Vittorio POV: Still At His Mansion
"Say that again."
I didn’t raise my voice. Didn’t move.
The sound of Scarface whining grated on my last nerve.
He’d been moaning for the past hour—about the bullet, the cold floor, the chains digging into his wrists. I didn’t care. The stench of his rotting leg was starting to burn through the walls. Maybe that was poetic.
I spun. Grabbed him by the jaw.
“You got one chance, rat. Tell me why Giordano wanted Katarina.”
Scarface whimpered
I stared at him. Sweating. Pathetic. Face pale, lips dry, shirt clinging to his back like plastic wrap. He wasn’t built for pain. Not the kind I gave.
“You want water?” I asked calmly.
He nodded fast. “Y-yeah, boss. Please”
I slammed my fist into the wall beside him.
The plaster cracked. Loud. A jagged line ri
