Page 53 of Power
“Understood.”
He pushes my phone back toward me. “You work for me now."
There it is. The deal with the devil. And yet, as I nod, accepting the terms, all I can think about is the way he doesn’t look at me the same way anymore. How I used to catch him looking at me like he wanted me. Like he was fighting against something that pulled him in anyway. Now there’s nothing.
I lost him. Not that he was ever really mine.
Chapter 15
Dario
The stench of blood and sweat permeates the underground chamber. The two men before me, Enzo's lackeys, are bound to metal chairs, their faces battered, eyes swollen shut.
Raffaele leans against the cold, damp wall, arms crossed, watching. "You think they'll talk?" he asks, his voice echoing in the confined space.
"They always do," I reply, gripping the pliers tighter. The metallic taste of rage fills my mouth. "Pain has a way of loosening tongues."
One of the men, gasping for breath, mutters, "You're a monster."
I crouch down, bringing my face inches from his. "A monster? No. I'm the consequence. The inevitable reckoning for your choices."
"Enzo will kill you."
A bitter laugh escapes me. "Enzo? He's already dead. He just doesn't know it yet."
I nod to Raffaele, who steps forward, handing me a rusted blade. The dim light glints off its edge. "Last chance," I say, my voice cold. "Names. Dates. How do I dismantle your operation?"
He spits blood onto the floor, defiance gleaming in his eyes. "Go to hell."
A smirk tugs at the corner of my mouth. "Wrong answer." I nod to Raffaele, who steps forward, knuckles cracking ominously.
As Raffaele goes to work, the man's screams echo off the concrete walls like a symphony of agony. I watch dispassionatelyas minutes stretch into an eternity before the man breaks and starts sobbing.
"Alright, alright! I'll talk! Just... please, stop."
I crouch down, meeting his tear-filled eyes. "I'm listening."
He spills everything—names of key players, dates of shipments, locations of safe houses. I commit each detail to memory, the puzzle pieces falling into place. When he's finished, I stand and draw my pistol.
"Wait," he pleads, panic flooding his voice. "You said you'd let me go!"
I shake my head slowly. "I said I'd let you talk." The gunshot echoes sharply, and his body slumps, lifeless.
Turning to the second man, I see the horror etched on his face. He knows what's coming. I step closer, my voice a cold whisper. "Your turn."
He breaks almost immediately, babbling incoherently, offering information I already possess. Useless. I nod to Raffaele, who begins a slow, methodical torture of removing his fingernails with a pair of pliers, just to draw out the man's suffering. There's a grim satisfaction in watching him pay for his sins, a dark justice served.
Once his screams fade into whimpers, I leave him to his fate. He won’t last the night.
Raffaele and I slip into the car, cutting through Chicago’s backstreets. The intel we pried from him leads us to a nondescript warehouse by the docks—It’s the heart of Enzo’s empire.
A facade for illicit transactions.
Raffaele breaks the peace. "You think Enzo will retaliate?"
"I hope he does," I reply, eyes fixed ahead.
We arrive, parking a block away. The warehouse looms in the distance, its exterior betraying nothing of the secrets within. We approach on foot, shadows among shadows.
