The person tied to the chair glared at Maverick, his white shirt was bloodied and torn.
"I would like to make this easy for us," Maverick said, his tone level, almost conversational. He did not enjoy beating around the bush.
Leaning back in the metal chair opposite his captive, he crossed one leg over the other as if they were discussing business over a glass of wine instead of in a concrete basement that smelled of rust and bleach.
"You give me what I want," Maverick continued, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt, "and I let you walk out of here with your body intact. You don't…" He tilted his head slightly. "We get creative."
"I cannot help you." The captive didn't hesitate to say it, as if it were to be his last words on earth.
Maverick chuckled and staŕed at him for a while before continuing like he hadn't heard him, "Where's the ledger?"
The man in chains lifted his head and smiled creepily, as if he was in thought, before spitting blood on Maverick's shoes, his mouth dripping with blood as he spoke, "Go to hell."
Maverick stared down at the red stain on his polished leather, his expression remaining unchanged.
From the corner of the room, Gavin, his underboss, shifted his weight, slowly cracking his knuckles. Two other capos stood by the steel door, folding their arms, and maintaining their stoic faces like they had seen nothing even though they were more than ready to strike at any snap of the fingers.
Maverick exhaled slowly.
"I know you were the last person with Don Santiano, a few seconds before he was killed," he said.
"I know Malviero's men didn't get to the ledger before I did," his tone turned razor-thin. "So I'll ask you again… where is it?"
The person didn't answer.
He didn't scoff or sneer.
He simply just stared ahead, breathing shallowly, blood drying against the torn fabric of his shirt.
Maverick's gaze dropped.
There was a dark, spreading stain across the captive's chest. A deep wound which was clearly recent and painful, apparentlycaused by a gunshot.
"I thought we were past this, Meshach," Maverick sighed when he got no reply.
He stood, then stepped forward and crouched in front of him. Slowly and deliberately, he reached out for the wound.
His fingers hovered over it before pressing lightly against it.
Meshach jerked, a sharp hiss escaping through his clenched teeth as pain flared through him.
Maverick watched his reaction closely. Not with pleasure but with assessment.
"I never intended to torture you tonight," he continued, voice calm, almost regretful. "Not because I couldn't."
He pressed slightly harder.
"But because of our past… relationship."
"Don't force me to reconsider–"
"Do whatever you want!" Meshach snapped, his teeth grinding as fury burned through him. "We stopped being friends the moment you withdrew your loyalty to Don Santiano and decided to build your empire against him!"
The name lingered in the air like smoke.
Meshach's face twisted, not just with disgust, but something even deeper.
Betrayal. Wounded pride. Perhaps even regret.
"You've got what you always wanted," he continued, shrugging against the ropes, offering a bitter smile. "Your throne. Your territory. Your power."
His eyes sharpened.
"I'd love to see you rule your… new empire…" He raised a brow mockingly. "…without the one thing that proves you're truly victorious."
The implication was deliberate and calculated.
Several of Maverick's men stiffened at the edges of the room. A few stepped forward instinctively, hands twitching, waiting for permission.
Meshach's voice dropped into a taunting murmur.
"Maybe then, I'd finally call you Godfather—"
"Enough."
The single word cracked through the room like a gunshot.
Maverick's jaw tightened, a muscle ticking visibly as he fixed Meshach with a cold, unwavering stare. He didn't raise his voice again- he didn't even need to.
His gaze shifted slightly toward one of his men—just a flicker of eye contact that sent a silent order.
Gavin moved immediately, stepped toward the steel table at the side of the room and flipping open a black case with a measured click.
Inside, the contents gleamed under the harsh light.
Maverick stepped closer to Meshach once more, his expression now stripped of irritation. What remained was something far more dangerous—calculated resolve.
"I'll ask one last time," Maverick stood again, his patience thinning but not breaking, almost like there was a restraint pulling him back.
"Where. Is. The. Ledger?" This time, Gavin brought the case close to him. Inside, there were pliers, a blowtorch and a syringe arranged neatly in it like surgical instruments.
Meshach saw Maverick pick one of the pliers, taking his sweet time and he briefly closed his eyes, wincing now and then from the gunshot wound on his chest.
Having been part of the underworld for years, he had received his own fair share of tortures and tragedies even in the Alexandro's estate but right now, he was weak...extremely weak, so that he still didn't believe he was breathing since the past few days of his predicaments.
Maverick took the plier and weighed it in his hand before bringing it closer to the fresh wound and stabbing it into the hole, forcing Meshach to scream in agony at the pressure.
He was sweating profusely, trying to keep himself awake when the plier dug into his skin again, and his chair screeched as he jolted, his body felt like it was on fire.
Maverick pulled out the plier once more, ready to plunge it when Meshach's voice came, low and barely audible, "You don't have to do this." He said, dropping his head low.
Maverick halted, staring at him with an unreadable expression.
"I don't," he agreed. "If only you'd give me what I want."
He saw Meshach raise his head up, "You already have what you want."
"I do," Maverick nodded, suddenly having an idea as he leaned into Meshach's ear,
"I have Lucrezia."
Meshach stilled for a moment, and his eyes widened but before he could properly react, Maverick dug the plier the third time into his wound, causing him to shout in pain.
This time however, he pulled it out along with a small lead that was coated in blood, falling to the ground.
He got up immediately, glancing at the bullet before giving Meshach one last glare.
"You have three days," Maverick said evenly, leaning forward just enough for his shadow to fall across the man's face. "Three days to tell me where the ledger is."
He deliberately let the silence stretch.
"After that… we'll have to say our final goodbyes."
His fingers slipped from the plier and it hit the concrete floor with a sharp metallic clang, the sound ricocheting around the room.
Maverick didn't look back.
He turned and walked toward the door, his footsteps unhurried but measured. He didn't need to add any other threat, Meshach understood perfectly well that this was no jesting.
His countdown had already begun.