Page 12 of Bound in Ruin

I lean in closer, forcing him to look straight into my eyes. "Your enemies aren’t in this room, Harold. I am. I am the one you should fear the most. I am your judgment."

Before he can squeeze out another plea, I shift my grip and clip the pliers right onto the bridge of his nose. With a sharp, sudden jerk of my wrist, I twist—tearing flesh and snapping cartilage with a sickening crunch.

Harold’s voice shrieks into a pitch of pure agony. He thrashes against the chair, choking on his own blood as he rattles off four names without stopping to breathe.

"Archibald! Vane! Moretti! And... and Senator Hayes!" he sobs, gasping for air. "That's all of them! I swear to God, that's everyone!"

I hold the pliers steady, watching the blood stream down his chin, and study his eyes for any flicker of deceit.

"Are you sure, Harold?" I ask, my voice smooth and measured.

"Yes! Yes, I swear on my life, Dominic!" he blubbers, coughing as blood hits his lips. "I swear on my kids' lives! That's all four of them! Please, just make it stop!"

I smile—a quiet, cold thing—and slowly release the pliers. I set the bloody tool down on the wooden armrest beside his mangled hand. I reach out, gently patting his bruised, bloody cheek like an old friend comforting a sick dog.

"You did fine, Harold," I say softly. "You did real fine."

A ragged sigh of relief hitches in his throat. He looks up at me through swollen, tear-filled eyes, his voice desperate and small. "Dominic... please. Forgive me. I made a mistake. Please let me go... forgive me."

"I've forgiven you," I reply without missing a beat, my tone entirely sincere. "It's already forgotten."

His eyes begin to fill with hope. The tension leaves his slumping shoulders as he genuinely believes he's getting out of this room alive. He actually thinks there's a world where a traitor walks away from me.

"And because I have forgiven you," I say smoothly, "I want to set you free from the pain."

Before the realization can even register on his face, I whip out my piece from the holster under my jacket.

His eyes widen in sudden, blinding horror, his lips parting as he opens his mouth to scream. But before he can squeeze out a single word, I squeeze the trigger, sending a bullet straight into his skull.

The loud crack echoes off the concrete walls, and his head lolls back, instantly going limp against the chair.

I lower the weapon, step forward, and gently reach out to close his open eyes. I turn to Keane, who hasn't flinched an inch, and slide the gun back into its holster. "Let's go. Text the men to come clean this up."

I walk straight out of the basement, leaving the bloody scene behind, and Keane follows a pace behind me, his fingers already flying across his phone as he sends the message to the cleanup crew.

In the car, I stare out at the passing trees, my mind already calculating the fallout from those four names.

"Keane," I say, my voice cutting through the hum of the engine. "How many children does Harold have?"

Keane glances at me in the rearview mirror, his brow furrowing slightly before he pulls out his tablet. "Give me a minute."

I lean back against the headrest, looking out the tinted window as the city lights blur together in the afternoon shade.

A few minutes later, Keane breaks the silence. "Three kids. Ten, seven, and five. Young wife, too. Thirty-two."

I hum softly, watching a flash of guard rails pass us by on the highway. "Send some money to the wife," I tell Keane. "Make sure they have security for a year. Ensure no one touches them."

Keane nods once, his fingers moving across his tablet without missing a beat. "Understood, Boss."

Instead of heading home, I have Keane call an urgent meeting with all the top power players and key leaders of my empire. The more I sit with the names Harold bled out, the more certain I am.

Securing my grip by locking down Rosalia isn't just an advantage; it's a strike that neutralizes half our enemies in one move. The quicker I put a ring on her finger, the better it is for me and my position.

I don’t give a single damn about anyone else in this city, nor do I care what objections they'll choke on.

An hour later, I push open the double brass doors and stride into the executive board hall at the center of our downtown operations. The heavy silence in the room instantly shifts.

Every eye in the long mahogany room snaps straight to me, burning with intense curiosity and unasked questions as they wonder what emergency could possibly warrant such an abrupt sum-up.