Page 105 of Enzo

“Roman Lowe?” My voice didn’t shake. Calm. Cold. Certain.

“The dead kid?” His eyes widened as he realized what he’d said. “What—look, whatever this is?—”

“No more words. You don’t get words. You get silence. You get fear.”

I kept walking, and Mitchell stumbled back, bumping into his desk, Jamie forcing him down into the chair, using the zip ties to fasten his hands and ankles. Then he pulled out something new--a thin string he tied around Mitchell’s neck with a neat knot, mirroring the position of where Robbie had been collared.

“You’re making a mistake.”

“You made a mistake,” I said. “You laid hands on what’s mine.”

His mouth opened again, maybe to plead or spin some desperate excuse. It didn’t matter. Nothing he said could unmake what he did.

“You hurt him,” I said. “You chained him, beat him, and let your bosses rape him, for eight years.

Mitchell went pale. “I only hurt him when he kept secrets, the rest was on the others!”

“Who are the two men you’re working with?”

His eyes widened, then he smirked. “With? You mean for. They’re bigger men than I am,” he said. “When they find out you touched me, they’ll kill you for this.”

I took a step closer and pressed the gun to his forehead, watching the smirk flicker, tremble, and then disappear. “Good. Let them try,” I said. “Let them come and find out what I am when someone touches what’s mine.”

Mitchell shifted in the chair, the plastic zip ties biting his skin. He wanted to speak again, but I didn’t let him. Jamie stood behind him, eyes locked on me, arms crossed. Rio leaned against the wall, knife twirling once more, slow and deliberate.

“You think you’re still untouchable,” I said, low and even. “Safe? Neither of these men is here now, are they? It’s just you. Tied up. Helpless.”

He was sweating now. I could see the fear. Not only in his face but in his breathing. Shallow. Rapid. He knew this wasn’t a bluff.

“Roman told me everything he knows. Every fucking thing,” I said. “You end tonight.”

Mitchell scoffed again, but it was weaker. “You don’t have the guts.”

I stepped back and turned the gun slightly, not aiming now, showing him I wasn’t bluffing. “You don’t know a damn thing about me. I used to think I had to be a monster to survive. Then I met Roman, and I learned what real strength looks like. It doesn’t scream. It endures. It gets back up.”

I leaned in close, lowering my voice. “But make no mistake. I’ll still become a monster to protect him. And no one’s going to miss you.”

Mitchell tried to spit something else, but Rio clamped a hand over his mouth. “We want those names,” he said and attached a small piece of wood to the twine Jamie had tied around his neck, twisting it tight until it cut into his skin, and Mitchell had to clear his throat. Was it choking him? “Give us the names, and we’ll kill you quickly,” Rio murmured.

“I’ll give you the names, and you let me go,” Mitchell muttered. “That’s the deal—take it or leave it.”

Rio tightened the noose slowly, expression blank, methodical. The cord bit deeper into Mitchell’s neck, a perfect echo of the cruelty he’d once inflicted on Robbie but was now turned against him. It was poetic. Mitchell’s eyes bulged as he choked back a sound, his bravado cracking at the edges.

Meanwhile, Jamie stepped forward with quiet purpose, uncapping the bottle of fluid he’d brought. The sharp chemical smell hit the air as he splashed it across the chair and let it soak into the fabric of Mitchell’s sleeve. The man flinched, and Jamie held up his lighter, flame flickering like a threat made real.

“Can I burn him now?” Jamie asked, tone light as if he was asking to borrow a pen.

“Not if he gives us the names,” Rio replied, voice gravel and steel, eyes still fixed on me. “You know the rules. We ask once. We give him one chance so he doesn’t burn. After that, all bets are off.”

Jamie clicked the lighter closed but didn’t pocket it, pouting like a kid denied a treat, but with something much darker simmering behind his eyes. He tilted his head, studying Mitchell with the kind of fascination that even made me pause and the lighter was visible—a promise, a threat, maybe both.

“You know,” he said, voice a little too cheerful, “this stuff? Melts plastic like nothing. You should see what it does to skin.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Just say the word Enzo, and I’ll light him up like a birthday cake.”

A promise. Mitchell was breathing hard now, panic creeping into every motion. He realized, maybe too late, that no one in this room was bluffing. Not tonight.

“One name and you let me go, and when I’m free, you get another name.” He looked so pleased with himself.

“Jamie?”

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