you really think you can play games with me? So fucking talk.”