"Have a chair brought over for me and drag him closer," I ordered, my voice level—too calm to be comforting.
A chair was placed behind me within seconds, and I sat down slowly, legs spread, my gloved hands resting on my knees. Two of my men gripped Enzo by the arms and dragged his broken body closer, forcing him to kneel in front of me like the pathetic little worm that he was.
His breathing was ragged, his ribs most likely fractured, and blood still smeared down his chin, with his eyes swollen like he was already blind.
"You know," I said quietly, almost conversational, "my father would’ve slit your throat by now, no questions, no theatrics." Enzo whimpered, trembling harder under my gaze while the rest cried out in muffles, too scared to cry out.
"But you see me? I like to understan
