My Abusive Ex Tried To Kill Me Over A Stolen Ledger — Then The City’s Deadliest Mafia Boss Walked In
Part 2
The crushing weight lifted so violently that the small sofa physically tipped backward before slamming down again.
I gasped desperately, rolling weakly onto my side.
I coughed violently as sweet air rushed rapidly back into my burning, empty lungs.
Hot tears streamed uncontrollably down my battered face.
The high-pitched ringing in my ears slowly faded, replaced by the terrifying sound of wet, tearing cartilage.
I forced my eyes open, blinking rapidly through the heavy blur of tears.
The chaotic scene in my tiny living room had completely changed in an instant.
Craig was no longer focused intently on strangling me.
He was pinned solidly against the far wall, his boots hovering three inches off the floorboards.
A man in an impeccably tailored charcoal wool suit held him effortlessly by the throat with just one hand.
The stranger looked like he had stepped completely out of a different, far more dangerous reality.
The sour, stale smell of Craig’s sweat was entirely replaced by the sharp, clean scent of ozone and expensive cologne.
It was Brian Costa.
He was significantly taller than I had ever imagined, his face composed entirely of sharp angles and deep shadows.
His pale gray eyes were locked intensely onto Craig’s rapidly swelling, purple face.
He simply stated, in a low and utterly calm voice, that Craig was making an unnecessary mess.
Craig gagged loudly, clawing uselessly at the pristine leather-gloved hand clamping his windpipe shut.
Absolute terror morphed his familiar features into something entirely pitiful as he finally recognized the man holding him.
Brian didn’t bother to pull a gun or shout a warning.
He simply adjusted his iron grip slightly, his knuckles turning white beneath the black leather.
With brutal, clinical efficiency, he slammed Craig’s head backward into the plaster wall.
The sound was wet, heavy, and deeply sickening.
The apartment’s plaster cracked instantly in a wide spiderweb pattern.
Craig’s arms fell completely limp to his sides.
Brian casually let go.
Craig collapsed awkwardly to the floor like a puppet with its strings completely severed.
Dark blood began to pool slowly beneath his head, staining the gray rug a deep crimson.
The room fell completely, terrifyingly silent.
Brian stood perfectly still over the body for a very long moment.
He pulled a pristine white handkerchief smoothly from his breast pocket.
He carefully and methodically wiped down the leather of his right glove.
He folded the handkerchief precisely, put it back, and slowly turned his head to look directly at me.
I pressed myself deeply into the corner of the sofa, trembling so hard my teeth chattered audibly.
He looked at me exactly the way a mechanic looks at a complicated, broken engine.
He calmly informed me that I was incredibly bad at sending simple emails.
My throat felt like it was lined thickly with broken glass.
I swallowed hard, tasting my own blood, and managed a raspy whisper.
I desperately explained that I had meant to email the mid-level fixer for an extraction.
Brian took a slow, deliberate step forward, his leather shoes clicking softly.
He stepped casually over the spreading puddle of Craig’s blood.
He explained, his tone conversational, that the fixer was already dead for skimming from his shipments.
He had personally commandeered the fixer’s digital assets to track down any loose ends.
He had intercepted my desperate, coded message on his secure server.
His pale eyes dropped slowly to the canvas duffel bag resting on the floor.
He nudged it slightly with his expensive shoe, noting its heavy weight.
He crouched down smoothly, unzipped the bag, and completely bypassed my packed clothes.
His gloved hand reached straight to the bottom and pulled out the thick, encrypted leather ledger.
I closed my eyes as another hot tear tracked slowly down my bruised cheek.
I had just traded a reckless, violent thug for the city’s absolute most dangerous predator.
Would this terrifying apex predator be my ultimate undoing, or my only chance at salvation?
