Page 8 of Deadly Wrath

Kota leans back against the wall again, watching like we’re about to enjoy a fucking magic trick. “Think this one’s got the balls for it?”

I shrug. “Doubt it. But I like a good surprise.”

The first few minutes are easy. The pointed steel seat will barely kiss his flesh. He probably thinks he can outlast this, or that he has to sit still to get through it. They always think that.

Chris grits his teeth, his body locking up as the metal tip begins to dig deeper. He hisses, rocking slightly in an attempt to reposition himself. It only makes things worse. His movements add pressure, the pain spreading like fire through his body.

I crouch beside him, so he can look me in the eyes when I speak. “It’s cute, watching you try to fight it.” My fingers tap against the steel frame. “Thing is, you can’t win. You’ll either talk or be impaled in a way no man wants to be.”

His bloody jaw clenches, but hestill keeps his mouth shut.

Kota whistles, shaking his head. “Stubborn little shit. What do you think, Boss? We throw in some weights, help him make up his mind?”

I glance at Chris, the way his face has already gone pale, sweat beading along his hairline. His body is shaking, muscles burning from trying to hold himself up. But it won’t last. Not with what I have planned.

I lean in, my voice barely a whisper, “If I add weight to your legs, Chris, the pressure will triple. You’ll sink faster. The point will force its way inside, little by little, tearing through you. And the best part?” I smirk. “The pain won’t kill you. Not right away. No, this thing is made for suffering. A true pain in the ass.”

His lips part, a shaky exhale escaping, but no words. He knows, whether he admits it yet or not, this is where he dies.

Kota clicks his tongue. “Damn. He’s still holding out. Guy must really believe in whatever cause he’s fighting for.”

I shake my head. “Nah. He’s just stupid.”

Chris lets out a strangled sound, his muscles spasming from exhaustion. The slightest flinch sends a fresh wave of pain through him, his entire body jerking against the restraints.

“Tell me what I need to know,” I seethe, watching as his head lolls forward, his breaths coming in ragged gasps.

Nothing.

I sigh, stepping back. “Alright, then.” I nod to my men. “Add the weights.”

Chris’s eyes snap open, wild with panic, but I’ve already turned away. I don’t need to see the moment he realizes what’s about to happen. I already know how this ends.

I head upstairs from the cells, toward my office, with Kota following close behind. We walk throughDemoni’s, the casino my father built from the ground up, around thirty years ago. It’s a blend of luxury and a darker edge, something you can feel the moment you walk in. The deep red carpets and low lighting create an atmosphere that’s both refined and a little sinister.

We walk through the main floor, and I take in the velvet drapes and gold accents. Every detail was handpicked by my mother, every inch of this place a reminder of what my parents built. The sound of chips clicking, cards flipping, and low murmurs of gamblers hoping for a miracle fill myears. Some will leave with full pockets, but most won’t. Either way, the house wins.I win.

Kota walks beside me, quiet but alert, his eyes scanning the main floor, and always a step ahead. He doesn’t talk much when we’re out here, he doesn’t need to. Anyone stupid enough to start shit won’t make it past the front doors. And if they do, they sure as hell won’t make it far.

We head up the stairs, my hand skimming the marble railing, while I glance down at the floor below. The usual crowd is here—men glued to their cards, women draped over their arms, drinks spilling, hands shaking over stacks of chips, chasing luck. The smart ones know luck has nothing to do with it.

At the top, two of my men stand stationed outside my office, their backs straightening the second they see me. They don’t speak or move, just stand at attention like they should. I don’t pay them to slack off or look useless, and they know better than to test me.

Then the phone rings.

Kota pulls it from his pocket, handing it over like he already knows I won’t like what’s on the other end.

I take it, barely glancing at the screen. “Tell me this isn’t more bullshit.”

Kota exhales a short laugh, the corner of his mouth twitching up. “When’s it ever not?”

Yeah, that’s what I thought. I sigh, pressing the phone to my ear as I push through the door to my office. “What?” I bark, already annoyed. I don’t wait for an answer before heading straight for the bar cart, the door clicking shut behind me.

I grab a lowball glass, my fingers curling around its cool weight as I pour a generous amount of whiskey. The smoky and rich scent hits me before I take a slow sip, letting the burn settle in my chest as I turn toward the massive windows overlooking the casino floor.

The scene below is full of life for a Friday night. Cards flipping, dice rolling, drinks being poured. A man at the blackjack table grips his last few chips like they’re his lifeline, while across the room, a woman leans in close to a guy who doesn’t realize he’s already lost.

Don Antonio’s voice crackles through the phone, but I barely hear him. My focus stays on the view in front of me rather than whatever he’s going on about.

---