Page 70 of Dark Mafia Vows

I return to the bed and sink under the covers, my heart pounding with dread.

He’ll be here soon, and I’m not sure if I can hold it together when he finally knocks.

30

DARIO

The warehouse is dimly lit, a single bulb swinging gently from the high ceiling, casting eerie shadows across the concrete floor. The air is thick with the stench of sweat and blood, mingling with an oppressive fear that clings to everything.

As I step inside, my footsteps echo, the sound reverberating through the silence like a death knell.

The man tied to a chair in the center of the room looks almost unrecognizable. His arms are bound tightly behind him, and his face is a grotesque mask of swelling and bruises from the beating he has endured. He’s already a wreck, but I have every intention of making it worse.

Behind him stands Anton, flanked by two of my men, his expression grim as he meets my gaze. He nods slightly. “Boss, he’s been talking, but not enough. All he keeps saying is he’s sorry, and that’s it.”

A smile creeps across my face, but there’s no humor in it—only cold satisfaction. I advance, anger simmering within me, rising up my spine like a coiled serpent. He dared to mess withmy shipment, to take what is mine, and he has disrespected me in the most unforgivable way.

Does he honestly believe I’ll let this slide just because he offers a halfhearted apology? He will suffer for this, and I’ll make an example of him, ensuring that no one else dares to cross me again.

I come to a stop in front of him, towering over his pitiful form. His breath comes in sharp, shallow gasps, his gaze averted as his body trembles with fear.

Good. He should be terrified.

“Rafael,” I call, my voice cutting through the eerie quiet. “You stole from me.” The calmness of my tone is laced with an unmistakable fury. “You know what happens to those who cross me.”

His head jerks up weakly, bloodshot eyes filled with despair and pain. He’s still shaking, and I watch as he struggles to form words, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “P-Please, Dario. I didn’t mean to…”

“You didn’t mean to what? Steal from me?” A harsh chuckle escapes my lips, sharp and mocking. “Do you honestly believe I give a fuck about your apology? Do you thinksorrywill somehow fix this?”

His bottom lip quivers, and he swallows hard, desperation etched across his face. “Of course not...I just?—”

“I want one thing from you, Rafe,” I interrupt, my voice low and deliberate. “Whom do you work for? Surely, you couldn’t have orchestrated this operation on your own.”

When he remains silent, only sobbing quietly, I feel my patience stretch thin, fraying at the edges.

“I don’t have time for this.” My voice slices through his sobs like a blade. I glance at Anton, who moves swiftly to hand me an aluminum bat without hesitation. I grip it tightly, feeling the cold metal against my skin, its weight a solid reassurancein my hands. The room falls silent, my men watching, their anticipation palpable as they wait for my next move.

Rafe’s eyes widen in terror as I step closer, raising the bat slightly. “Dario, please!” he begs, his voice cracking with desperation. “I didn’t have a choice. I had to?—”

I swing the bat hard against his ribs, the sharp crack echoing around the room. Rafe lets out a guttural groan, his body jerking in pain. I raise the bat again and swing, sending him sprawling to the ground, blood gushing from his mouth.

“Fuck. I really need to take up baseball as a hobby again,” I muse dryly, a cruel smirk crossing my face. “Haven’t played since high school.”

A few murmurs and chuckles ripple through the room, but they quickly fade when Rafe begins to speak.

“I don’t work for anyone,” he groans, coughing violently, nearly choking on his own blood. “I carried it out on my own…”

“You must think I’m a fool,” I ground out, but he keeps talking, words tumbling from his lips in a rush.

“My wife—she’s sick. Cancer. I...I needed the money for her treatment, for the chemo. She’s dying, Dario, and I couldn’t watch her suffer anymore.”

Cancer.

I pause, my chest heaving with a mix of emotions. The bat suddenly feels heavier in my hands, and for a split second, my rage flickers. But no. I won’t allow myself to feel sorry for him—not after he jeopardized my business. “You think your sob story changes anything?” I spit, my voice low and dangerous. “You think I’ll just let you walk out of here because your wife’s sick?”

Rafe’s body trembles with fear, his face twisting in desperation. He struggles to sit up, but it’s nearly impossible with his hands bound behind the chair. “No, I...I know it was wrong. I shouldn’t have taken the goods. But I was out ofoptions, Dario. She’s all I’ve got. Without the treatment...she’ll die.”

His words linger in the air, but I feel not a shred of sympathy for him. I didn’t climb to this height in the underworld by showing mercy. Striding over to a table propped against the nearby wall, I grab a knife, its cold steel glinting under the dim light. When I storm back toward him, Rafe’s eyes widen like saucers, fear etched across his battered face. I raise the knife, tension crackling in the room as I prepare to bring my hand down.

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