Warning!!! This chapter is not for everyone. If blood, death, and violence isn't for you, please skip this chapter.

Ian Cros

Robert's eyes glared like he would replace the man on the table with me. My breath tightened while the plastic tarp crinkled between my fingers as I balled my fists. The man's hand hung over the table, dangling before my eyes while blood dripped from his pointer finger.

"We knew your boy couldn't stomach this," one of the big guys said, pulling his coat off.

His green eyes glared at me while he brushed his hand through his bald head. The tribal tattoos covered both his arms, defining his muscles. His scowl formed into a smile, showing me his missing teeth like a crackhead.

Crawling slightly away from the man on the table, I grabbed the glass edge, pulling myself up from the floor. The other enormous guy leaned against the wall with his arms across his chest. He had his dark hair pulled back into a short ponytail.

"At least he found his legs," the man mumbled.

Robert pointed at the man with missing teeth. "Mr. Costa." He gestured to Mr. Ponytail. "And Ferrari."

Blood dripped from the table onto the wood floor, missing the plastic completely. Mr. Pesci waved his hands in the air, eyeing Mr. Costa.

"Get him off my brand new table!" he yelled. "Before you two replace his spot."

The two men gripped the man's ankles, pulling his limp body across the table. Blood smeared while the squeaky sound echoed. I glanced at Bianca and she stood silently in the corner, watching the show.

I strolled closer to her while Pesci pushed the glass table to the other end of the room. He planned the wheels on the bottom as Robert brought a wooden chair to the middle of the plastic. Mr. Costa plopped the victim in the chair while Ferrari pulled the zip ties from his backpack, tying him up.

"Wake him up," Pesci said, walking over to Bianca and kissing her with force.

His eyes lingered on me as I leaned away, deciding to stand before the floor-to-ceiling windows. He spun a few times while Costa handed him a metal bat. With every step from Pesci, my throat dried even more. Ferrari removed the cloth bag from the man's head and tossed it at my feet. He snickered when I stepped away, not wanting anything to do with it.

"Wake up, you ugly rat," Pesci said, placing the end of the bat under the man's chin and tilting his head up.

The man slowly opened his eyes as blood dripped from his nose. His expression widened to shock as he wiggled in the chair. The gaze of terror fell on me while his bottom lip trembled. The bags under his eyes told me he was working hard, but the scars and scabs on his arms and face also said he was an avid drug user. His hollow eyes left mine to Pesci, twitching with terror.

"Mr. Pesci, please," he cried. "I didn't done anything." His voice was lower pitched than expected with his skinny frame as he formed an incorrect sentence.

Pesci brought his face closer to the man, spitting in his face with anger. "That's the problem, Marco." He spun and glanced at Bianca. "Because, according to my records, you had not paid me for five months."

"Six," Bianca said, causing Pesci to chuckle.

Marco's eyes scanned the room. "Yes, and I am good for the money," he said, shifting his arms, trying to free himself.

Pesci laughed. "And let you off the hook?"

Marco nodded. "Yes, even Mr. Cros knows I'm good." He pleaded with my dad, bowing and showing the thin strands on the top of his head barely hanging on.

Robert shook his head, putting his hands in his pockets. "Don't go dragging me into your business."

Pesci tapped the bat on the ground. "So, do you have my money?"

Marco nodded with happiness. "Yes, just got to cross some T's and dot some I's."

"Ha," Mr. Costa snickered, grabbing Marco's chin and forcing him to look him in the eyes. "Nothing but lint and pennies in his pockets." He threw his hand back, causing Marco to tip slightly in the chair without falling.

Marco shook his head. "No," he cried. "I have the money. Please, boss," he begged. "I have two girls and the most beautiful wife at home. They need me to feed them and put clothes on their backs."

Pesci laughed, glancing at me with a mocking expression. "It's funny how the human species gives their life story when their backs against the wall." He raised his hands while balancing the bat between two fingers, making a face while the others laughed. "Please don't kill me. Here's my biography." Pesci jumped around, taunting the way a victim cries for their life.

"What about the girls?" my father asked before walking to the table and grabbing a cigar. He ignored the entertainment, trying to get his answer.

"The girls?" Marco asked with a confused expression.

Robert lit his cigar, sucking in the smoke. He held the Gurkha Royal Courtesan between his fingers, shaking the ashes on Marco's lap. His lips opened, and the smoke bathed the man's face.

"Amato's girls from the island," Robert said with a devilish smirk. "You and—"

"Dante!" Marco yelled in a high-pitched voice. "Yes, Dante delivered them to Amato last week." He nodded his head with vast energy toward everyone in the room.

Robert glanced at Pesci, shaking his head. "Not from what Amato said," my dad inhaled the cigar. "The word on the street is Dante, and you took the girls and sold them for your own money," he said, letting the smoke drift from his lips.

Marco shook in his seat like a chihuahua on drugs. Guilt caused the color in his cheeks to drain while he glanced at Pesci for reassurance. "Yes, but the money is for you," he said, thinking this would help him. "I know you and Amato aren't getting along, so I took a jab at him for you, boss."

Pesci brought the bat up, tapping the end to his chest. "For me?"

Marco's eyes lit up with hope as he nodded with anticipation.

Pesci bobbed his head in agreement. "Okay," he said, swinging the bat toward Marco's head.

The metal collided with his temple while a crack vibrated off the window behind me. Blood splattered across the glass, causing me to move my gaze to Bianca. She shook her head at me before pointing to the violent show.

"Watch," she whispered with a hiss.

I glanced back at Marco with his eyes on me. He pleaded, while blood poured from his mouth. His head dangled to the side, but his gaze never left me.

"Help me," he cried in pain.

"Shut up, you little bitch!" Pesci yelled, putting his back into the next swing.

Marco's face bounced, swelling until he was unrecognizable. Pesci swung again, hitting his side and sending Marco to the ground. Blood pooled fast around him while Pesci handed the bat to Costa. I watched Costa practice swinging in the air before bringing the bat over his head and pounding it down on Marco.

With every blast, I flinched, hearing the popping of bones. My eyes glazed over while Marco's body became a blob of blood pudding.

"See, Ian," Pesci said while a metallic smell filled my nose. "If anyone screws you over, we will take care of them."

I swallowed hard, pulling my eyes from the pile of skin and bones that used to be Marco. Pesci smiled at me while he wiped his hands with a towel. My gaze moved to Bianca as she stared straight ahead like a robot.

Was she watching? Her eyes seemed focused on the murder before her, but if you look deep enough, she wasn't in this room with us.

"Bianca," my dad's voice sounded, causing her to jump.

"Yes, Mr. Cros," she said, tucking her hair behind her ears before looking at him.

"Please, take my son home now."

She peeked at me and froze. Her dark eyes dropped while a firm hand grabbed my chin. Robert forced me to look at him while he brought his face closer to mine.

"This is just the beginning, so grow a pair," he said through his teeth, throwing my face away.

Bianca's heels clicked toward me before her warm hand grabbed my wrist. We stepped around the mound of blood and skin. Pesci's laugh caused a chill to go down my spine as we exited the room into the hallway.

Bianca tightened her grip on my wrist, pulling me closer to her. "Lose the expression," she whispered. "You need to act like that didn't happen before you."

I pulled my hand from hers. "I don't need your help," I said, shoving past Bianca to the elevator.

She exhaled with a slight laugh. "And you think I want to help you?"

"Watch?" I rushed back to her, putting my face too close to hers. "Watch?" I laughed, mocking everything that had happened. "They murdered a man and all you could tell me in there was to watch."

"I saved you," she replied with pity in her voice.

"Saved me?" I pointed over her shoulder to the glass door with murderers behind it. "Anyone with a heart wouldn't." I paused, not knowing what to say. "Shouldn't." My mouth told nonsense.

Bianca shook her head with a spiteful expression. "Welcome to the business."

My anger built inside of me, but mostly sadness for the man whose life ended. Rachael walked around the corner. Her eyes met mine before I leaned closer to Bianca.

"Leave me the fuck alone," I whispered.

I stepped backward away from her, exiting down the stairs for my quick escape. My feet stomped on the steps, slipping from wet spots. I pulled on my red beanie when I arrived on the main floor.

Out of breath, I fell out of the front entrance onto the snowy sidewalk. I ran to the penthouse with my head down while kids laughed and played in the streets. The elevator ride up to my floor shook as the bell dung. The doors slowly opened as I fell into the space.

I crawled to the kitchen, using the countertops to leverage myself on my two feet. The sight of Marco becoming a liquid slop replayed in my head repeatedly. His crying eyes begged for help, but I stood motionless.

I glanced up, catching my reflection in the kitchen fridge. Red splatters covered my sunken face. I rushed to the sink and turned on the water. My palms shook as the liquid pooled. I splashed cold water on my face, rubbing my fingers to get the blood off.

The red drained down the sink while my stomach knotted up. My throat tightened as images flashed before my eyes. I gripped the edge of the counter with vomit trailing up and out of my mouth.

"Ahhh!" I yelled into the metal while more puke escaped my lips.

My heart ached with pain, like someone ripped their hands into my chest and pulled it out. The pit in my stomach calmed as I spun around and fell to the laminate floor.

My phone buzzed in my pocket as an alarm echoed around my sobs. I pulled it out, glancing at the screen. In big red letters, an emergency weather advisory was in effect, a city-wide shutdown while the storm passes for the next several days.

"Fuck," I whispered, hoping to fly away from this as soon as possible. Away from this hellhole, I called my family.

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