Page 33 of Isaac

"Your threats mean nothing to me," Tucci spits out.

"Is that so?" I tilt my head slightly as I weigh the man before me. In this moment, Tucci is nothing more than a caged animal, backed into a corner with nowhere left to run. He may be dangerous by his association with the Italians, but he's far from untouchable.

"Let’s see what Tony thinks about this," Tucci finally plays the only card he has.

Unfortunately for him, my cards are better.

"I doubt Big Daddy will be happy to find out about your—" I click my tongue and take a long glance around the room, then my gaze lands on Tucci’s, "—part-time job."

Tucci's face twists and it's clear that my words have hit their mark.

"Oh." I let out a sarcastic laugh. "You didn’t think I wouldn’t check?"

"What’s it to you, boy?"

I look at him long and hard, trying to get an accurate read on him. He’s just a small fish. And in this city, there are plenty of others out there who share his interests. I can't stop them all.

But I sure as hell can send a message.

With a nod to Ricky, I give the silent order.

As he delivers the first blow of many to come, I detach myself from it all. My mind spins in an empty void that’s my consciousness and then I find it drifting back to the ghosts of my own past. Memories of pain and humiliation crash through me like storm-driven waves against a rocky shore.

"Time to play, Isaac," my father's voice echoes through my head, as cruel and unforgiving as the hand that once held medown. I was young then, still a child quickly learning that weakness had no place in this world.

The years that followed—the years in prison—only reinforced this lesson as I discovered new depths of suffering.

"Enough," I say quietly, my voice barely audible over the grunts and cries of pain that fill the room.

My man steps back, leaving Tucci battered and bruised on the floor. The message has been sent. The violence has served its purpose, but there's no satisfaction in my chest—only a hollow emptiness that echoes with every heartbeat.

I rise up from the chair, then drop into a crouch in front Tucci and hiss out, "Children should remain children."

He doesn’t react. Not that I expect him to. But I know he can hear me.

I straighten up, spin on my heels and walk over to the door.

"Take him outside," I throw the last comment before stepping out of the room.

"Georgie will have a lot of cleaning to do," Ricky quips behind me.

Seven barks out a laugh.

"Georgie should be grateful we did the dirtiest job for him," I reply darkly and head for the other room where Marco took the girl Tucci brought.

My eyes lock onto the figure huddled on the bed when I enter. The girl looks fragile and underweight and the bright red mini dress only highlights this fact. Marco stands watch in the corner.

The girl's eyes dart between us as soon as I shut the door. Her lips are pressed into a tight line, skinny arms crossed over her chest.

"What’s your name?" I ask, taking a few steps in her direction.

"She won’t fucking talk, boss," Marco comments.

I try again. "How old are you?"

The girl only turns her head to the side and stares into the wall.

I drop my gaze to her left foot, jerking nervously.

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