Giordano’s POV At the torture room
“Boss… he’s dead.”
“Dead?” Giordano didn’t even blink. He stared at the blood-soaked floor of the torture room, the boy’s limp body still shackled, mouth frozen mid-scream.
Giordano’s voice cracked through the smoke-filled room like a whip. “Useless”
Dante didn’t flinch. “Yeah. The boy croaked. He stopped breathing sometime last night. Probably from the shock. Weak fucker.”
Giordano leaned back in his leather chair, flicked ash from his cigar. “Toss him in the ocean. No point wasting ground space on a liar.”
“Yes, boss.”
“Make sure he sinks. Tie something heavy to his ankles. I don’t want that skinny bastard floating back to haunt me.”
Dante dragged the corpse out with a grunt.
The room was silent again. The metallic smell of blood still hun
