Bunny |18+|

Ch.27

Domenico

[TW: Psychologically distressing]

The rolling doors were lowered and shut with a metal clang behind me.

In a lone, beaten down warehouse that was forgotten by the world, it sounded more like a gunshot.

I scowled, walking across the space to reach my brother. Darkness blanketed the sky, and just the howl of winter's breath through the crevices of this empty warehouse was enough to tick me the fuck off. Camillo stood from the second floor, his arms crossed with closure with his weight pressed against the metal railing above.

It was silent, other than very faint sounds that echoed from within the room behind him.

Weeping.

It was all too familiar—that cry paired with the light sounds of banging. They were the very same ones that came from the man I met a few nights ago.

The weeping of a broken man.

Merely shattered now knowing he's responsible for the death of his own coworker.

It was just us—Camillo and I ever since I gave him the order to let everyone leave early for the night. Five men promised me two living agents while my brother and I had other things to do.

Five men lied through their fucking teeth.

If trained mobsters couldn't even do something as simple as making sure two captives didn't go at each other's throats, then what gave them the bloody privilege to work under the shade of my trust? Those men will be dealt with, I'm sure of it.

"I've been waiting for half an hour. What were you doing? Canoodling with your bunny?" Camillo stated the fucking obvious. I stepped onto the second floor, a look of frustration on my face.

I ignored his question, "How's Daniel?"

"Did you or did you not just hear the banging behind me a few seconds ago?" He asked rhetorically. I knitted my brows, unashamed to show him that I didn't find his questions funny. "No, he's not ok," Camillo drawled, nudging his head towards the door, "something's up with his head."

Raw confusion scraped at my veins, enough to bubble up a concoction of frustration and anger within me. There had to be something going on within DEA if a lousy someone or something caused a sane man to turn mental in a span of a few days. So much so that he had to kill his own coworker.

"Has he eaten at least?" I asked, Camillo giving me an unsatisfying shake of the head.

It's been a few days since I last saw him, and even then he was close to skin and bones. Maybe it was the adrenaline rush that probably caused him to keep Quinn in a chokehold long enough to suffocate the man to death, if not maybe one of my men assisted—no it couldn't be.

These agents were supposed to give me answers, not dig a deeper hole to whatever bullshit Eva already stirred up.

God, I hated that woman.

I didn't want to wait any longer before I fell victim to yet another unwanted body in my hands and a haunting dead end. I gave Camillo and silent look and with my hand clasped onto the door handle and pushed it open.