{ Enzo }
" You still haven't found her ?!" I growled into the phone my fist tightening around it.
" If you don't find her in five f***ing minutes I'll kill you all!" I warned yeeting my second phone to the ground my fists clenching.
I paced around my room my every thought stuck on Mia. " Where the f*** is she ?" I breathed heavily my head throbbing.
" I need a cigar..." I sighed massaging my temples.
" She can't even f***ing walk ! Can't even breathe properly..." I sighed blowing out smoke.
Every minute felt like hours I was dazed, until my timer went off and there it was in big bold letters mocking me. Five minutes is up .
I yelled standing up." I'm finding her myself!" I decided veins popping on my arms.
I barged out of the house, hands fumbling in my pockets for the keys. "Where the f*** are they?!" I yelled as they slipped to the ground.
" S-Sir w-where are you going?" A scrawny voice echoed behind me replaying in my head.
I turned to him my eyes burning. " I don't pay you to question me! " I yelled. "if you find her.. call me." I whispered my muscles tense.
I got in my car my head throbbing. " Mia I swear if anything happened to you... You're dead..." I whispered starting the car a devilish smile gracing my face.
I slammed the car door shut, the engine growling to life under my fingers. My hands trembled around the wheel, knuckles white, my heart hammering.
The street was quiet, too quiet, the kind of silence that makes you feel like the world is holding its breath. I floored the accelerator, tires screeching slightly as I swerved through the turns, eyes scanning every shadow, every corner.
"She can't have gone far," I muttered, teeth gritted. "She's limping. She can't even run." My hand flexed against the wheel, the leather creaking under my grip.
Every passerby made my blood boil. Is that her? No… wrong hair… wrong eyes… My vision narrowed, focus sharpening with every block. I cursed under my breath, slamming the horn at a car parked too close to the curb, ignoring the startled driver.
I drove slower, leaning forward, peering down alleys and driveways, fists tapping the wheel in frustration. Each pause, each faint sound made me twitch. A plastic bag rustled in the wind, and I nearly jerked the wheel.
"Where are you, Mia?!" I shouted into the empty.
Two hours. Nothing.
" Where the f*** could she be!" I cursed for the tenth time in five minutes.
I took out my phone. ' No Messages '
" F*** "
My fists clenched and my breathing grew ragged.
I clenched the wheel, my veins popping, and dialed the number I swore I'd never use again. The line clicked.
"Well, well… Enzo," a deep voice rasped, amusement dripping from it. "Didn't think I'd hear from you again. What's wrong? Run out of enemies to kill?"
"Shut the f*** up," I growled, my teeth grinding. "I don't have time for your games. A girl slipped through my hands. Blond hair. Sixteen. Limping. She couldn't have gone far."
There was a pause. Then a chuckle, sharp and cold. "You're calling me… over a girl? Damn. She must be special."
"She's mine," I hissed. "And I want her back. Now."
The man laughed again, low and twisted. "Fine, I'll find her. But… when I do, you mind if I have some fun first? A little screaming, a little blood — you know how I work. Break her legs maybe, peel her skin a bit. Just to soften her up before I hand her back."
My grip on the wheel turned bone-white, fury boiling in my chest. "What the f*** did you just say?"
"Relax, Enzo. I'm not stealing your prize. Just asking if I can… play."
That was it. I slammed the brakes, the car screeching to a halt. The car behind me almost rammed into mine, horn blaring.
"MOVE, YOU MANIAC!" the driver screamed out his window.
The sound snapped the last thread holding me together. My vision blurred with red.
I growled into the phone, voice shaking. "You find her. You don't touch her. Not a single f***ing finger. Or I'll kill you slower than anyone I've ever killed before."
Before he could answer, I ended the call and tossed the phone onto the passenger seat. My hands were trembling, my chest heaving.
The horn behind me blared again.
That poor bastard didn't know he'd just lit the match.
***
I yanked the driver out of his car before he could finish his sentence. He'd been shouting, eyes wide, but the look on his face didn't last long.
My first punch landed on his jaw with a hard crack. He staggered, surprise flickering into panic. I didn't give him time to find his balance. Fist after fist, each hit came faster, angrier — jaw, ribs, temple — the sound of skin on bone echoing off the parked cars. He tasted metal and fear. His hands scrabbled uselessly at my arms, but I was already on him, a storm with nowhere else to go.
Another blow — thud — and his knees buckled. He tried to cover his face, but my hand found his nose; it broke with a dull, wet sound. He coughed, blood mixing with spit, and his voice turned into a ragged gurgle. Still I didn't stop. Every strike was a question: where is she? Every punch an answer that only made the ache in my chest worse.
Two guys from his car jumped out, yelling, trying to pull me off. They thought they could intervene. They thought wrong. One stepped forward with fists up, jaw set, but when I turned and looked at him — when my eyes went cold and my hands kept trembling with that barely contained fury — the courage melted away. The second grabbed his arm and shoved him back. Both froze, then took two hesitant steps back, faces drained of color. The street held its breath.
I delivered another blow that sent the first driver crashing against his hood. He sagged there, breathing ragged, eyes starting to roll. His hands hung limp. I gripped his collar and hauled him up to look him dead in the eyes.
"You ever fucking yell at me again?" I hissed, voice low and broken. "You ever try to be a hero for some punk, and I'll find you. I will find you and make you wish you weren't born."
He tried to speak. Nothing came. His body went slack in my arms. I felt the final weight of him and knew then he wasn't getting up.
I let him drop. He hit the pavement with a dull thump, face down, breathing shallow. The two men who'd tried to intervene stayed where they were, trembling, watching the result of crossing the wrong man. One of them vomited; the other wiped his mouth and looked away like he'd seen a ghost.
I stood over the fallen man, chest heaving, fists still tight. My knuckles stung, skin split and warm where he'd hit back at me once. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, tasted copper, and a single cold satisfaction slid through me like a knife. It wasn't enough. It never was.
Then I climbed back into the car and sped off, leaving the two scared men on the curb and the silence of a city that suddenly felt much smaller.