Page 22 of Nicoli

“Let me guess.” I roll my eyes. “He walked around our club playing guard dog to this Aldo Costa.”

Maximo nods. “And disappeared right after the last video footage we have of Costa.”

“Find this Ruben cunt,” Alexius orders. “Get as much information about Costa out of him as you can before you kill him.”

“Yes, sir.” Maximo stomps in the other direction when I call out after him.

“Actually, I’d like to join in on this one.”

Maximo turns to face me.

“Let me know when you have him, and I’ll make sure he sings like a fucking bird.” I won’t be trying to fuck her out of my system today, but maybe a man’s screams, tears, and blood will make me forget for just a little while. “Oh, and give Yulie the night off. She’ll be thoroughly fucked after they’re done with her and rendered completely useless for the next twenty-four hours.”

Maximo simply waves a hand at me before disappearing around the corner.

I scoff. “That man will live like he has Satan on his heels until we figure all this out.”

“Which is why I’m confident we’ll have this Aldo Costa’s tongue real fucking soon.”

Alexius stops as we reach the bottom of the stairs, the oversized chandelier hanging above us. “I will not allow anyone the honor of thinking they’re competition for us, Nicoli. We need to find whoever is behind this and cut them down before they get a chance to set up camp on our streets.”

“We will,” I say, grabbing a napkin from one of the waiter’s trays and wiping Yulie’s pussy juices off my fingers and palm. “If this person has big enough balls to come to our club and try to recruit our girls, they probably have an ego the size of Japan, which means he won’t be able to stay hidden for long. Arrogance likes attention, and that’s what they got now. Our fucking attention.”

It’s not even two hours later when I walk into a luxury apartment with Ruben Willard tied to a chair in the middle of his own living room. Maximo has already beaten him to a pulp, one eye swollen shut, his lip busted and bleeding.

I slide off my suit jacket and drop it on the black granite kitchen counter. “Wow,” I remark, glancing around the lush apartment with floor-to-ceiling windows, expensive leather furniture, and a richly polished wine cabinet that features expensive wines from around the world. “We sure pay our employees fucking well. So, that makes me wonder why our friend here felt compelled to fuck us in the ass, because clearly, it’s not about money.”

I look over at Maximo. “Got everything you need from him?”

He nods. “It’s the Ferrero family. Paid him to get one of their guys in the club for some recruiting.”

“Of course, it’s the Ferrero family. I’d be surprised if it wasn’t. They move in and take the drug trade, and now they want to get their filthy hands on the sex trade as well. Greedy cunts.”

Maximo’s knuckles are bruised and bleeding, but the look on his face says he’s barely begun. Pity for him, because I’ve been downright itching to unleash some pent-up aggression. It’s been a while since I could allow myself the freedom to be a cruel fucker.

I walk over to the wine display and run my fingers along the rows of expensive bottles. “I must admit, Ruben, your choice in business associates is questionable, but your taste in wine is exceptional.” I take one with a dusty label, an imported red all the way from South Africa, and smash it against the wall, relishing the sound of glass shattering into a million pieces.

Ruben startles, his one good eye widening in fear. I turn to face him, holding his gaze as I take another bottle and smash it against the opposite wall. Fragments of glass rain down, the light turning it into a webwork of prisms that crash onto the pristine white floor tiles, turning them into a sea of crimson and shores of shards.

I pick up another bottle with an elegant white and gold label, then start to pace. “I have a pretty good idea why you were so fucking stupid, Ruben. Let’s see if I’m right.” I settle in front of him, widening my stance, still holding on to the wine bottle. “You make enough money working for us. Live a good life. Fuck a different woman every weekend.” I shrug. “You have enough money to buy mommy-dearest one of those expensive espresso machines for Mother’s Day, but that too has a selfish connotation because your mom doesn’t drink coffee. You do, and you don’t want the cheap shit she keeps in her kitchen cabinets for when you visit. And you don’t have the balls to tell her that you think her coffee tastes like piss.”

His bloodied nostrils flare, and I know I’m hitting it on point.

“You have enough money to book a flight to the Maldives for a nice tropical vacation. You drive a flashy car. It’s no Maserati or Aston Martin, but it gets you from point A to point B and manages to turn some heads.” I glance down at his wristwatch. “You have enough zeroes in your bank account to spoil yourself with expensive shit like a Rolex every second year.” I smack my lips together, dragging my gaze around the apartment. “I’d say you have enough to live an extremely comfortable life. But what you don’t have, I’m afraid, is common fucking sense.”

I fling the bottle of wine across the living room, sending it flying into the wine cabinet, and more than half of his collection tumbles out, shattering on the floor, decorating his white walls with splatters of red.

“See, it’s fuckers like you who simply can’t be content with their lives. You’re overindulgent leeches who want more, and more is never enough. This is where common sense comes in.” I place my hands on his wrists tied to the chair and lean in, bringing my face inches from him. “Greed makes you desperate. Desperate makes you sloppy. And sloppiness gets you killed.”

He sucks air through his teeth, and by the fear that swirls in his mouse-colored eyes, I know that he knows he’s a dead man. I take his jaw between my fingers, studying this asshole’s piss-poor attempt at growing a mustache. “What is this? A teenager’s version of a fanny tickler?”

Maximo snorts, and Ruben snarls…right before he spits in my face. “Fuck you.”

I wipe the saliva off my face and release his jaw, stepping back. Ruben smirks in defiance as if he’s won some kind of victory by spitting on me. I shake my head, disappointed by how predictable human beings truly are.

“You have a death wish, don’t you?”

“You’re gonna kill me anyway.”

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