Chapter 16 – Lazaro
I stand in front of the bulletproof window in the corridor, my eyes focused on the sprawling grounds of the estate. It’s silent outside, almost eerily so. The sky is painted in deep shades of gray, and the wind has started to pick up, biting into everything it touches. But the calmness of the world outside is a lie. Inside, my blood burns with a fury I haven’t felt in years. Rage festers beneath my skin like a poison I can’t purge.
The memory of Calista’s scream from the docks still echoes in my skull. It drills into me with the precision of a blade scraping bone. That sound—it was worse than taking a bullet. Because it pierced something I didn’t know I still had.
I thought I knew what it meant to lose everything. To have the burden of the world on your shoulders. But I had never felt this—never felt like I was being torn apart from the inside out.
I clench my fists, the memory of her crumbling against me burning through my mind. I was supposed to be the one who protected her. The one who kept her safe. But I failed. I let them take her brother, and now, her soul is fractured. She won’t forgive me for that. She won’t trust me the way she once did. And I can’t blame her.
But I’m not done yet. There’s still blood to spill. I will make them pay. Every last one of them.
I turn away from the window. After Calista passed out, I had my men take her to the penthouse while I came to the estate to deal with the mess. The penthouse might be spacious, but it’s in the heart of the city—and for things like bloody interrogations, the estate offers more privacy and a lot less cleanup hassle.
The men who dared to do this—they will regret their actions. No one touches what’s mine. And no one takes from me without consequence.
The door to the interrogation chamber creaks open behind me, and I already know who’s entering without looking. I can feel his appearance even before he speaks. Ethan.
“He’s ready, boss,” he says, his voice flat. No emotion. Just the professionalism I expect from my men.
I nod. “Good. Let’s get this over with.”
The heavy steel door of the chamber groans as it opens, revealing the mess we’ve made of the De Corsi messenger. Zayn—the bastard who thought he could waltz into our territory and deliver that insult—he’s shackled to the blood-stained chair. His face is a brutal mess. His jaw is mottled with bruises, one cheek puffed up and swollen. Two fingers are taped together, jutting at a crooked angle—clearly broken. His body sags in the chair, but even through the damage, there’s defiance in his posture. Like he still thinks he’s going to make it out of here alive.
I circle him slowly, my boots echoing off the concrete floor as I drag a chair behind me with a loud screech. The sound cuts through the air like a knife. He tries to lift his head to meet my gaze, but his body betrays him, and a low groan escapes his cracked lips.
"You’re still breathing," I say, my voice dripping with disdain. "That’s generous of me." My words are calm, controlled—but inside, there’s a storm brewing, darker than I’ve allowed myself to feel in a long time.
Zayn doesn’t respond. He just stares at me, his one good eye flicking between me and the floor. He’s trying to hold on to whatever scrap of pride he has left, but I can see the fear creeping in. He’s realizing, too late, that he made the wrong choice.
"I’m just a messenger," he mutters through gritted teeth, his voice strained, full of pain.
I slam my fist into his gut, the sickening thud of bone hitting flesh ringing through the room. His breath is knocked out of him, and I see his entire body jerk with the impact.
"Then deliver a message to hell," I growl. My words are low, like a warning before the storm.
I don’t waste time. I see the fear in his good eye now. It’s real. But his fear means nothing to me. I need information, and I’ll get it one way or another.
I reach down and pull a pair of pliers from the table beside me. They gleam in the dim light, strong and unforgiving. Zayn’s eyes widen as he sees them, his body trying to retreat even though the chains hold him in place.
“You don’t want to do this,” he gasps, his voice cracking.
I ignore him. Instead, I grab his mouth, prying it open with a firm hand. The pliers I’ve been holding slide into his mouth with ease, and I can feel him quiver beneath my touch. His breath hitches, and the sweat starts to bead on his forehead.
“Who killed Noel Rourke?” I ask, my voice calm but lethal. I take out the pliers just enough to give him a chance to reply.
“You already killed him. What more do you want?”
I say nothing. My actions will do the talking. I just shove the pliers back in, gripping one of his molars with deliberate precision. He thrashes, but it’s useless. I clamp down hard and pull. The crack is sharp, wet, awful. Blood floods his mouth, mixing with the guttural scream that rips from his throat as the tooth comes free.
“Talk,” Ethan growls, stepping in beside me.
I slam my fist into Zayn’s ribs. The chair tips sideways under the force, but I haul him back upright, forcing him to meet my gaze.
“What's Zano planning?” I demand, my voice growing sharper. The information I need is just within reach, but he’s too fucking stubborn to speak.
Zayn grits his teeth, spitting blood all over the floor. “I don’t know,” he mutters. “I’m just... a messenger.”
“Wrong answer,” I mutter under my breath.
I move behind him and yank his head back, exposing the tender flesh of his throat. My hands are steady as I squeeze his cheeks, forcing him to look at me.
“You’re going to tell me everything,” I growl. "Or I’ll make sure your last memory is of pain. Endless pain."
His body shakes, breath hitching in terror. But he stays silent. Refuses to give me what I want.
I turn to Ethan. “Make him scream,” I order.
And scream, he does.
The low hum of the overhead lights buzzes faintly in my ears, mixing with the occasional gasps and choking sounds from Zayn. He’s barely hanging on now, his body trembling uncontrollably in the chair. I can see it—the cracks forming. The last remnants of defiance are slipping through his fingers like sand, and he’s starting to realize there’s no way out of this.
His breath comes in shallow gasps, the rattling of his chest barely audible over the pounding in my head. The storm within me is still raging—fury over the death of Calista’s brother, the pain in her voice that I can’t erase, and the promise I made to her that I would make them all pay. But the truth—this sick, twisted revelation—will change everything. It will fuel the fire in a way that nothing else can.
Zayn’s swollen eyes barely blink as he meets my gaze. I can see the shift—the moment when the last sliver of his resolve gives way. His chest rises and falls with uneven breaths, the pitiful whimpers echoing in the chamber.
“I... I can’t take it anymore,” Zayn finally gasps, his voice hoarse, cracking between broken breaths. His entire body trembles, but it’s not from the pain alone. It’s the terror.
“Then talk,” I order, my voice laced with a deadly calm that contrasts sharply with the rage seething beneath the surface.
“He wants Calista…” Zayn chokes on the words, but they spill out in a rush, like they’ve been clawing to escape. His body shudders violently with the effort. “Not because he desires her. Because without her... he gets nothing.”
I freeze, my mind racing to process the meaning behind his words. My fists tighten and my mouth goes dry. “What do you mean?” I ask, each word heaving with meaning, as though forcing him to elaborate might make the truth cut deeper.
Zayn coughs, a wet, desperate sound. His head lolls to the side as he tries to catch his breath. The desperation in his voice is thick. “The blood-pact… the legacy...” He pauses to wheeze, as if the effort is going to kill him. “It’s tied to that fucking contract. Their marriage. No bride, no power.”
My gaze hardens, my eyes narrowing as I step closer, fists clenched so tightly that my knuckles turn white.
Zayn’s wheezy breaths are the only sound that fills the space, but his words have already hit their mark. The storm inside me quiets, replaced by a much colder rage.
“So, this is all about the contract?” I ask, my voice almost too calm, too controlled. “This is all just about power?”
Zayn doesn’t respond right away. He’s struggling to keep his eyes open, his body hanging limply in the chair. But I can see the terror in his eyes, the way they dart around the room like a cornered animal.
“It’s bigger than that,” he finally admits, his voice breaking. “Zano wants to control the Virelli Syndicate. And he knows that without Calista, he can’t do it. The marriage—her being tied to the legacy—without her, he has no claim. No power. Nothing.”
I step closer. Zayn’s broken body shakes in the chair before me, and I see the terror in his eyes. His usefulness ended the moment he spoke those words.
I lean in, my face inches from his mangled one, close enough to see every detail of the damage I’ve inflicted. Blood streaks his face, and the remains of his eye twitch in panic. I can feel the heat of his breath against my skin as he gasps, but it doesn’t matter. He’s already dead.
“Let me do you a favor,” I murmur, my voice quiet, barely a whisper.
Zayn’s eyes widen in terror, but I cut him off before he can speak. Without hesitation, I pull out my pistol, the cool steel of it heavy in my hand.
The shot rings out in the chamber with a sharp, deafening crack.
Zayn’s head snaps back violently, the bullet tearing through his skull and splattering the walls with gore. The smell of it—sickening, overwhelming—fills the space.
His body slumps forward, lifeless, the final expression on his face frozen in terror. He never saw it coming. But that doesn’t matter. It’s over.
I turn on my heel and move toward the door. The storm inside me has passed, but an unnerving calmness is there. At the door, I stop and glance over my shoulder. Ethan’s still standing by the far wall, his expression as stoic as ever. The room is soaked in blood, the walls splattered with pieces of Zayn’s skull. The chaos we’ve created is a reminder of what I’m willing to do to protect what’s mine.
“Clean this up,” I say, my voice calm, steady. “I want my office spotless within the hour. I have an important meeting.”
He nods without question, turning to handle the mess.
I step out of the chamber, my footsteps echoing through the halls of the Virelli estate. The pressure of the situation is bearing down on me, but there’s a new clarity in my mind. Zano has made his move. And now, so will I.
As I walk down the corridor, my mind races with the knowledge that Calista is at the center of it all. But he’s not just coming for her. He’s coming for everything I’ve built.
Let him try.