Chapter 6
Lorenzo
C y’s black SUV is already idling by the curb, and I quickly slip into the front passenger seat.
“You’re a fucking dumbass,” Cy growls, fisting the steering wheel tightly as he pulls away.
Not in the mood to deal with his judgment, I huff out an annoyed breath and tell him to hurry the fuck up.
The world never tolerates my distractions for long, and Cy’s right.
I shouldn’t have ignored my phone. Hell, I should have even listened to my cousin and put a stop to Senator Jacobs months ago.
But when I found no concrete evidence of his extracurriculars, I naively hoped the rumors were just that.
That was my mistake, one I’ll never repeat.
Jacobs was always living on borrowed power.
The moment I handed it to him, he must have convinced himself it was his to keep.
That his position meant something beyond my indulgence.
That patience equated to leniency. But Jacobs is the kind of man who doesn’t understand leverage until it’s wrapped around his throat.
They all think they’re kings. But they’re toys—poseable, replaceable, breakable. And I’m the one who built the box they play in. As I think this, the puzzle of Piper flickers through my mind, uninvited. I might call her my toy. But she’s nothing like the rest.
She’s rare. Singular. Mine.
Cy’s not done yet, though. And while he weaves through the traffic, speeding toward the hotel Jacobs is holed up in, he doesn’t hold back.
“Seriously, Enzo. I was two seconds from just smashing that fucking window and dragging you through it,” he states.
“I know,” I reply. We both know he could have tried, but if I refused to go with him, there wasn’t much he could do. “I’m here now. That’s all that m atters.”
He turns his head to me, arching an eyebrow. “All that matters? What the fuck’s the matter with you, man? It’s not like you were out getting your dick wet.”
“Careful, Cy,” I growl.
Shaking his head, he turns his attention back on the road ahead. “I don’t think I’m the one who needs to be careful,” he argues. “Maria was so shaken I sent her home and told her to take a few days.”
“You did what?”
“If you’re about to school me on the fucking hierarchy, save it. She was fucking sick to her stomach, Enzo. She should never have been the one watching out for Jacobs. This shit is on you.”
That stings, mostly because it’s true. Maria’s been with me for years, and she’s as loyal as they come. And while she’s handled sticky situations before, shit like what she’s seen tonight isn’t on her usual list of tasks.
I think it’s time for Maria’s next raise.
“I’ll apologize to her tomorrow,” I sigh. “You’re right, I shouldn’t have ignored my phone.” Cy nods sharply, but wisely refrains from rubbing it in.
I stay still, my mind already dissecting how to deal with Jacobs. As much as I want to kill him tonight, that would be unwise. There are protocols to follow when dealing with public figures.
“Soooo,” Cy says, dragging out the word while taking a sharp left that almost has the car on two wheels. A car horn sounds behind us, but we’re already long gone. “How do you want to play this?”
A dark chuckle escapes me. “No play. We need to keep him mostly injury free until he can resign.”
Cy nods. “Yes. But that doesn’t answer my question.” He inhales sharply. “The fucker needs to pay for what he’s done.”
“Once he’s resigned publicly, you can do whatever the fuck you want,” I reply. “But, Cy, Jacobs needs to step down before you have your fun.” This is an important fact to stress since Cy’s known to get caught up in the moment.
His eyes light up like Christmas came early. “This is why I stick with you,” he grins wickedly.
“I mean it,” I grumble. “Jacobs can’t be in front of the cameras with bruises and lacerations. I need a clean exit.”
Cy reluctantly agrees. Then proceeds to explain that some of his men are already stationed around Jacobs’ suite, making sure he isn’t going anywhere. I already expected all of that, it’s who he is. So I just nod while he catches me up.
The drive from Velvet & Rye tonight to The Ritz is blissfully short. Thanks in most part to Cy’s reckless driving which cuts the usual twenty-minute drive down to only thirteen minutes.
As the car comes to a screeching stop outside The Ritz-Carlton, I crack my neck before jumping out, practically sprinting inside with Cy hot on my heels.
When I walk into that suite, I won’t be Enzo. I won’t even be Lorenzo. I’ll be motherfucking consequence, and it’s not nice to meet me.
Instead of walking around the hotel to use the back entrance, we purposefully rush into the lobby. Neither of us pay attention to the receptionist or bellhop as we head straight for the elevator.
“I fucking hate this music,” Cy gripes while angrily jabbing the button for the eighteenth floor while the doors close.
Huh, I would have guessed the Senator to occupy the Presidential Suite.
“Me too,” I sigh.
As we hit the floor we need, the doors open and Cy edges around me, exiting first. And I let him because if the Senator isn’t alone, his men might recognize me and alert him.
We’re immediately greeted by a guy I’ve seen plenty of times, but for some reason his name eludes me. “He’s still in there,” the guy says. Then he holds up a small, white plastic card. “Who wants to do the honors?”
Cy cracks his knuckles before snatching up the key card. “Thank you. Make sure you get the girls as soon as we’ve apprehended the Senator. Is medical on standby?”
The guy nods. “There’s an ambulance waiting outside,” he informs us. “It’s ready to take them to Inova Fairfax Hospital.”
“Make sure they’re checked in under fake names,” I urge. “The press hasn’t caught wind of this yet, but it’s only a matter of time after Jacobs resigns.”
As we get closer to Jacobs’ room, I notice more of Cy’s men hiding in plain sight. Each of them dressed in dark tactical gear and fully armed.
Cy doesn’t waste any time reaching for the piece resting at his lower back, pulling it out while holding the key card up against the electronic lock.
Click!
As soon as the door is unlocked, Cy kicks it open. “Weapons down. Pants up. This is your last civil request,” he orders.
The first thing that hits me is the heat from the bodies. From the violence still vibrating in the walls. It’s muggy with exertion and something almost sweet—like iron left out too long in the sun. The smell of sex and blood never lies.
“What the fuck?” Jacobs sputters, but he doesn’t stop thrusting into the mouth of the girl that was crying on the video I watched.
The room reeks of sweat, cheap cologne, and something darker—something coppery and raw.
Blood. It’s faint, but present, clinging to the air like it’s soaked into the walls.
It doesn’t smell like fear. It smells like rot.
Like a man who’s done this before and stopped caring when it started to leave stains.
She looks young. Too fucking young. Big eyes, bloodshot, and full of fear. Her hair’s dark like Piper’s. Her lip’s split. And all I can think is—what if it was her? What if it had been my toy on her knees in this room?
The thought is enough to make me snap. With a roar, I lunge, grabbing Jacobs by the shoulders and throwing him across the room like he weighs nothing.
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” I growl, balling my hands into fists to stop myself from reaching for him again.
My knuckles throb from the impact. The sharp bite of contact still lingers up my arm, like his filth tried to cling to my bones. The room still vibrates with the sound of the girl’s cries.
“Hey!” Cy exclaims. “You said no bruises.”
Turning my head, I shoot my friend my best are-you-fucking-kidding-me stare, but he just grins in return.
I exhale sharply, forcing myself still. It’s not often I get my hands dirty like this.
Not because I’m a good man. I’m not. I’ve killed and tortured.
Watched men beg and then die when their begging bored me.
But someone like Jacobs? He’s beneath the weight of my personal attention. A maggot. A stain. The kind of rot that spreads only because no one wants to get their fingers filthy digging it out. And yet here I am—bone deep in it.
“What’s the meaning of this?” Senator Jacobs demands as he staggers to his feet, finally having the good grace to put his dick away. Seriously, no one wants to see that thing. Not even Mrs. Jacobs, I bet.
“You fucked up,” Cy declares, voice light, conversational. “Lorenzo here is very patient. Me? Not so much. So why don’t we skip the bullshit and get to the part where you listen very carefully?”
Jacobs exhales through his nose, squaring his shoulders. “I still have connections. I can fix this. There’s no need for—”
I laugh coldly. “Fix this? There’s nothing you can do to fix what you’ve done.” I take a step forward, letting the moment stretch just long enough for him to feel the weight of it.
Jacobs’ fingers twitch at his side as he wobbles, unable to stay still. Fuck me, he’s either drunk or high. Probably both.
“I don’t have time for this,” I grind out, gesturing to the women on the floor. “They need to be seen by a medical professional, and you need to fucking resign. Now.”
At my words, Cy’s team mills into the room that seems smaller with each body forcing their way in here. The men quickly gather the three women and carry them out of here. Though they don’t interfere, each of them makes sure to shoulder check the Senator as hard as possible.
Jacobs opens his mouth, but Cy cuts him off, tilting his head like he’s considering something deeply. “I have a question.” His voice is smooth, almost curious. “How many breaks does it take for a human hand t o stop being useful?”
“Wh-what?” Jacobs sputters.
Cy ignores him and taps his chin. “I was watching a video the other day. Truly fascinating stuff. There’s this particular bone, right here…
” Without warning, he grabs Jacobs’ hand, pressing a knuckle against it, making the man jerk back in reflex.
“… snap that just right? Never quite heals properly.”
Jacobs’ breath turns uneven, the careful mask of power slipping from his face like melting wax. He knows. He knew the moment we stepped in, but knowing and accepting are two different things.
I lean closer. “The only thing left for you to decide is whether your family shares your fate.”
His entire body locks up. There it is. The breaking point. Letting go of Jacobs’ hand, Cy pulls out what looks like a resignation letter, probably prepared by Maria, and slaps it onto his chest.
“You resign. Publicly. And you make it sound like you’re retiring to spend more time with your family.
Privately, I want you to pay three million to each woman as well as paying for their medical expenses.
No loose ends, no last-minute pleas. You take the fall, and in return, I ensure your family never feels the weight of what you did,” I state, my tone icy.
His hands shake. Sweat drips from his temple. I smell panic now—tangy and sour. It replaces the stench of arrogance that used to cling to his suit like a badge. Now it’s just piss and fear and the faint, metallic sting of someone else’s pain.
I hand him a pen so he can sign the death sentence with ink instead of blood like I really want to make him do.
Jacobs stares at the letter. Twenty-six seconds. That’s how long it takes before Jacobs’ hand moves. Twenty-eight. That’s when he signs. Thirty. That’s when he folds completely.
“One more thing,” I say, holding up my phone. “Smile to the camera you sick fuck.” I snap a few pictures of Jacobs and the room, before also recording all of it for good measure.
If he holds up his end of the bargain, I’ll never use the pictures. They’ll be deleted the second Cy’s done with him. But if he tries to weasel out? I’ll release them all. I’ll obliterate his family tree so far back that even the first of his line will feel the disgrace.
Without saying goodbye, we leave Jacobs to stew in his own undoing.