Page 31 of My Sweetest Temptation

I stared hard at the man before me, who was clenching his hands into fists to maintain his composure. After our last shipment was infiltrated and a few of our men were ambushed, we were able to capture the dumbass who tried to flee the scene. He’d been in my basement for the last three days, and no matter what torture device we used on him, the fucker didn’t say a word. But I was running out of patience.

“Last chance,” I said quietly. “Who are you working for?”

Silence met my question once more.

With a heavy sigh, I strode toward the table, a number of different tools on its surface. I put on a pair of black latex gloves and stood before the man. I took the pliers and hovered them over his right hand. “Eenie, meenie, miney, moe,” I chanted slowly. The man whimpered, tears streaming down his face. “Catch a tiger by the toe. Eenie. Meenie. Miney...moe.”

I positioned the pliers around one of his fingers. With a swift and powerful squeeze, the plier connected with the finger and snapped it off, blood splattering on my face, dress shirt, and suit jacket. I watched impassively as the man’s bloodcurdling cries filled the room. Glad it’s soundproof.

“Who do you work for?” I asked again.

He shook his head, tears falling down his face, snot from his nose, and spit from his mouth.

Still no words.

Another finger hit the floor with a wet smack.

His screams faded into desperate gasps.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Matteo muttered. “Fucker still won’t talk even if all his fingers are gone.”

I tossed the pliers on the table with a clunk and took a step back. I removed the hanky from my suit pocket and wiped the blood off my face.

“Cauterize his stumps,” I ordered Lo.

Lo held the iron tool in the wood stove, and once the blade turned red, he returned and cauterized the man’s fingers.

Without saying a word, the man eventually passed out from the pain.

“What now, boss?” Luca asks.

“When he wakes up, we go to plan B.” I tossed the hanky into the trash and headed up the steps. “Call me when he’s awake.”

Without waiting for a response, I strode out the door, closing it behind me and taking the elevator upstairs. As the elevator doors slid open to the main floor with a soft chime, I straightened my jacket and stepped into the corridor. My dress shoes clicked against the marble tile as I made my way to the foyer.

When I turned the corner, I found my mother standing before me. She was dressed in an elegant white pant suit with heels, and her hair was up in an updo. Her eyes narrowed as they swept over my appearance, and she cringed when they landed on the blood on my clothes.

“Mother,” I greeted her with a smile.

Her sharp gaze bore into me, like she could see through me. But then she smiled sadly. “Nico, my son, I would hug you, but...” she gestured to my suit, making me chuckle.

I leaned in and kissed her cheek. “What are you doing here? Not that I’m not happy to see you. Just surprised.”

“What? A mother can’t stop by to see her son?” She gave me a sideways glance and a grin. “I came to drop off your and your brother’s tuxedoes for this weekend’s event.”

I sighed inwardly; my mother was relentless when it came to charity work. “Nico,” she began, her tone serious, “I hope you haven’t forgotten about the fundraiser event we discussed for the battered women’s shelter.”

I fixed myself a drink at the bar. “I haven’t forgotten,” I assured her. “Would you like something to drink?”

She raised an eyebrow, her steel-gray eyes assessing me. “But?” she asked, disregarding my question.

“I’ve been busy handling an important matter. But I’ll make sure everything is in order for the event.” I leaned against the bar and took a drink.

Fundraising events meant schmoozing and making nice with politicians, the police commissioner, and judges, two things I hated.

“I see.” She clasped her hands in front of her and nodded.

“I will make an appearance like I do every year. You can count on me being there,” I replied with a sigh.

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