Page 74 of Malicious Claim

"No explanations." Don Matteo's voice was calm, nearly soft. Then, without hesitation. "Cut off his dick."

Stefanos' stomach twisted.

One of the guards pushed the cluttered metal table. The wheels creaked as it rolled towards Stefanos. Stefanos eyed the content wearily: a knife, pliers, and a fat roll of plastic wrap.

Panic dug at his throat. "Uncle, please—have mercy."

The Don didn't even blink.

The guard took a plier, fingers unshaking as he undid Stefanos' zipper.

Stefanos bucked, muscles straining against the restraint, but the ropes did not yield. Panic flooded him as the cold metal touched him. He wet himself.

"No—please, Uncle—"

The plier bit into his flesh, but then with a flick of the Don's fingers the guard stiffened.

The silence was crushing.

Stefanos slumped, gasping, soaked with sweat and pee. Humiliation seared more fiercely than relief.

Don Matteo moved closer, placing a tight grip on Stefanos' shoulder. "If you lay hands on Leila again," he growled, voice low but ice-cold, "I won't be so kind."

"I promise—I won't—" Stefanos hardly managed to speak, trembling.

The Don examined him, then nodded. The guard picked up the knife and severed his restraints. Stefanos leaned forward, perspiration soaking through his shirt.

At the door, Don Matteo paused.

"You will forget this happened," he said, without turning. "And if Makros ever asks... you didn't touch his wife."

Later that evening.

The summons came without warning.

Leila hesitated outside Don Matteo's office, her stomach coiled with unease. She caught sight of Stefanos approaching from the opposite hall, his movements stiff.

For a moment, their eyes locked.

A nasty little glare flashed between them, silent accusations, silent questions. She wondered if he had made the Don call for her? And he too wondered if she had made the Don call for him?

Neither wanted to be here.

Stefanos hastened to the door, swinging it open first as if coming in first had an unspoken advantage.

Don Matteo sat behind his desk, hands folded neatly over a stack of papers. His presence filled the room, even without speaking.

"I have a job for you," he said at last, his voice firm and measured. "A routine delivery. A package to one of our associates."

Leila didn't move, though in her gut, her senses quivered. It didn't seem like some ordinary chore. It felt like something else; like a test.

Next to her, Stefanos moved imperceptibly. His jaw clenched in protest, but he did not speak. He would not risk refusal.

Don Matteo inclined his head forward. "You will go together." His eyes moved to Stefanos. "You will see to it that nothing goes wrong. And you will not touch her. Clear?"

The threat was as clear as ice.

"Si," Stefanos growled.

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