Mafia's Art of Love
I said without looking at him, waiting patiently for the metal to heat up.
"What?"
"I said, try again," I growled, my voice cold and low.
"Mr. Gabriel?"
"Wrong." I smirked, and then placed the hot blade on his palm. But that wouldn't hurt, right? I shifted slightly to where it would hurt most.
This time, he couldn't hold back the scream as the searing metal sunk into his flesh. His friends watched in stunned horror.
I leaned close to his ear. "My name is Luciano Russo, heir to the Italian Mafia. And I'm just getting started with you."
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