Asa's POV
The warehouse was alive with noise per usual. There was the scrape of crates on concrete, the whine of forklifts and the bark of orders shouted in Italian.
This is the kind of place where loyalty was measured in tons of cargo and betrayal in ounces of blood.
I stood at the center of it, watching men twice my size move like ants at my command. The trucks were backed up against the loading docks, drivers waiting for the all-clear.
Marco, my underboss, approached, his forehead slick with sweat even though the air inside was cool. He carried a clipboard, but his nervous eyes gave away the truth before he spoke.
"Boss." He called. "Four crates are missing from the collection."
I slowly lifted my head, letting the silence grow sharp enough to cut. Every man in the vicinity froze, ears straining for my reaction.
"Four crates." I repeated. "From my shipment?"
"Yes, Boss. Could've been rerouted. Or maybe—"
"—stolen." I finished for him. The word dropped like a bullet casing.
Nobody moved at the moment. Even the forklifts seemed to quiet.
"You want me to believe crates disappear like smoke?" I said, as I stepped closer until Marco felt my presence crowd him."That someone just… misplaced weapons worth more than your mother's house?"
"We'll find them, Boss. I swear." Marco's throat bobbed
"You'd better." I said, leaning in. "Because if those crates don't reappear, I'll make an example of someone. Maybe you or maybe the men standing right here, praying I don't turn my attention on them."
I snapped my fingers, and two guards dragged forward a scrawny dockhand who'd been trying to edge his way toward the shadows. His eyes bulged, panic written all over his face. He had been caught sniffing around my office right when some money got stolen.
"No, no, please. Boss, I didn't touch nothing—"
I raised a hand and silence fell immediately.
"Tell me where the money is."
"I—I don't know!" He said. as fear leaked off him in waves, sweat beading at his temple. He might've been telling the truth. He might not. In my world, it didn't matter.
I nodded once and a gun clicked behind him. The man dropped to his knees, babbling.
"Boss, I swear, please... I got a family—"
"Then pray your family buries you well. Loyalty is the only family here." I crouched, forcing him to look me in the eye.
The shot rang out, echoing against steel beams and the man collapsed, his blood spilling on the concrete. The workers flinched, some crossing themselves, others staring straight ahead like statues as I stood, smoothing my jacket.
"Find my crates!" I ordered. "Or the next body on this floor will belong to someone you know."
Marco barked an order, snapping the men back to work. The air was taut with fear again, the kind of fear that kept everything running smoothly.
For a while, I watched in silence, tracking every detail: which men moved quickest, which hesitated, who avoided my gaze. Information was more valuable than the guns in those crates. Weakness showed itself in small gestures, and I was patient enough to notice.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a coded text. A confirmation that our shipment in Naples had arrived safely. At least one end of my empire still functioned without rot.
I slipped the phone away, and for no reason I could explain, another thought intruded my mind.
Eliana's face uninvitedly flashed behind my eyes. Her lips curving into that dangerous little smile, the way her body arched into mine when I had penetrated her. The memory of her was soft and warm against the steel edges of my world. I momentarily allowed the memory to distract me for the briefest second.
I reached into my pocket, my thumb brushing the smooth glass of my phone again.
Nothing. No message. No missed call. She had my number, but she hadn't used it.
The corner of my mouth twitched into something that wasn't quite a smile. Women always called. They craved the power, the danger, the taste of me long after I left their beds. But she hadn't. Which meant she was either smarter than most… or she was playing a game I hadn't seen before.
Interesting.
I dismissed the thought as quickly as it came, refocusing on the chaos of the warehouse. There would be time enough to decide what to do about her later. For now, my business demanded order.
A second man was dragged forward. A supervisor this time. He was bigger and tougher, but his eyes gave away the same fear.
"Boss." Marco called. "He's our prime suspect."
"Boss, I swear. Someone on the docks tipped the shipment. Word is, the Russians have been sniffing around. It could be them."
The Russians. A rival family bold enough to skim off my goods? If true, it was an insult too loud to ignore.
I walked in slow circles around the man, for a short while thinking about my judgement.
"If the Russians touched my shipment, then they've declared war." I stopped, facing him. "And if you're lying to cover your own theft, then you've declared war on me. Which do you prefer?"
"I—I'll prove it, Boss. Give me a day." The man's lips trembled.
"Give him twelve hours. If he doesn't deliver proof, put him in the river." I said with a nod, turning to Marco.
"Yes, Boss."
The man sagged in relief, though twelve hours wasn't mercy. It was a countdown.
As the guards hauled him away, I let my gaze sweep the warehouse again. Order was returning. Men moved faster, as if the blood still staining the floor had lit a fire under their feet.
This was the truth of my world. Fear. Power. Ruthless efficiency. And anyone who forgot that ended up like the dockhand cooling on the concrete.