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I hit him again. “Did I not just say you have to apologize to her? Not me. Her. And whether you’re alive to see the sun rise tomorrow depends on her mercy. If it were up to me, Gio would already be putting your worthless corpse in a body bag.”

Standing, I tell Gio to zip-tie Greg’s wrists behind him and stay with him in the entryway until Kira returns with Vinny. Then I text the latter and let him know he can bring my wife back home.

While we wait, I wash my hands in the kitchen sink. The blood turns the water pink, then clear. I dry my knuckles on a dish towel. Someone scared what’s mine. In my house. The thought circles like a shark, feeding on something dark and hungry in my chest.

I’ve built an empire on discipline, on control, on the understanding that my people follow orders or they suffer. And yet, here we are. My wife alone in a hallway, running from a man who works for me.

Fuck, I hope she wants Greg dead. No one scares my wife but me, and I’d love to make him an example.

Checking my phone, I open the tracking app, the one linked to the phone I gave Kira. The dot appears on the map—moving, getting closer. She’s in the garage. Just as I realize that, the elevator moves, and I know it’s on its way to the garage where she waits with Vinny.

I’m back in the hallway, standing right behind Greg just as the elevator dings and the door slides open. Kira laughs at something, telling Vinny she’ll have to try it someday. There’s still a smile on her lips as she steps out of the car.

She opens her mouth, but as soon as she sees Greg, bloody and on his knees, she screams and jumps back. “Oh my God!” She slaps her hand over her mouth as the color drains from her face.

I watch her take in the sight before her: the blood on the floor and Greg’s slumped form.

“Greg has something he’d like to say to you,” I inform my wife, kicking Greg.

He lifts his head, showing her the blood that has crusted around his nostrils, down to his chin. His voice comes out cracked, wet, barely above a whisper.

“I’m sorry for frightening you, Mrs. DeLuca. It won’t happen again. I swear.”

Kira looks down at him with pity and tears filling her beautiful hazel eyes. “W-what’s the meaning of this?” she asks, looking up at me after a lengthy silence.

“Do you accept his apology?” I ask.

“What?”

Bending down, I grab the back of Greg’s neck and squeeze. “It seems my wife isn’t clear on why you’re apologizing. Try again.”

Greg stammers out another apology, and this time, he makes sure to include all his sins as well as the night it happened. Even though he’s rushing through the explanation, he’s being thorough.

I look up at my wife, noting how much she’s trembling. “Do you accept his apology or not?” I ask again.

“Domenico,” she breathes, lifting her gaze to mine. “W-why did you do this?”

“Answer the question.”

“Y-yes,” she whispers. “I accept.”

“Get him out of here,” I say to Vinny and Gio. “Clean him up. Then take him to Siberia. Greg’s back to working the streets.”

They know I’m not literally talking about Siberia, as in Russia. In fact, it’s probably worse. Because now he’s back to being a street rat, stripped of his rank, his access, and every privilege he earned climbing through my organization.

He’ll collect debts, watch corners, run errands, and do whatever shit job gets handed to him. There’ll be no penthouse access, no cushy assignments, and definitely no respect. Greg’s back on the bottom rung until I decide he’s suffered enough to start climbing again.

Or have him killed.

Greg gets to his feet with Gio’s help, unsteady, blood dripping onto his shirt. Vinny holds the elevator until they’re all inside. I stay still until the doors close behind them.

Kira hasn’t moved at all. Her hands are still trembling—I can see it from here, the fine shake in her fingers. Her bottom lip is caught between her teeth, bitten white.

“Are you okay?” I ask, crossing to where she’s standing.

“S-stop.” She holds her hand up and takes a step backward. “Don’t come any closer, Domenico.”

I arch an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”