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Stupido pezzo di merda.Even if I don’t finish him, this hellhole might.

“Alessio, p-please,” he stutters, his is voice trembling like a coward.

“Save it.” I hold up a hand, shaking my head. “You’re in no position to beg.”

I glance at Kota, leaning against the wall with peeling paint, arms crossed, grinning under his grizzly beard like the devil himself. He already had his fun, turning Cooper into a punching bag. Nathan’s outside, setting up the cleanup crew for when I’m done. I only need one thing—a name. Cooper’s not leaving here breathing, so he might as well make himself useful.

I crouch down, leveling my gaze with his bloodshot eyes. “Who’s running this?”

“I-I don’t know,” he sputters, his voice cracking like a kid whose balls just dropped.

My jaw clenches, fire spreading through my veins, feeding the rage inside me. He really thinks I have all night. I should be at home, balls deep in my feisty redhead. But instead, I’m stuck here dealing with thisstronzo.

“Wrong answer.” I pull out my knife, leaning in close, getting a kick out of the panic that floods his eyes. “Maybe this’ll help you hear me better.”

A high-pitched scream tears from his throat as I slice his ear clean off, blood streaming down his neck. I hold the severed ear up to my mouth like a microphone. “Let’s try this again. Who’s running the ring?”

He’s trembling so hard the chair rattles under him. “F-Franco…”

A dark laugh escapes me. Now we’re getting somewhere. “Good.” I toss his ear onto his lap. “Does Franco have a last name?”

He gulps with sweat dripping down his face. “I don’t know—”

“Wrong fucking answer.”

The blade glides through his skin like butter, and his other ear hits the floor with a wet, sick splat. His scream turns into a broken sob, his body jerking against the ropes, digging into his wrists.

I crouch again, picking up the bloody ear from the floor and holding it in front of his face. His wide, panicked eyes flick between me and the mangled piece of flesh.

I bring the ear to my mouth. “Let’s try this again.” His blood drips down my arm from my man-made microphone. “Full name?”

Cooper’s body trembles, a strangled gasp escaping before he sputters, blood and spit dribbling down his chin. “Bianchi… Franco Bianchi.”

I stand up, flicking the ear toward him like trash. It lands on the ground, in a puddle of blood with a wet smack. Cooper won’t need his ears anymore. He’s no longer of service to me.

One of my men steps in, handing me a bottle of water. I take my time rinsing the blood off my hands while Kota grabs a sledgehammer. He doesn’t say a word, just swings. The clang of metal against bone fills my ears. Cooper’s legs buckle, bending at angles they’re not meant to. His screams grow weaker with every hit, but Kota doesn’t stop. He’s calm as ever, like this is just another day in the office.

“Franco Bianchi,” I repeat, looking at Cooper, who’s barely coherent. “Where can I find him?” I ask as Kota raises the hammer for another blow.

“Detroit... I swear,” he chokes out.

I nod, tossing the water bottle aside. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”

Kota swings again, like he’s chopping firewood in the winter. The sound of Cooper’s bones breaking sounds like fresh celery snapping. Kota doesn’t even flinch,years of being my second has desensitized him from this shit.

After the third blow, Cooper’s body goes limp. He might be dead, or maybe he just passed out from the pain or the blood loss. Kota gets bored and tosses the sledgehammer aside just as my men fill the dusty room. They’ll take care of the cleanup while I reach out to the Don in Detroit. I won’t step on his turf without giving him a heads-up, but I also need his connections.

I glance at Kota, wiping his hands clean. He may look calm on the outside, but the guy is fucking ruthless. That cool, steady expression never cracks, even when he’s knee-deep in blood.

I don’t even know what time it is when we land, but it’s late, and I’m fucking exhausted. All I want is a few hours of sleep. Hell, maybe even fucking the sass out of mySirena. But no, Kota and I are on our way to a damn pussyauction in downtown Detroit. The same shit Dad and the Commission worked their asses off to shut down years ago. Gio has a car waiting for us at the terminal. I slide into the driver’s seat, my grip tightening on the wheel as exhaustion simmers under my growing rage.

Gio and Seb filled us in on the plane. Seb was able to track Franco’s phone and pin him to this sick fuck-fest. Seb also included a recent picture, so I know who my target is. Franco’s auctioning off girls like they’re cuts of meat, selling their virginity to the highest bidder. And the men buying them? Every single one of them deserves a bullet to the head. Gio’s men have the place surrounded, waiting for us to make the move. No one’s interfering until we’re inside, we can’t risk blowing the operation too soon. But once I’m through that door, Franco’s little operation is going up in flames.

I kill the headlights as we roll up to the rundown restaurant. The place looks as shitty as I expected. I slide out of the SUV, brushing a hand over the wrinkles in my black pants and button-down.

Gio’s already outside, dragging a girl behind him. The cheap bubblegum pink wig slipping halfway off her head makes her look even younger than she probably is. She jerks away, but he yanks her back hard.

“You bought one?” I ask, raising a brow.