MILO’S POV:

The stench of sweat, piss, and copper filled the basement. Concrete walls, soundproof. One single lightbulb swinging above the chair like a noose waiting for its victim.

The man was naked. His arms yanked behind his back, his wrists chained so tightly they cut into flesh. His face was swollen, one eye completely shut, lips split and leaking blood.

That wasn't all.

He was whimpering.

Not screaming yet. That would come in a while.

I stood a few feet away, my sleeves rolled to my elbows, watching the pathetic heap of skin and bones tremble like a leaf in winter.

He would have known better than to mess with me.

“Ty menya razocharóvyvayesh',Marko (You disappoint me, Marco)” I said calmly. “I gave you a chance when you begged for it. Fed your fucking family. You carried my shipments, and still, you had the guts and stole from me.”

“It was just……just a kilo,” he gasped. “I swear I….I was gonna return the money…. I just…..”

“A kilo of my product is worth more than your life and that of your family.” I stepped forward, slow and calm. “But you didn’t steal because you needed to. You stole because you thought you could. Potomu chto ty schitál menya idiotom! (Because you thought I was stupid!) mmmm.”

“No, Boss, please, I have kids… I have a family…..i…”

I grabbed his jaw, forcing his face up to mine. “They’ll be orphans if you don’t start speaking like a man.”

He sobbed, broken teeth showing through bloody foam. I dropped his face and signaled Luca.

“Behind the back,” I muttered. “Razor wire.”

Two men moved. Marco screamed as they kicked his legs apart, forced his arms higher behind him, then looped barbed wire around his elbows, tightening until metal bit into skin. Blood began to pour.

The scream that followed was pure agony.

“FUCK! Boss! PLEASE! I'll never do it again. I…I was stupid. The devil made me do it.”

"Even the devil knows better than to mess with me." I smirked.

"I swear I…."

“You ever heard of the falcon cut?” I asked, crouching in front of him, my was voice almost gentle. “It’s what cartels used back in the old days. You peel the skin off the back, strip it like feathers. You don’t die fast. You die conscious. And aware. I've been meaning to try that method for a while now.”

“Please….please, no, Boss, I’ll do anything…!”

I held up a single blade.

“You should’ve thought of that before you betrayed me.”

I let Luca handle the first slice.

It was slow. Deliberate. The sound of blade through flesh was a wet, sticky rip, followed by a scream so loud I thought his lungs might collapse.

Blood sprayed. Muscle twitched.

He writhed, but the wire kept him still. Every movement only tore more skin. More blood.

Perfect.

Another cut. Then another. Skin curled off like parchment, exposing raw muscle. His spine began to show in patches.

He passed out once.

I threw a glass of ice water on him and he came back screaming again.

“Where’s the rest?” I asked, voice cold as steel. “You didn’t just take one kilo. Where. Is. The. Rest.”

“In… in the old warehouse… at the port, unit 6B. Please, I swear. That’s all…..”

I nodded once at Luca. “Хорошо (Good). Finish him.”

A final scream echoed as my man drove a blade into Marco’s side and twisted.

I didn’t flinch. I didn’t blink.

Because if one man stole and lived… the others would think they could do the same.

I stepped out into the cold night, blood drying on my forearms. The scent clung to me like perfume.

Luca followed behind, silent, as we approached the convoy.

“Have the rest of the drugs recovered. Burn everything he touched.”

“Yes, Boss.”

“And the family?”

He hesitated. “Wife and two kids. Young. Very young.”

My jaw tightened. “Send them enough to survive. No more. He’s paid his debt.”

“Yes, Boss.”

The drive back to the estate was quiet. My hands were steady. My mind clear.

Most men lose themselves after spilling blood. I find clarity.

The gates opened as we approached. My mansion glowed like ivory beneath the moonlight, perfect and cold. Security stood at attention, armed and alert. No one slacked under my roof. Not if they valued their lives.

Inside, the house was warm. Too warm. I shrugged off my bloodied jacket and tossed it at one of the house staff without a word. They didn’t dare meet my eyes.

The moment I stepped inside, I knew she was awake.

Her presence was subtle but noticeable, like the scent of something dangerous.

I walked to the stairs and saw her.

Top landing. Barefoot. Dressed in a gown that hugged her body like a second skin. Hair loose. Skin almost glowing under the chandelier’s light.

My son's ex girlfriend.

The woman I bought.

My problem.

Emilie.

She didn’t say a word. Just stood there, Watching me. Watching the blood on my hands, the dark look on my face, the monster I didn’t bother to hide.

I expected her to flinch, or run. Or disappear into her room.

But she didn’t.

She just… stood there.

Unmoving.

Eyes locked with mine.

There was something in her stare that sent a strange heat crawling under my skin. Not fear. Not disgust.

Defiance.

Or maybe… understanding.

I exhaled, slow and tight, and wiped my hands on a cotton cloth. The same way I’d done a hundred times before. But this time, I felt her watching every movement. Like she wanted to know what kind of man came home with blood on his knuckles and no regret in his soul.

She turned and walked away without a word.

I watched her until the last strand of her hair disappeared down the hall.

Then I walked to my study, poured a drink, and stood in the silence with only the crackle of the fireplace to keep me company.

She was going to be a problem.

And I wasn’t sure I wanted to solve it.