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I bring the iron close to his face but not touching him. Just close enough to let him feel the heat licking at his skin. “One last chance,” I say, eyes locking with his. “Anything else?”

He shakes his head furiously. “I-I swear, I don’t know anything.”

Maybe he’s telling the truth. But it doesn’t matter, his time is up. I drive the burning poker into his left eye. His screams tear through the room as he thrashes against the chair, neck tied so tight he can’t move much. But it doesn’t matter. The damage is done. He passes out from the pain, and I pull the iron out, his eyeball sticking to it before it rolls onto the floor, landing in the puddle of piss beneath him.

I take my time reheating the iron and wait. His head lolls to the side as he groans, fighting to wake up. When his good eye finally flutters open, it’s glassy with agony.

I slam the iron into his right eye, pressing hard. He vomits all over himself, piss soaking his pants again as I take out his right eye. His screams weaken with every second that passes, until his voice is nothing but a broken rasp with his blood pooling around the chair.

There’s a sick sense of satisfaction watching the life drain from him.

By the time Chris takes his last breath, I feel nothing but cold relief.

The girl, whoever she is, is safe. My men made sure of it. But someone pulled the strings. Someone sent Chris to my casino, thinking they could get away with it.

I leave the mess for the cleaners and head out. I have another prisoner waiting.

It’s late, but she might be awake. Not that I give a shit. I need to make sure she’s still here and still breathing.

I drive through the compound gates, the guards letting me in without a word. They know better than to stop me. The gates swing shut behind me as I pull up to the front of the mansion. The clock on my dash reads 3:25 A.M. What a long fucking night.

Time to check on Olivia. Alonzo should’ve put her in a spare room on the second floor and kept an eye on her. If she caused a problem, I’ll hear about it soon enough.

I park and head inside, taking the stairs two at a time. I want to crash, but my mind won’t shut off. I still need answers about Olivia, and she’s the only one who can give them to me.

Alonzo is waiting outside her room, arms crossed, looking bored.

“Hey, Boss. Any news on the guy?” His voice is casual, but I can tell he’s itching for details.

“Nothing. He went for a swim,” I say, using our phrase for dumping a body in the Delaware River. What’s left of him, anyway.

Alonzo nods, unsurprised. “This one’s a real pistol,” he says, jabbing a thumb toward Olivia’s door.

I raise an eyebrow. “Yeah? She give you a hard time?” My voice is low, but he knows the tone—I’m not in the mood for bullshit.

“Yep. Pounded on the door, demanding all kinds of shit. Your housekeeper, Paola, made her something to eat. I brought it up, and she threw it to the ground.” Alonzo smirks, shaking his head. “You sure you don’t want to toss her in the cells?”

I should’ve locked her up like everyone else who crosses me. But something holds me back. Maybe it’s curiosity. Maybe it’s the way she refuses to break, even when she should. I roll my shoulders, shaking off the exhaustion creeping in. “I’ll handle her.” I unlock the door and step inside.

The door creaks open, and the scent of lavender and something faintly sweet hits my nose. The room is dark, except for a sliver of light creeping from the ensuite bathroom door, that’s cracked open. The room is bare and damn near empty. I make a mental note to have Paola put a lamp in here, a chair, something to make it look less like a holding cell.

I walk over to the bed and see Olivia curled up under the covers, with one leg sticking out from beneath them. Her fiery red hair is everywhere, a tangled mess against the pillow.

Her face is turned slightly toward me, and a strand of red clings to her cheek. I bend down, brushing it back, but my fingers linger longer than they should. Her skin is warm and soft. Too fucking soft for someone who’s been causing hell.

Freckles dust the bridge of her nose, barely visible in the dark room, but I see them. Even unconscious, her brows are pulled tight, her lips parted like she’s mid-protest. Even now, she’s restless. I thought I gave herenough sedatives to keep her out through the night. She really did cause chaos tonight. Olivia stirs, shifting slightly under the covers, and I step back.

My jaw tenses as I shift just enough for the hallway light to spill in. Dried tear tracks stain her cheeks. Her eyes are puffy, her lips trembling slightly like she’s trapped in some dream she can’t escape. She’s been crying.

I exhale through my nose, dragging a hand through my hair. She did this to herself, but something about seeing her like this, vulnerable and small, doesn’t sit right with me.

She stirs, murmuring something under her breath. My body tenses, waiting for her to open those sharp green eyes. Waiting for the fight, the sarcasm, and probably the scream of me being in her room, hovering over her while she sleeps.

She doesn’t wake, and her fingers twitch beneath the blanket for a split second, stretching out like she’s reaching for something. Or someone.

A muscle ticks in my jaw, and I take another step back. Tomorrow, I will get my answers. Tonight, she sleeps. I turn on my heel and stride out, locking the door behind me.

Alonzo is still standing here. Waiting for what, I don’t fucking know. But I don’t need him hovering. “You can take off. I’ve got this,” I tell him.