All Yours

XX

LORENZO

The next day, I made it my sole purpose to deal with the pathetic excuse of a man who dared to lay a hand on my girl.

After my men dragged him from the office bathroom, I had him secured in the underground basement of my penthouse—a private little setup where I can ensure people learn lessons the hard way. Aurora had wandered dangerously close to this place yesterday while exploring, but luckily, she ended up finding the gym instead. Timing worked in my favor.

It's sometime between 1 and 2 AM now, the city outside is silent, and Aurora is fast asleep in my bed. Again. I've told her she's not allowed to lift a damn finger until she's fully healed. She argued, naturally, that she could still work, but I didn't back down. Tough luck, little dove.

I've been trying to give her space. Trying. But every second I'm away from her feels like I'm being torn apart, my skin itching with the need to be near her. It's maddening.

After checking in on her one more time—just to make sure she's sound asleep—I hear her soft little snores and feel my chest tighten in a way I can't explain. Satisfied that she's resting, I head down to the basement. It's time to end this.

As I open the heavy cell door, I'm greeted by the pathetic sight of Ivan, head hanging low, his arms outstretched and chained above him. His wrists are rubbed raw from the iron cuffs, and his legs are bound together with equally tight chains, rendering him utterly powerless.

Good. He deserves every second of it.

I spot an empty steel cup on a nearby shelf and hurl it directly at his head. It smashes against his forehead with a loud clang, and his head jerks up, his groan of pain echoing in the dimly lit room. Pussy.

His bleary eyes finally register me, and the recognition sparks instant fear. He shrinks back as much as his restraints allow, trembling like the weak little rat he is.

"L-look, man," he stammers, his voice shaky. "I-I don't know what I did, but it's gotta be a misunderstanding! I swear!" His words are frantic, his breath hitching as tears begin to well up in his bloodshot eyes.

I stand still, letting the silence hang heavy in the air, watching him squirm. He seems to mistake my quiet for an invitation to plead more. Idiot.

"If this is about that chick from the office," he starts, and my jaw tightens at the way he refers to Aurora, "she came onto me, man! She played me! Women, right? Always stirring up trouble, jumping from man to man." He lets out a forced, awkward laugh, looking at me for some sort of camaraderie like we're two guys swapping jokes at a bar.

I don't laugh. Instead, I let the rage simmer beneath my skin, bubbling hotter with every word that spills from his disgusting mouth. My hand moves to the gun tucked at the back of my waistband. Slowly, deliberately, I pull it out and point it squarely at his crotch.

His laughter dies instantly, replaced by wide, panic-filled eyes. "Wait, wait! Please, no!" he blubbers, his words slurring as he starts sobbing uncontrollably. "I didn't mean it! I swear, I didn't mean it!"

His voice is grating, his pleas too loud and desperate for my liking. I cock the gun, and his sobs turn into full-on wailing. Jesus, he's loud.

"Please! No! I'll do anything! Anything!" he shrieks, but his words fall on deaf ears.

Without hesitation, I pull the trigger.

The shot rings out, and his scream pierces the air as the bullet tears through him, landing exactly where I aimed. Blood splatters onto the floor as he convulses, his cries of agony echoing in the enclosed space. God, he's even louder now.