Page 4 of Stolen Seconds

And it never would when I barely held more than superficial relationships with everyone outside of my circle.

I leaned down, resting my hands on my knees. “Do you want me to prolong your suffering?” I gestured to his mangled body and the damage I had already created. “Perhaps if you answer my question, you can leave here without further. . . consequences.”

“I don’t knowanything!”

“Oh, but you do,” I retorted.

When I got the call from Roman this morning that the drug shipment hadn’t been received by the Russian Mafia, I knew we were fucked.

I had always been particular about the process of when, where, and how shipments were sent out to avoid any possible obstacles.

Yet, here I was, interrogating one of our men on the location of the goods because I hadn’t been at the exchange myself.

I couldn’t trust anyone, never had and never would, but I slipped up, and it wouldn’t happen again.

“I have a family.” Rocco groaned in pain—probably from the crimson color leaking from the side of his ribs. “Please, Luca.”

I straightened myself, sighing. Every single interrogation ended the same exact way. The traitor begging for their life because of their family. The same family they didn’t think of when betraying theirDon,knowing we would find them and dish out their punishment.

A punishment that sent them on their way to God.

“Prolong suffering it is, then.” I reached for him but stopped short when he spoke.

“Wait!” He was visibly shaking now, teeth chattering as if we were in the middle of a fucking blizzard. “Th-they gave a m-message.”

I kept my expression neutral to the bit of knowledge he shared. “Who?”

“I d-don’t know,” he gritted out. “Their f-face was covered.”

“What was the message?”

“Y-you’reout of t-time.”

Clarity shifted the situation. There was only one person who’d been hellbent on time and position when it came to me.

“That wasn’t so hard, now was it, Rocco?”

His brown eyes widened with hope, a feeling that would drift away as soon as it rooted. “N—”

In one fluid motion, I flicked my wrist, the end of my knife sliding along his throat.

His eyes widened further; except this time, it was from fear, choking on his own blood. The seamless line widened as blood gushed down the column of his neck.

It took less than a minute for the sound of his gurgling to cease.

The dreaded part of killing someone was the aftermath of having to clean up the bloody mess.

It was a tedious process I had done countless times. I often wondered how it was so easy to get away with murder and hide the body as if it never existed.

Grabbing the cigarette pack from my jean pocket, I took a stick out before pulling out my phone and dialing Nicolai’s number.

“Good morning, Luca,” he answered.

The little shit had become a soft spot for everyone since Roman saved him years ago.

“Must you always answer formally, Nico?” I chuckled. I swear, the kid was an old soul trapped in a body of a twenty—two year-old.

“I think the term you’re searching for is respectfully, not formally.” I could practically picture him pushing up his glasses with the tip of his middle finger. “You and the others lack basic manners.”

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