Nico's POV
One look at the state of my kitchen—and the face of one of my men, who looked like he would love nothing more than to smash a hole into Carmen's head—and I already knew what had happened. Especially with the way the man clutched his crotch again, gingerly, like even breathing too hard might set off another wave of pain.
A smile tugged at the edge of my lips as I fixed my gaze on Carmen.
She hadn't changed a bit.
Still hot-headed. Still proud. Still standing like she owned every room she walked into.
"What happened here?" I asked.
My smile widened as she looked straight at me, glaring like I was somehow responsible for the chaos scattered across my kitchen floor.
Was I?
Nah. I didn't think so. Not this time.
"Your man attacked me! I thought we had a deal!" she snapped.
Instantly, I knew she was fishing.
If she was going to know where she stood, then she needed to know exactly where I stood. Especially since we hadn't seen each other in at least five years. It was the first rule of outsmarting your enemy—know them just as much as you know yourself.
My smile widened further.
I was having fun.
More fun than I expected to have on a night that was supposed to be painfully boring, dealing with traitors in my organization.
Maybe I could give her a handicap, I decided. It would make things more interesting.
Ignoring the part of the deal she'd referenced, I leaned slightly against the counter and beamed at her.
"You don't seem to have a scratch on you… yet he attacked first?" I asked lightly.
From the way her eyes narrowed, it was obvious she didn't like that response. She abandoned the plate she had been in the middle of preparing and turned fully to face me instead, her glare sharp enough to cut through steel.
I stepped closer to the other side of the counter.
The man beside her—whose face I didn't even recognize—stood with his head bowed, shoulders hunched, not daring to look at me.
"Should I have stood still and allowed myself to be hit?" Carmen shot back.
Her voice carried that same familiar bite I remembered from years ago. Then she gestured toward the men behind me.
"Business partners?" she asked, curiosity burning in her eyes.
Though I was sure she had already drawn her own conclusions about who they were.
Seeing no reason to prolong introductions, I gestured casually.
"Carmen, meet my managers."
I pointed behind me one by one.
"Victor. Leo. And Marco."
Each of them acknowledged her with a nod, though their attention kept drifting between the mess in the kitchen and the tension in the room.
Then I turned slightly toward them.
"The three of you should meet Carmen."
Of course, they already knew who she was. Information traveled fast in our world, and the moment I bought her and brought her into my home, the news spread wide and far.
Especially since two other mafia Dons were still desperately bidding for her.
"…I grew up with her before we had to unfortunately part ways," I added smoothly.
Even as the words left my mouth, Carmen's voice cut through.
"Managers?"
Her eyes held a wary look, almost like she didn't quite believe the information I had just given her.
"I'm in charge of the West region of Montavero," I told her with a soft smile, watching as the realization flickered across her face.
I didn't elaborate.
I didn't need to.
I simply let the silence stretch long enough for her mind to begin filling in the gaps. Questions were already building behind her cautious, confused expression.
But I ignored them.
Instead, I shifted my attention to the man standing beside her, trying to figure out the best way to use him to pass a message.
Especially to Carmen.
Without another word, I moved toward the drawers along the counter and pulled one open with the easy familiarity of someone who knew exactly where everything was.
Inside lay several kitchen tools.
My hand settled on a long, serrated knife.
When I pulled it out, Carmen practically gasped—with her eyes, not her voice.
I found it amusing how the daughter of one of the most ruthless mafia lords still flinched at the thought of killing.
One of the many things I intend to show her, I reminded myself.
"Who do you belong to?" I asked calmly.
The man immediately began trembling from head to toe. I could see the panic rising in him like a tide, so I softened my voice.
"It's okay. It's okay," I murmured gently. "Just put your hands on the table."
I stepped behind him.
That seemed to calm him slightly. In our world, losing a few fingers was practically a rite of passage. Painful, yes—but survivable. Something that could even become a badge of honor.
"I'm under Marco!" he stammered quickly. "I—I am very loyal and I was sent in to get some food because the meeting went on longer than… than it should."
His voice shook with every word.
I nodded slowly, listening with an understanding expression as if what he was saying truly mattered.
Carefully, I adjusted my grip on the knife. The last thing I wanted to do was make a mess.
"Still… what were you thinking?" I sighed softly, glancing at Carmen with a faint smile while I continued speaking.
She stood on the other side of the man now.
Her face had grown noticeably paler, and her hands were clenched so tightly at her sides that her knuckles had turned white.
"…you come into my house and you make a mess," I said quietly.
I didn't even address whatever intentions he might have had toward Carmen.
That wasn't the issue.
"Do you think that's forgivable?" I asked.
My voice stayed low, firm.
My gaze never left Carmen's as I stepped closer, positioning myself directly behind the man and resting my right hand—the one holding the knife—lightly on his shoulder.
"…yes, Boss!" he blurted desperately. "I'll clean up! I'll—It'll never happen again! I'm very—"
But by then, I had already heard enough.
Leaning slightly against him, I reached forward with my free hand and gently guided his face to the side so he could look at me.
His eyes were wide and wet with tears.
Pure terror stared back at me.
I smiled at him softly.
"Hush…" I murmured. "It's okay… it's okay…"
My voice carried the same soothing tone someone might use with a frightened child.
At the same time, my knife slid upward beneath his jaw.
And then—
I cut.
One smooth motion from ear to ear.
Deep enough. Clean enough.
Blood burst out instantly, spraying like a crimson fountain. It soaked his shirt, my clothes, and splattered across Carmen as well.
The man jerked violently, choking as the wet sound of tearing flesh filled the kitchen. His hands flew to his neck, pressing desperately against the wound as if he could somehow force the blood back inside.
But it poured through his fingers anyway.
Hot.
Relentless.
Exactly the message I wanted to send.
As he staggered forward against the counter, I lifted my eyes and looked toward Marco.
The man had gone pale, shock written plainly across his face.
Good.
Maybe next time he would think twice before hiring idiots.
Idiots who didn't understand the simple meaning of manners.
Or the art of deportment.