“I have been enjoying the excellent skills your wife can offer me, my friend. And enjoying the opulence that I now live in thanks to your money.” He’s trying to goad me, but I still can’t see how he is going to win this. It is then I realize that he has nothing. Nothing but his pure arrogance and false sense of power. He baited us here tonight to kill us with this measly team of adolescents.

It would be almost laughable if I wasn’t out for his blood.

“Well, I am glad you can enjoy her, I certainly no longer do. She is all yours, my friend... at least for the next few hours, as you will be dead before morning breaks.” His nostrils flair and his jaw clenches, the thought of him not winning this war dawning on him as he becomes visibly uneasy.

“It is the two of you against the eight of us. Simple math tells me that you are on the losing side, Dante, not me,” he retorts with another shit-eating grin, and I still can’t believe how stupid this guy is.

I say nothing back to him and tilt my head in curiosity. He stands then and leans toward me to whisper, “But I will be the one to take your life.” There’s a flash of silver as a knife appears. I lean away from him just in time and it slices the top of my shoulder.

“You worthless piece of shit. You can’t even kill me from a few inches away!” I mock, laughing before nodding to the booths on either side of Federico’s. My men stand up, guns already pulled and pointed at the back of everyone's head.

“Fuck,” Federico mutters.

“16 to eight Federico. Simple math would say you are outnumbered,” I grit out to him, the pain in my shoulder now burning, but my anger at him cannot be deterred.

“Do it,” I say to my team, and one by one, each man is taken out of the club. His men are guided out the back, where they get a swift and painless end to their mafia life. Two of my soldiers, along with Carter and I, take Federico with us, back to the compound. Because I need some answers.

An hour later, with my shirt soaked in blood and Federico chained by his hands to the ceiling, Carter and I stand before him, demanding information. His skinny frame dangles, his feet unable to touch the floor, and he knows his time is up. There is no way out of this for him.

“Where is our money, Federico?” I ask him again, for the second time tonight.