Chapter 2
Felix
Furious didn’t even begin to cover how mad I was right now.
I had just found out that some of our enforcers hadn’t been on top of collecting our debt, and we had hundreds of thousands just sitting around, waiting to be collected.
Or not. But, if they didn’t have the money, the debtors would quickly find out what would happened.
“Since you two are clearly incapable of doing it yourselves,” I said, continuing my lecture to Stefano and Gianni, “Let me show you how this is fucking done.”
Stefano and Gianni straightened instantly, the cocky bravado of experienced enforcers faltering under my glare. I had a reputation for rattling even the most hardened men, and right now, I intended to remind them why.
“Who is first on the list?” I snapped, eyes scanning Stefano and Gianni for a hint of hesitation.
Stefano swallowed hard, shifting his weight like a cornered animal. “Uh… Howard Sanders.”
“Who the fuck is that?” I asked.
I normally recognized the names on our accounts. Most were big names; spending hundreds of thousands gambling at our businesses. Howard Sanders was new to me.
“Well…” Gianni said, his eyes not meeting mine.
“You know I don’t like surprises,” I said, my tone icy.
“A drunk from South Bronx,” Gianni muttered, his voice low, like he already knew this wouldn’t sit right with me.
I raised an eyebrow. “And what the fuck is a drunk from South Bronx doing on our books?”
Stefano shifted in his seat. “Got in deep at the tables. Kept coming back, borrowing, swearing he’d hit a lucky streak. Now he owes more than he’ll ever be able to crawl out of.”
Stefano opened his mouth to stammer something, but I cut him off—literally.
The knife flashed, and I drove it into the table, the steel burying itself in the wood an inch from Gianni’s hand.
I watched as Gianni’s face paled, his eyes widening in sheer terror.
The knife gleamed menacingly, a physical representation of my fury.
The silence that followed was thick. The only sound was the faint hum of the overhead light and Gianni’s ragged breathing.
I smiled, slow and deliberate, before pulling the knife free and laying it across my palm. “Now,” I said, voice razor-sharp. “Let me demonstrate how to do your fucking job.”
The drive felt like an eternity, every stoplight another chance for my anger to simmer darker.
I watched the city change outside the window, the shine of Midtown slowly giving way to the decay of the Bronx.
Cracked sidewalks. Boarded-up windows. Graffiti bleeding across brick walls like open wounds.
This was desperation’s home. Men like Howard Sanders didn’t just live here. They rotted here, dragging themselves and anyone close down with them.
I flexed my hand against the steering wheel, the memory of the knife still tingling in my grip. Tonight, my men would learn how to make an example.
The car rolled to a stop at a crumbling tenement, and for a moment, I thought Gianni had gotten the address wrong. The apartment looked condemned. Rust streaked down the brick like rot in old bones, windows were patched with cardboard, and the lobby door had been taken off the hinges.
“You let someone who lives,” I gestured incredulously with my hands. “Here borrow money from us?”
“He… he got into the club, sir. Paid the seat money.”
I clenched my jaw, staring at the building as if willing it to implode. “You two really have a knack for finding the bottom of the barrel,” I muttered, more to myself than to them. “Get out.”
The three of us walked through the gaping doorway into the lobby, where the stink of mold and old piss clung to the peeling walls. My nose crinkled as I pressed the button to the elevator
Nothing.
I pressed it again. Still nothing. The doors remained stubbornly shut, and a faint metallic groan echoed from somewhere deep in the shaft.
I clenched my jaw. Fifth floor, and no elevator.
Gianni cleared his throat. “We… we’ll take the stairs, boss.”
“No shit,” I said, storming towards the stairway.
I walked up the stairs, my boots thudding against the concrete like a drumbeat of impending judgment.
The dim light flickered above me, casting uneven shadows that highlighted the grime smeared across the walls and the cracks spiderwebbing the steps.
Every landing reeked of mildew and something sour I didn’t want to identify.
Behind me, Gianni and Stefano trailed quietly, trying to match my pace. I didn’t slow down. The fifth floor wasn’t far, but the climb felt endless in this pit of decay.
As I reached the fifth floor, I paused for a moment, and took a deep breath. This was where the fun began—or where it went terribly wrong.
Stefano reached out to knock on Howard’s apartment door, but I yanked his hand away before he could announce our arrival.
Without another word, I stepped forward and kicked the door in.
The cheap wood splintered with a satisfying crack, swinging open to reveal a dimly lit space that reeked of stale alcohol and something far worse.
On the threadbare sofa slumped who I presumed to be Howard Sanders, his clothes rumpled and stained, empty bottles scattered around his feet.
His head lolled to one side, eyes unfocused at first, but when they landed on me, they snapped wide with raw, panicked terror.
He trembled, frozen in place, as if the air itself had turned hostile, his hands clutching at the cushions like a lifeline.
The stench of whiskey clung to him, mingling with the sour tang of fear, and for a moment, he seemed too small, too exposed, to belong in the room at all.
I stepped closer, boots heavy against the floor, and let my shadow fall over him. My voice was quiet, controlled, but every syllable cut like a knife.
“Howard,” I said, letting the name hang in the air. “You owe me—”
Before the sentence could land, an adjoining door was ripped open.
A young woman froze in the doorway, and the dim light caught her just right.
Dark hair tumbled over her shoulders in soft waves, framing a face that could have been carved from moonlight.
Her eyes were wide, sharp, and impossibly aware, and even in the squalor of this apartment, she carried a kind of effortless grace that made the room shift around her.
The curve of her neck, the set of her shoulders, the way she held herself with a mix of defiance and fragility—it was dangerous and magnetic all at once. For a split second, the mess, the stink, and the debt disappeared.
I let my gaze linger longer than I should, noting how her breath hitched just slightly at my gaze, the way her chest rose and fell in the faint light.
“Get out of here,” I said to her.
I wasn’t a monster. Well, I was, but she wasn’t involved in this. She didn’t belong in the mess Howard had created. And yet, even as I spoke the words, a part of me ached at the thought of seeing her leave.
“Now, back to business,” I said, looking down at Howard.
Howard’s face had gone pale. His eyes darted between me and her, panic twisting his features. He swallowed hard, his hands fidgeting with the frayed edges of the couch cushions as if holding onto them could anchor him.
“No!” the woman said. “Stop it!”
In an instant, she closed the gap between us. Even though I was a foot taller and seventy pounds heavier she shoved me with a surprising amount of force.
A surprising amount, but not enough to move me. I shoved Howard to the floor with one hand and turned my attention to the woman, a flicker of irritation igniting within me.
“You best be on your way or my benevolence will run out,” I hissed at her, letting the words hang like a warning in the stale, alcohol-scented air.
Her gaze didn’t waver. Sharp, unflinching, and impossible to ignore. For a moment, the world shrank down to just the two of us, the mess, the stink, and the debt fading into the background.
“Leave my dad alone,” she said, voice steady despite the quiver I could hear beneath it.
I studied her, taking in the fire in her eyes, the way she planted her feet and squared her shoulders. Bold. Reckless. And very much aware of the storm she’d just stepped into.
“You’re brave,” I said slowly, letting each word drip with warning. “Or foolish. Maybe both.”
Howard whimpered behind her, shrinking further into the couch cushions, while she stayed rooted, unflinching. I let the silence stretch, letting her feel exactly how much danger she was courting—and how easily I could erase it.
“Do you know what your dear daddy has been up to?” I asked her.
A flicker of confusion crossed her face, but she didn’t back down.
Defiance burned brighter than the fear I could sense just beneath the surface.
Ah, the foolishness of youth. Perhaps she hadn’t yet grasped the full weight of the world surrounding her, but that only made the scene more… entertaining.
I let my gaze linger, measuring her, weighing her bravery against the reality of what she’d just thrown herself into. Dangerous? Yes. Bold? Definitely. Intriguing? Undeniably.
“Your father has borrowed $60,000 from us,” I said, driving my boot into Howard’s stomach. “And has neglected to pay it back.”
The color drained from her pretty face as she echoed the amount, lips trembling slightly. From the look she gave, I could tell she knew her father had a gambling problem, a problem that had likely spiraled far beyond her awareness.
“Please,” she said, her voice tight but desperate. “Just… give us time. I’ll get the money. I swear I’ll pay you back.”
I let her words hang in the stale air, watching her shoulders tremble, watching the fear and determination fight for dominance in her eyes. Her plea was sincere, naive even, but the world she was stepping into didn’t bend for sincerity.
“The time was up two months ago, sweetheart. It’s time to pay up now.”
Her eyes widened, panic flashing over the desperate determination that had only moments ago filled her gaze. “B-but we don’t have the money!”