Chapter 4 #2
“There’s a rent-a-cop at the front desk that we already handled with a bribe,” Colin replies. “The elevators require a keycard after hours, but he left his behind.”
I nod toward the building. “Then let’s not waste time.”
We move across the parking lot with unhurried purpose. The lobby doors slide open at our approach, the security desk is conspicuously empty. A single keycard lies on the counter. Ian grabs it without breaking stride.
In the elevator, I check my reflection in the polished metal doors. My face reveals nothing—no anger, no anticipation, just the cold neutrality of a man conducting business. The elevator rises smoothly, numbers climbing toward fifteen.
The doors open with a soft chime, revealing a lit hallway of office suites. Most are dark, but light spills from beneath a door at the far end.
We don’t bother being quiet. Our shoes click against the floor, echoing down the empty corridor. I want him to hear us coming. I want fear in his mouth before pain ever reaches him.
I stop outside his door, removing my suit jacket and handing it to Ian. The shoulder holster is now clearly visible against my white shirt.
Colin pushes the door open without knocking.
Joe Carr looks up from behind his desk, recognition and terror washing over his face in quick succession. He’s in his late-forties, thinning hair, an expensive suit that can’t quite hide the paunch of too many business lunches. His eyes widen as they register first me, then the gun at my side.
“Oh God,” he whispers, then lunges for the door on the opposite side of his office.
Ian moves with the fluid grace of a predator, intercepting Joe before he makes it halfway around his desk. “I fucking love it when they run,” he laughs.
Then he grabs Joe by his collar, drags him back, and shoves him into his chair with enough force to make it roll back and slam against the wall.
“Stay,” Ian orders while he upends the desk, sending it and all its contents sprawling.
Now that the desk isn’t covering Joe’s legs, I can see just how much they shake. Pathetic. He’s the kind of man who doesn’t understand the definition of dignity or pride. I’m sure he’s also mistaken delay for leverage, and weakness for survival.
Well, I guess it’s time someone educates him since the private school he went to all those years ago clearly failed.
“Oh God,” he repeats. Though it’s more a whimper than a whisper this time.
“Not quite,” I say. “Want to guess again?”
“Mr. Russo,” Joe stammers, sweat already beading on his forehead. “I… I wasn’t expecting you. I thought—”
“You thought I’d send my men again,” I say, my voice calm as I take the seat across from his desk. “You thought you’d get another extension. Another empty promise.” I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “Is that what you thought, Joe?”
Ian remains next to Joe’s chair, hands resting heavily on the man’s shoulders to keep him seated. Colin locks the office door before taking up position beside me.
“Please, Mr. Russo, I can explain,” Joe begs, his words tumbling out in desperate bursts. “The market’s been volatile. My investments haven’t matured as quickly as projected. I just need another month… two at most. Then I’ll have the full amount plus interest.”
I tilt my head, studying him with the detached coldness of a man deciding how much pain is necessary. “That’s the same song you sang in December. And January.” I check my watch. “It’s February twentieth now, Joe.”
“I know, I know,” he nods frantically, his eyes darting between my face and my holster. “But I can give you something now. A good-faith payment. Fifty thousand today, the rest in two weeks.”
His desperation fills the air like cheap cologne, cloying and offensive. I remain silent, letting the weight of it press down on him until sweat drips from his temple to the collar of his shirt.
“I have a family,” he whispers. “A wife. Two daughters in college.”
“I know.” My voice drops lower, quieter. “Meredith. Beautiful home in Shaker Heights. Alyssa at Northwestern, Elizabeth at Cornell. Expensive schools.”
His face drains of color as I recite the details of his life. The reminder that I know exactly where to find the people he loves if he keeps wasting my time.
“Please,” he tries again. “Just let me transfer the fifty now—”
I draw my gun and shoot him in the right kneecap without changing my expression.
Even with the silencer on, the gunshot echoes in the confined space, followed instantly by Joe’s agonized scream. Blood sprays, spattering the framed family photo and other items scattered on the floor. He clutches at his shattered knee as his howls fill the office.
Ian clamps a hand over Joe’s mouth, muffling his screams.
“Transfer the full amount now,” I say, my voice still conversational. “Or the next bullet goes through your wife. Then both your daughters. One by one, until you understand that I’m not a man who negotiates.”
Tears stream down Joe’s face as Ian removes his hand. His breaths come in ragged gasps. “Okay,” he chokes out. “Okay, please, I’ll pay everything. Just don’t… don’t hurt them.”
Instead of telling him whether I plan to follow through on the threat, I gesture toward his laptop near his feet with the barrel of my gun. “Do it now.” With trembling hands, Joe grabs said laptop. “Make sure he’s only doing what I tell him to,” I say to Ian.
Ian nods. “He’s logging into his banking portal,” he confirms.
Even with his leg being a mess of blood and splintered bone, fear drives Joe to log in and transfer the full two hundred thousand plus interest to the designated account.
“It’s done,” he gasps, turning the screen toward me. “Everything. Please.”
I pull out my phone, waiting for the confirmation notification. When it appears, I nod to Ian, who checks the transaction details to ensure everything is in order.
“Looks good, boss,” Ian confirms.
“All you had to do was pay what you owed,” I say, my tone low and dark. “But instead of acting like a man, you behaved like a fucking cockroach. Hiding in the dark, jerking me around, and hoping I’d forget about the money I lent you.”
“That… that…” Joe trails off. I’m guessing the pain is becoming too much.
“All you had to do was pay,” I growl.
Without another word, I aim the gun at Joe’s left knee.
“Wait…” he begins, but I’ve already pulled the trigger.
His scream is higher this time, more animal than human as he slumps forward, blood pooling beneath his chair, spreading across the expensive carpet in a dark stain.
“That,” I say as I holster my weapon, “was for making me come here.”
Ian hands me my jacket, which I shrug on. I straighten the lapels, button the middle button, and smooth down the front.
“I hope you have enough money saved for medical bills,” I tell the sobbing man. “Because it looks like you’ll need it.”
We leave him there, bleeding and broken on his office floor. Colin unlocks the door while I check my cuffs for blood spatter. Clean. Professional.
In the elevator, I watch the numbers count down, feeling the familiar stillness that comes afterward. No remorse, no satisfaction—just the cold, empty space where other men might feel something.
“Call Sonny,” I tell Ian as we exit the building. “Tell him there’s a mess that needs cleaning on the fifteenth floor.”