"Stay in the car, Santino. You're too trigger-happy. I'll only shake him up a bit," I said, my arm slung lazily over the headrest as I eyed the dealership.
The black SUV beside us hummed with Santino's men, their shadows shifting behind tinted glass. *Did he think we were here to level the entire block?*
My cousin leaned forward, green eyes crinkling, grin sharp. "Come on, couz! Finally some fun around here. I flew all the way from Italy for this."
He slapped the steel rod against his palm, the sound a dull, hungry *thud*. "We left the rifles at home. Promise we'll play nice."
"Keep your fun to the cars," I said, ice threading my voice. "The man is mine."
Even Santino stiffened at that. Melissa wasn't his to claim, his to avenge.
The SUVs rolled to a stop, tires crunching gravel. I stepped out first, smoothing my suit as I strode toward the dealership.
Behind me, Santino and the others fanned out like a hungry pack, their boots scraping asphalt, steel rods glinting under the sun.
Shopkeepers scrambled—keys jingling, shutters slamming, the street emptying in seconds. They knew the score.
Sebastian didn't.
The door shuddered as I shoved it open. Sebastian looked up, his face paling to the color of spoiled milk. "M-Mr. Marasco! The car—it was an accident! Those girls I sent to you, they swerved right into—"
I raised a finger.
Santino swung.
The Mercedes' headlight exploded, glass raining onto the showroom floor. Sebastian stumbled back, choking on his own spit. "What the *hell*—?"
"Whose job," I said, stepping closer, "was it to deliver my car without a scratch?"
Sebastian's hands flapped like wounded birds. "They'll pay you back! Five hundred grand—they'll do *anything*. They're nobodies, Marasco. *Trash.*"
The words curdled in the air. I nodded left.
The men moved. Glass shattered—windshields, side mirrors, hoods denting under the savage pounding of steel.
"Stop! *Stop!*" Sebastian's voice cracked, sweat slicking his collar. "I'll pay—just name the price!"
I almost laughed. *Fool.* He still thought this was about money.
The rage surged, bitter in my throat. My fingers tightened around the rod. A single swing. Bone. Pulp. His blood would've painted the walls.
But I'd sworn to her.
The fury coiled deeper, silent and unseen. I needed information.
"Mr. Marasco, we can work this out. My safe's in the back. Just take it easy," he whimpered, arms raised in a plea. I shoved him upright and smashed his head onto the desk.
I sat on the desk as he groaned. "You must listen to demands instead of running your mouth. Answer yes or no."
"Yes, sir."
"Smart man. Was it ruined by an accident?"
"Yes."
"Were there three women involved?"
"Y-yes."
"Did you catch them afterward? Hurt them? Are you complicit?"
"I swear it was those women. I had nothing to do with it. One even stole another car and threatened to crash into my house! She's unhinged. That bitch Meliss**AAGH!**"
He screamed as I shattered his hand with the steel rod, cradling the wreckage of his broken fingers.
"Want to be a clown? Tongue out." I hissed.
He obeyed, not risking my ire.
"What do you say, Santino? Shall I jab his jaw and have him chew his tongue off?" I asked as I probed his chin up with the steel.
Santino laughed too hard to answer. Then he wiped tears from his eyes. "He's entertaining, kingpin. Let's keep him around for fun, for the slow nights."
"Tighten your jaw with some respect or It'll hang slacken broken." I glared as Sebastian trembled. He blinked tears back and muttered yes, convinced I'd kill him. I would have—if she hadn't made me vow mercy. The moment he slurred her name, every muscle in me snapped.
"What's the password for the surveillance cameras?"
"J-jasminemyonetruelove."
I typed it with one hand, the other hovering the rod above his other arm.
"Santino, drag him to the backroom. Let him fill the briefcase with half a million as car insurance. If he resists, spill his blood."
"No, no! Please, I'll give you anything! I beg you!" The man rasped, eyes wild as a spooked horse. Small men always begged. They'd do anything to survive.
But I have no business with him anymore, what I needed were those tapes.
Santino hauled him away. I watched the crash unfold. Melissa burst out to defend her friend. I heard his slurs: "Dumber than you look," "Skanks'll rot."
My blood boiled; knuckles whitening on the rod. Good thing they were out of sight or my promise would have shattered along with his skull.
Then—Melissa snatching a basket, winding up like a pitcher, glass exploding. Same car she'd used to block us. The screen froze on her pixelated middle finger, her voice a snarl : *"I'll flatten your fucking house."*
Christ. A reckless, glorious storm of a woman. My pulse hammered, heat coiling low. No money, no power—just raw, untamed fire. How did she go unnoticed for so long in this city?
I fought the thrill she sparked in me as blood hummed through my entire body, especially on the lower extremities. Furious, unhinged, and I intended to keep her that way, be her support so no one can ever answer back to her.
Santino returned, velvet suit pristine, dragging the dealer clutching a cash-stuffed briefcase.
"Apologize. Pretty. Just as we've rehearsed." Santino sneered, shoving him toward me. The man thudded to his knees, laying the briefcase open at my feet. "I'm sorry, great don. Forgive my trespass—I'll ask Melissa for forgiveness too. No lawsuit. All faces forgotten. This dealership is yours!"
His prayer-like begging smelled of Santino's humor. I glared at my cousin. A power play or a jest? He always teetered on defiance. I pressed delete on the footage and rose. "I'm feeling generous. Take a stack—compensation for the chaos we caused."
"Thank you, great don!" Sebastian cried, as if he'd kiss my shoe if he didn't fear I'd kick his chin in. He reached into the briefcase with his broken hand. I slammed my foot down, snapping it shut on his mangled fingers. He writhed in agony, unable to beg.
I leaned forward on my knee, foot still pinning him. "I never want to hear Miss Meritt's name from your lips again. Speak her name one more time, and I'll cut your arm off, yea?" I locked eyes with Santino. His laughter died, replaced by a cold smirk.
Everyone in the room understood the message, she was ***MY*** woman.