Chapter 2: Burn Everything Down
1169 Words
Romano Renzi
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“We’ve found the accountant.”
Romano didn’t look up.
“Bring him.”
Jugger, Romano’s personal guard, stepped forward, one massive hand wrapped around the man’s throat, lifting him just enough that his feet barely touched the ground.
The accountant clawed at Jugger’s wrist, choking on his own breath.
“I—I told you I don’t know anything—”
Jugger dropped him.
The man hit the floor hard, scrambling back on his hands, his breathing uneven. Blood ran from his nose, dripping onto his shirt.
Romano watched him for a moment.
The accountant swallowed hard.
“The networks. The stash houses. All the records. Where are they?”
The man shook his head violently.
“I handled numbers—I swear. Just numbers. Profits and losses. I don’t know where the rest is—please spare me.”
Romano’s jaw tightened slightly. He hated when men begged.
Mercy was a language enemies used to buy time.
He lifted two fingers slightly.
Jugger moved instantly. He grabbed the man’s head.
The accountant’s scream barely had time to form—
SNAP.
Silence.
The body dropped.
Romano stood.
Stepped past it without a second glance.
He walked to the fireplace.
He brought out his knife and sifted through the ashes.
Gone. Whatever was here—records, routing, account structures—it was all burned.
The wife must have burned everything.
No way she burned everything.
For seven months, he had pressed Dimitri from every angle.
Cut supply lines. Intercepted shipments.
Destroyed safe houses.
And still—
Dimitri had adapted—strategically evasive at every turn.
He stood and glanced at the board. The intricate markings of territory. The pinned attack points, color-coded, layered, built with logic.
The war broke out when Dimitri made a bold move to hit one of Romano’s gun shipments.
His sister died in the attack. And Romano had vowed to bring down Dimitri’s whole empire.
A man like that—bold and precise—didn’t seem like someone to cut and run.
Something’s not right.
Marco, Romano’s cousin, walked in.
“Dimitri’s dead.”
“The body?”
“Found it near the east vehicle bay. Burned. Consistent with Dimitri’s build, but—” Marco paused. “Unrecognizable.”
Romano’s grip tightened slightly around the knife in his hand.
Disappointing.
Seven months—and it ended like that?
He’d been looking forward to meeting the brain behind the moves. And killing him himself.
Unease spread across his chest.
A man who fought with precision didn’t run blind into fire.
Something was off. He always trusted his instincts, and they were never wrong.
That’s why he didn’t kill the woman.
Something about her defiance intrigued him.
There was a boldness about her. Most women would have been running their mouths, scrambling at his feet, begging for mercy.
Some even offered themselves.
Not her. She stood her ground.
Hadn’t cried.
Hadn’t even tried to negotiate.
Her hazel eyes looked like she knew more than she let on.
No woman had ever looked him in the eyes and held her gaze before.
Her steadiness intrigued him.
I wonder how long she can keep that up.
I guess we’ll find out.
Romano faced Jugger.
“Contact Sabrina. Find out everything she can about Dimitri’s wife.”
Jugger nodded.
Two of his men entered.
“Every room has been secured, Don Romano,” one of them said. “The trucks are fully loaded.”
“And the lady?”
“Bound and prepared for transport to the estate,” the other man answered.
“Good. Now burn everything down. Leave nothing behind.”
“Yes, Don.”
Romano exited the building.
They drove back to the estate.
The gates opened before the cars slowed down.
The mansion stood calm, a stark contrast to the chaos left behind at the Kushaniv estate.
Sabrina, his advisor, approached.
“Welcome, Boss. I got your message. I’ll have the file sent to you shortly.”
“Good… There’s a woman. See to it that she’s cleaned up and fed—like a guest. Put her in the east wing. Two guards”
“Yes, Don.”
Sabrina left.
A maid approached him.
“Your bath is ready, Don.”
Romano walked into the bathroom. Two naked women stood by the bathtub waiting.
As was routine when Romano had a successful raid.
That was the closest thing Romano ever felt to emotion.
His own mother had warned him: “Women are the one variable no Don has ever successfully controlled. Be different, and you’ll rule the longest.”
It had served him well for seven years.
Women were for one night. Never the same one twice. Never in his home, never with his name, never long enough to become anything that resembled a habit.
Romano got in the bathtub.
The women began washing him. One washed his legs, the other washed his chest.
Romano relaxed into the water, letting the warmth calm him.
The woman washing his legs grabbed his c**k and started stroking him, up and down.
The other woman put her mouth around his n****e.
Romano’s arousal stirred.
He grabbed one of the women’s heads and guided it to his c**k.
She started sucking him.
The sensation ran through his body, fading away the tension of the night.
The women switched places, just how he liked it.
They had to switch frequently, or he got bored.
Her mouth was smaller, warmer.
Fuck yes.
Romano grabbed her hair, shoving his c**k deeper into her mouth.
And then—
Uninvited—
Hazel eyes surfaced in his mind.
His jaw tightened.
The woman’s mouth moved over him, eager, precise.
He didn’t react.
Didn’t feel it the way he should.
Sophia’s defiant face had become a frustrating distraction.
Then—
Another maid walked in.
Romano glanced to the side.
She was holding a file.
Dimitri’s wife’s file.
He reached for it while thrusting his hips deeper into the woman’s mouth.
Trying to concentrate on the moment and block out any distractions.
The woman didn’t stop sucking.
But he wasn’t feeling it.
Romano directed the other woman to join the first.
Both of them started sucking him, taking turns.
It made no difference.
Romano groaned, frustration cutting through the moment.
“Out!” He snapped.
The women flinched, then scurried away.
Romano opened the file.
Then he froze.
Sophia Kushaniv. Née Santos.
His expression hardened.
Santos.
The name sliced through his heart like a blade.
His father’s old rival. That war cost his father his life.
She was Santos’ daughter.
His blood boiled.
Romano got up and grabbed his fur robe hanging nearby.
He tied it loosely around his waist.
His hair and body still dripping with water.
He marched toward Sophia’s room.
His pace didn’t slow.
Not when he reached her door.
Not when his hand closed around the handle.
His jaw tightened.
He should have her killed instantly.
Instead—
He was going to her.
That annoyed him.
Romano pushed the door open.
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