Page 89 of Enzo

I focused on Atticus and shoved him back onto his stool. “Last chance to come clean.”

“I have it saved on my hard drive.”

I rolled my eyes. Atticus was in his eighties, it was probably too much to ask that he take effective security precautions.

“Who’s helping you run it?” I asked.

“Nobody, it’s just me.”

Some people never fucking learned.

“Wrong again,” I stated, rising to my full length. “I don’t like being lied to, old man.”

I’d seen a woman come and go out of the camp, and my software recognition tool had picked her up. Nicki, his daughter, was just as entangled. The very same daughter who wreaked havoc on the Ashford family when she tried to have Byron Ashford’s wife eliminated.

There was no sense in reasoning with a liar.

So, I stood up, reached for the bottle of beer that sat in front of me untouched, and smashed it against his skull.

I didn’t have time for diplomacy.

I descended the steps that led to the basement of the old house I’d rented. The scent of sweat and smoke greeted me, along with my prisoner’s labored breathing.

Amadeo was already here, leaning against the cement wall, a cigarette dangling from his mouth.

“I thought I told you smoking is bad for you.”

He rolled his eyes as I closed the distance between us.

“Your wife’s words,” he corrected. “You’re just too whipped to displease her.”

It’d been three days since I last saw her and I missed her.Dio mio, how I fucking missed her. And not only because I struggled to sleep without her. I missed her smiles, our conversations, and more than anything, I missed the calming effect she had on me.

I tilted my head toward Atticus who was strapped to a chair in the middle of the makeshift cell. “He give you any trouble?”

“All quiet.”

“Bene. Let’s make him scream.” Atticus Popov was about to learn firsthand what threatening those I loved got you.

Grinning, I dragged another chair over and sat facing him. “Shall we start over with my questions?”

“The organization won’t let you get away with this.”

“What organization?” I snickered. “The one I’m about to take over?”

He sneered at me. “The DiMauro whore means so much to you, huh?”

I lunged, my fist connecting with his mouth. The chair rocked from the force of the impact, and I let it fall. His skull hit the concrete floor with a thud, his silver hair slowly staining red.

I righted the chair as his eyes darted around, disoriented. His lips were split open and blood coated his teeth as he grinned maniacally.

It reminded me of my mother.

“Call my wife or anyone I love a whore again, and I’ll erase the last name Popov from existence.”

“You’d never hurt your aunt Athena.”

“You’re right, I wouldn’t, but she’s a Marchetti. However, I’ll be sure she learns of your despicable betrayal.”