Page 45 of His Ruthless Obsession

I surge forward, grabbing Angelo by the throat and slamming him against the wall. His eyes go wide with recognition, fearreplacing the shock. Frankie tries to bolt but Marco's already on him, driving a knee into his back.

"Going somewhere?" I tighten my grip on Angelo's neck. "Because I'd love to hear where exactly you think you can run."

"Nerio-" Angelo chokes out. "I can explain-"

My fist connects with his jaw. Blood sprays across the concrete floor. "Explain what? How you've been stealing from me? Or how you decided to sell us out to the Mantiones?"

Behind me, Frankie struggles against Marco's hold. "We didn't- fuck!"

Ray steps from the shadows, silencing him with a boot to the ribs. Tony keeps watch by the door, gun trained on the entrance.

I slam Angelo's head against the wall again. "You know what happens to rats in this family?"

"Please," he sputters. "They offered-"

Another punch cuts him off. This one splits his lip, adding to the blood already coating his chin. "I don't give a fuck what they offered."

"Boss." Marco's voice carries across the room. "Car approaching."

"Get these pieces of shit out of here." I release Angelo, watching him crumple to the ground. "Take them to the other warehouse. Make them comfortable." The last word drips with venom.

Marco and Ray drag our prisoners toward the back exit while Tony covers their retreat. I wipe Angelo's blood off my knuckles with a handkerchief.

"Want me to start without you?" Marco asks.

"Yes." I straighten my jacket. "But I want them conscious when I get there. And Marco?" I meet his eyes. "Make sure they understand exactly how much worse their night is about to get."

I leave ahead of them, going to our warehouse, the one we keep off the books. I have an office on the second floor, and Igo there when I arrive. The leather chair creaks as I sink into it, pouring two fingers of whiskey. The amber liquid catches the dim light as I bring up the security feed on my laptop.

It doesn't take long for the others to arrive, and I grin at the screams that start now too long after.

"You comfortable out there?" I call to Marco in the next room.

A muffled scream answers, followed by Marco's casual reply. "Getting there. Taking my time like you asked."

I smirk, taking a slow sip. The burn feels good after the night's tension. The feed from the penthouse loads, multiple camera angles showing different rooms. My eyes lock onto the living room view.

Jazz sits curled in the corner of the sectional, wrapped in that soft gray blanket she loves. Her curls are piled on top of her head, a few escaped strands framing her face. She's not watching TV or reading - just staring out those floor-to-ceiling windows at the city lights, fingers tracing the rim of what looks like tea.

"Missing me, little dove?" I murmur, touching the screen.

Like she heard me, my phone buzzes. A text from her.

Hope everything's okay. Can't sleep.

I type back.

It will be soon. Stay up for me.

Her smile on the camera is small but immediate. She burrows deeper into the blanket, still watching the city. Something in my chest tightens at the sight. Almost like…I like it. I swallow back the emotion that I don't know how to deal with and promise her silently that I'll make it up to her later.

"Boss?" Marco calls. "They're ready when you are."

I drain my glass, eyes still on Jazz. "Coming." I close the laptop, straightening my cuffs. "Let's show these rats what happens when they bite the wrong hand."

I descend the metal stairs, each step echoing through the warehouse. The space reeks of copper and fear, exactly how I like it. Angelo hangs from chains in the center of the room, blood dripping onto the plastic sheeting below. Frankie's slumped in a chair nearby, barely conscious.

"Tell him what you told me," Marco says, cleaning a blade with methodical precision.

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