Chapter 28
RAFE
Idon't speak on the ride. My hands are clenched tight. The memory of Nikki's fear and shock still burning in my mind.
I sent her home immediately with a full team of guards. The man we pulled from the gala, the one with the knife, the one who dared to touch her is unconscious in the trunk.
He wasn't alone. I know that. He was the bait, the opener. The real order came from someone higher. Someone I intend to gut, slowly and precisely, until they beg for the swift end I’ll deny.
We pull into a warehouse in a forgotten corner of the city. The warehouse is isolated with soundproof walls and concrete floors. The kind of place I rarely use anymore, reserved for the most sensitive interrogations, for the most brutal lessons.
Tonight, I’ll gladly use it.
For her.
She’s the fuse to everything I’m about to ignite.
When we arrive, I haul the attacker out myself, ignoring Enzo's offer to assist. I drag him by the collar like a rabid animal, his unconscious body bumping against the concrete. I toss him into a steel chair, secure his wrists with zip ties, and wait for him to wake up.
When he does, his eyes flutter open, then widen in terror as he sees me. The warehouse is dim, lit only by a few harsh fluorescent bulbs that cast stark shadows across the concrete.
Perfect for what's coming.
"Welcome back," I say, my voice conversational. "I trust the ride was comfortable?"
He spits blood, trying to summon defiance. "Go to hell."
I nod once, as if considering his suggestion. Then I pull the gun from my waistband, the metal cold and familiar in my hand. "You know what you did wrong tonight?"
"Breathe?" he rasps, still trying for bravado.
"You threatened to harm the woman I love." The words come out quiet, matter-of-fact. "In front of me."
I tell myself this isn’t personal.
But it is.
It always has been.
I shoot him in the knee. The crack of the gun echoes in the concrete space, followed immediately by his animalistic scream echoing off the walls. He convulses against the chair, his body straining against the restraints.
"That was for touching her," I explain calmly. Blood pools beneath the chair, dark and spreading. "Now, let's talk about the information you're going to tell me."
"Fuck you," he gasps, tears streaming down his face. "I won't tell you—"
I put a bullet through his other knee. This scream is worse, broken, desperate, the sound of a man realizing he's not going to die quickly.
But he will die.
"Wrong answer." I pull up another chair, sitting down across from him. "Let me explain how this works. You're going to tell me who sent you. You're going to tell me where I can find them. And you're going to tell me who else knows about the plan to hurt her."
"And if I don't?" He's panting now, shock setting in, his face pale and slick with sweat.
I lean forward, my voice dropping to a whisper.
"Then I start removing pieces. Small ones first. Fingers.
Toes. Ears. I'll keep you conscious the whole time.
I'll make sure you feel every cut, every break, every burn.
No matter how long it takes. And when I'm done with you, I'll move on to your family. "
His resolve crumbles then, as I knew it would. They always break. It just depends how much pain they can tolerate first.
"Grassi," he gasps. "He's... he's the one who ordered it. Scorpione Nero captain. They wanted to test you. See if she was really your weakness."
"Where is he?"
“Slaughterhouse... an abandoned meat processing facility outside the industrial ring. Building 47. He’ll be there tonight, celebrating.”
"Celebrating what?"
"Your... your humiliation.”
I stand, holstering the gun. "They were wrong."
"Wait," he calls out. "I told you what you wanted. I cooperated. That's got to count for something, right?"
I turn back to him, and whatever he sees in my face makes him recoil against the chair.
"You made her afraid. There is no forgiveness for that."
"Please," he whispers. "Please, I have a family."
"You should have thought of that before you threatened mine."
I press the barrel against his temple. He's crying now, openly weeping, all pretense of toughness gone.
"This is for thinking you could touch what's mine and live to brag about it."
I pull the trigger.
His head snaps to the side, and then he's still. The warehouse falls silent except for the distant sound of traffic and the steady drip of blood hitting concrete.
I holster the gun and turn to Enzo, who's been watching silently.
"Clean this up," I say.
He nods, his face impassive once more as he gestures to two of my men who quickly begin their grim work.
Once Enzo takes over, I don’t linger. I walk out without another word, the sounds of the warehouse fading behind me. I don’t wait for backup.
I drive alone, the route memorized, the rage in me my only companion.
The building's quiet and industrial.
The lights are still on. They're here.
I slip around the side of the building and shoot the guards at the door. Silencers. Two precise shots. They drop without a sound, their bodies crumpling in the darkness. Efficient. Clean. No witnesses. No alarm.
I move through the building like a shadow.
Inside, I find the one I'm looking for—Grassi.
He's sitting at a makeshift desk, reviewing documents, a cigar smoldering in an ashtray beside him.
He doesn't even have time to look up before I put a bullet in his hand.
The cigar drops, forgotten, as he yells.
Blood blooms against the white sleeve of his shirt.
Another bullet lands in his thigh. His body slumps onto the floor.
"You sent him after her," I say, my voice deadly in the sudden silence of the room. I step closer, my shadow falling over him.
He's trying to crawl away, his eyes wide with terror. "She's just aa idiot girl! She's nothing! A stupid influencer! It was a test and a lesson!" His voice's choked with pain and fear. “To see if you were still loyal to the families.”
I kick him in the ribs so hard he spits blood, a dark spray against the concrete floor. "She's not nothing. She’s mine.”
"You said she was an act, a distraction to divert attention from the video!" he gasps.
"Plans change,” I state.
This isn't about anger. This is about power. About making a statement.
If I kill him now, the message dies with him. But if he limps back to his people, soaked in his own blood and whispering my name?
That’s terror they can’t ignore.
"And my plans changed the moment you dared to put a knife near her. The moment you dared to breathe in her direction after you’d been warned."
I shoot him in the stomach. The bullet tears through flesh. He's crying now, sobbing openly, a pathetic heap on the floor. He’ll be wearing diapers the rest of his miserable life.
And I don't care. Not a single shred of remorse.
"You come near her again," I whisper, kneeling down so he sees my eyes, so he understands the absolute, unyielding truth of my words.
"You so much as look in her direction, you or anyone connected to your pathetic family, I'll make this look like foreplay.
I'll gut you with a knife. Slowly. And then I'll do the same to every man who's ever shared a meal with you.
Do you understand? Do you comprehend the depth of the vengeance I'll unleash on you? "
Then I stand. I don't finish him. Not yet. I want him to live. To suffer. To remember this night every single day of his miserable life. To spread the word. To be a living testament to my fury.
Nikki is not leverage. She's not a disposable asset. She's mine. Anyone who forgets that dies screaming. Or worse.
Letting them live with regret is more effective than any bullet to the head.
The war's begun.
And I'll burn their world to the ground to keep her safe.