evio's pov
"Weren't they supposed to be six?" Nestore asked, stepping beside me.
"Diego was the 6th one, we'll let the little girl deal with him herself," I said, lifting the jaws of the third man on his knees.
"Tell me the truth and I'll spare you the first punch, who brought the idea up?" I asked, meeting his gaze.
"He...he did, the last man there did, please have mercy on me,"
I crouched in front of him, tilting my head as I studied his face—pale, drenched in sweat, and smeared with streaks of dried blood. The stench of fear clung to him like a second skin.
"Mercy?" I mused, my voice barely above a whisper.
He flinched but nodded rapidly, his lips parting in desperate, broken breaths. "P-please… I didn’t—"
A sharp crack echoed through the warehouse as Nevio drove a brutal fist
