The Devil's Favourite Obsession

The Leak

(Adriano pov)

“Where is he?”

“In the lower room, boss,” Luca replied without hesitation, falling into step beside me as we moved down the long corridor, our footsteps echoing off the bare concrete walls like distant gunshots. “We picked him up near the docks, just where the informat said he would be. Fucker was sweating bullets, trying to vanish into the fog.”

“And the shipment?” My voice stayed even, but the rage simmered beneath it, a low boil waiting to erupt.

“Recovered. Not untouched, couple crates splintered, product stepped on, but nothing we can’t salvage and make them pay for twice over.”

I didn’t slow, my boots hitting the floor with deliberate force. “Names.”

“He hasn’t given us s**t yet.” Luca’s tone carried an edge of frustration, his knuckles already bruised from the prelim work.

I glanced at him briefly, my eyes narrowing. “Then you haven’t asked properly. Not with conviction.”

Luca’s jaw tightened, a muscle twitching under the stubble. “We were waiting for you. Didn’t want to break him before you got the first crack.”

“Good,” I said calmly, though the anticipation coiled in my gut like a blade twisting. “You did the right thing. This one’s mine.”

The steel door at the end of the hallway groaned open with a hydraulic hiss, the kind that sealed screams inside rather than letting them escape, and the air shifted instantly, thicker, laced with the metallic tang of blood and sweat, colder than a grave. It clung to my skin as we stepped inside, the damp chill seeping through my shirt.

“Lights,” I ordered.

Fluorescents buzzed to life overhead, harsh and unforgiving, casting long shadows that made the room feel smaller, more suffocating. Rivulets of water dripped from a cracked pipe in the corner, plinking rhythmically into a stained puddle on the floor.

The man hung there, wrists bound high on rusted chains bolted to the wall, his body sagging but not broken yet. His face was a mess left eye swollen shut, purple and leaking, lip split wide enough to flap when he breathed. Fresh bruises bloomed across his ribs, visible through the torn shirt clinging to his sweat-slicked torso. Blood trickled from his nose in a steady drip, pattering onto the concrete below.

“Boss,” one of the guards grunted, straightening up from his post.

“Leave us,” I said, my voice a low command that brooked no argument.

They hesitated for half a heartbeat, exchanging glances, then filed out silently, the door clanging shut behind them like a coffin lid.

The man lifted his head with effort, chains rattling faintly, his one good eye locking onto mine, defiance flickering there, undercut by the raw fear dilating his pupils. His breath came in wet, ragged gasps, the coppery scent of his blood thickening the air.

“You don’t look like someone who wants to die quickly,” I said, my voice calm, almost conversational, as I moved closer, circling him slowly like a predator sizing up meat.

He spat blood toward my feet, the wet splat echoing. “Go to hell, you f*****g animal.”

Luca let out a quiet breath, cracking his knuckles. “We can make this fast if you just open your mouth. Save yourself the pain.”

“Not happening,” the man snarled, his voice rough, though his body trembled, betraying him.

I tilted my head, studying the way his chest heaved, the sweat beading on his forehead and sliding down to mix with the blood.

“Let’s not waste time.” I picked up a stained rag from the metal table nearby, wiping my hands, the rough fabric scraping against my skin even though they were clean. The faint chemical bite of old bleach lingered on it.

“You were caught moving my consignment. My product. Through my routes.”

“It wasn’t yours,” he snapped, jerking against the chains, metal biting into his raw wrists with a fresh trickle of blood.

I met his gaze fully now respecting his stubbornness, letting the silence stretch, heavy as lead.

“That’s where you made your first mistake.”

He barked a weak laugh, teeth stained red. “You think you own everything? This city? Every shadow?”

“No,” I replied softly, stepping within arm’s reach, close enough to smell the sour fear-sweat rolling off him. “Just what matters. And you? You’re about to matter a whole lot less.”

“Your boss sent you?” I asked again, my tone sharpening.

Silence. He clamped his jaw, staring at the floor, I nodded once, a signal.

“That’s your second mistake.”

Luca stepped forward, fists clenched.

“You’re in no position to play loyal dog. Spill it, or we carve it out of you.”

“I’m not afraid of you pieces of s**t,” the man growled, but his voice cracked, eyes darting to the tools laid out on the table, pliers, a hammer, knives glinting under the lights.

I closed the distance, my breath brushing his face.

“You should be.” My hand shot out without warning, fingers clamping his jaw like a vice, forcing his head back. His stubble scraped my palm, rough and damp. “Deep down, you already are. I can see it in the way your pulse hammers.”

He tried to twist away, but I held firm, nails digging into the soft flesh under his chin until fresh blood welled up, warm and sticky. Silence hung for a beat, thick and oppressive.

“Who are you working for?” I repeated, releasing him with a shove that snapped his head back against the wall, a dull thud reverberating.

Nothing. Just labored breathing.

I exhaled slowly, the rage uncoiling fully now. “Alright.” I grabbed the hammer from the table, its weight solid and familiar in my grip, the rubber handle tacky with old residue.

Luca knew the cue, stepping back with a nod.

The first swing connected with his knee, a wet crunch of bone shattering under metal. The man screamed, a raw, guttural howl that bounced off the walls, his body convulsing, chains clanking wildly as he thrashed. Urine trickled down his pant leg, the sharp ammonia stench cutting through the blood.

“I’ll ask one more time,” I said, voice unchanged, wiping sweat from my brow with the back of my hand. “Who sent you?”

He gasped, snot bubbling from his nose. “No one... f**k you!”

I swung again, this time into his gut. Air whooshed from his lungs in a choked wheeze, his body folding as much as the restraints allowed, vomit rising sour and acrid into the air. He retched, splattering the floor, but I didn’t flinch.

“You’re not protecting anyone,” Luca added, circling to the side, his boot nudging the man’s dangling foot. “You’re just making this worse. Names. Now.”

The man laughed through the pain, a broken, bloody gurgle. “You think... this scares me? I’ve taken worse.”

I leaned in close, hammer dangling loosely. “It doesn’t have to scare you. It just has to break you.” My free hand fisted his hair, yanking his head forward, scalp tearing slightly under my grip. Then the hammer came down on his shoulder, another crack, sinew popping like overripe fruit. His scream peaked higher, veins bulging in his neck, spit flecking my face hot and salty.

Minutes blurred into a rhythm of impacts, fist to ribs, cracking cartilage with a sharp snap; elbow to jaw, teeth loosening in a spray of enamel and blood; boot to thigh, grinding until the femur groaned audibly. Each blow landed with precision, the wet thuds and his escalating cries filling the room like a symphony of ruin. Sweat poured off me now, mixing with his blood on my knuckles, the copper tang coating my tongue as I breathed hard.

“Stop!” he finally gasped, voice a shredded whisper, body limp and twitching, every inhale a wet rattle from punctured lungs.

I paused, hammer hovering, my chest heaving. “There it is.”

Luca muttered, “f*****g finally.”