Chapter 8
The air in the salon seemed to freeze. The sheer, sociopathic audacity of Adrian's defense—claiming it was only for one night—pushed the veteran Mafia boss to the absolute edge of his immense self-control.
"He wanted to humiliate me," Massimo repeated slowly, tasting the words. He looked around the brightly lit room, the cinematic light catching the grim, furious faces of his loyal capos. Every man in the room was waiting for the order to execute the traitor on the floor.
Massimo looks down at Adrian. The cold, piercing intensity in his eyes was entirely devoid of human empathy. He did not yell. He did not scream. He used a tone so perfectly measured, so devoid of warmth, that it froze the blood in Adrian's veins.
“Tell me, who was that strange man?” Massimo demanded. His voice was quiet, lethal, vibrating with an absolute promise of imminent death.
Adrian face became frightened. The sheer terror of the question stripped away the last remnants of his bravado. To name the man was to declare a full-scale war, a war that would likely result in the deaths of hundreds of men across the city. But to stay silent meant Massimo would tear the truth out of him piece by piece.
"If I tell you... you have to let my mother go," Adrian bartered, his American accent trembling violently. "She didn't know about the deal. She just knew I was in trouble. Let her walk out of here, and I'll give you the name."
"You are in no position to negotiate the terms of your execution," Massimo replied smoothly. He reached out and grabbed the lapels of Adrian’s ruined suit, hauling the broken man upward just enough to increase the agonizing pressure on his shattered ribs.
Adrian screamed, a high-pitched, pathetic sound that echoed off the high ceilings.
"Massimo, stop! You're killing him!" Evelyn sobbed from beneath the ribbon boxes, struggling uselessly against the bodyguards who held her down.
"I have not even begun to kill him," Massimo promised quietly. He leaned closer to Adrian's ear. "You will give me the name. Or I will have the doctor keep you alive in the basement for weeks. I will take everything from you, slowly. The choice is yours. A quick bullet, or a very long month."
Adrian gasped for air, his fair, rosy skin pale and slick with sweat. He looked into the dead, unblinking eyes of his father-in-law and realized that the monster of Chicago was not a myth.
"It was... it was Volkov," Adrian choked out, blood spilling from his lips. "Ivan Volkov."
A heavy, stunned silence dropped over the capos. Ivan Volkov was the brutal, unhinged underboss of the Russian Bratva syndicate that controlled the northern territories. He was a man known for his unspeakable cruelties, a man who had been pushing against the Caradonna borders for over a year.
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"Volkov," Massimo whispered, his jaw locking tight.
"He said... he said he wanted to send a message," Adrian wept, completely breaking under the pressure. "He said that if I gave him the keys to the room, he would forgive the debt and back my play to take over your seat when the time came. I'm sorry, Massimo. I'm so sorry."
