Matten strode purposefully toward the rundown building where he and his crew held their secret meetings. Two men flanked the entrance, holding the heavy door open for him. He passed through the dusty dining area, the air thick with the scent of neglect and stale smoke, and made his way to the back of the house. Upon his arrival, the men seated around the room jumped to their feet, but Matten paid them no mind. His focus was solely on the walk-in freezer at the far end. He rapped sharply on the door three times. Moments later, Frankie emerged with a casual swagger and handed him a thick file.
Matten stepped inside the cold, dimly lit freezer and cast his gaze on the man chained before him. This man barely resembled the polished photo Matten had once seen. His once light hair was matted, tangled, and stained with dark, congealing blood. His left eye was swollen shut, and blood dripped steadily from a wound hidden beneath the folds of his collar, pooling onto the cold concrete floor. His blue eyes, bloodshot and wide with fear, locked onto Matten’s. The heart monitor strapped to his arm beeped erratically, its rhythm pounding in the oppressive silence.
The man was strapped into an old-fashioned electric chair, a grim relic purchased by Matten’s father. The idea of using such a device for torture had always unsettled Matten. Yet, after taking control, he understood its brutal effectiveness—the unyielding straps, the unforgiving seat, and the sheer terror of being bound to such a device made breaking a man far easier.
“What’s with the duct tape?” Matten asked, his voice low but edged with irritation.
Frankie snorted behind him. “Wouldn’t shut up. Kept babbling about how his girlfriend’s in labor.”
Matten pulled a chair up to the metal table and sat down, his eyes never leaving the man. “Go find Giovanni. Leave me alone with him.”
“Right-o,” Frankie replied, stepping out.
The door creaked loudly as it shut behind them. Leo moved to the corner, balancing on his toes to flip the surveillance camera toward the ceiling. Matten calmly shifted several scalpels and screwdrivers aside, then set the file on the cold steel table and began to read aloud.
“Brian Alexander Woodall, 34, originally from Boston but recently relocated to New York.” Matten whistled softly. “Quite the record, Brian. Three arrests for assault, two for stalking, and three women who accused you of physical abuse. All charges wiped clean by the judge—your father, no less. Expunged, meaning no one caught in your orbit can see your true nature.”
He clicked his tongue, disappointed. “You know what I hate about this line of work, Leo?”
“What’s that, Boss?”
“Men like me are hunted, watched, and exposed, all to be locked away. My reputation is out there for everyone to see, but assholes like this get to hide behind their dirty little secrets and keep doing their damage. Have you ever hit a woman?” Matten asked quietly.
“Not once,” Leo answered without hesitation.
“Neither have I. Even a cold-blooded killer understands there’s a code.” Matten shook his head slowly.
The man before him trembled violently as the heart monitor’s beeps quickened. The stench of urine filled the room, and Matten fought back the urge to gag. He let out a heavy sigh and leaned back in his chair.
—
“Do you know who I am?” Matten asked sharply.
The man nodded slowly at first, then more eagerly when Matten warned, “Good. Because once I remove this tape, I’ll break a finger for every word you speak without my permission. You understand me?”
Brian nodded frantically, tears streaming down his blood-streaked face. Matten gave a subtle nod to Leo, who stepped forward and ripped the duct tape from Brian’s mouth with such force it tore some skin from his cheeks. The man cried out in pain and slumped forward slightly.
“Do you know why I had my men bring you here?” Matten pressed.
Brian’s eyes darted nervously to Leo before he stammered, “I- I swear, Mr. Accordi, I don’t know. I’ve never been to one of your clubs. I don’t gamble, don’t owe money—I swear.”
Matten raised a hand to silence him and casually glanced back at the file. “I believe you, Mr. Woodall. It seems we’ve never taken a dime from you. That’s smart. Yet here you are. Any ideas why?”
Brian shook his head violently. “Please, sir, my girlfriend is…”
Before he could finish, Leo’s bat came crashing down on Brian’s right kneecap with a sickening crack. Brian’s scream echoed off the freezer walls, his leg now twisted unnaturally.
“Come on, Leo, I threatened his fingers, not his kneecaps.”
“Sorry, Boss.”
Matten stood and began rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt, revealing lean, muscular forearms. He stepped closer, placing a firm hand on Brian’s shoulder, forcing him to meet his gaze. “I’m aware of your fiancée’s condition. Rest assured, I’ll get you to the hospital soon enough.”
Brian exhaled shakily—a sound more like a sob of relief. Matten turned away. “But the condition you’ll be in when you arrive is up to you. Now, I ask again: why are you here?”
“I don’t know,” Brian whispered.
“I’ll give you one hint. Only one. You hurt someone I care about. A woman. What’s her name?”
“I- I’ve never hurt Mallory, I swear…”
Before Brian could finish, Leo’s bat slammed down on his left hand with a sickening crunch.
“Uh oh, looks like you broke the whole hand, Leo.”
“Should I get the hammer?”
“That would be more precise.”
“P-please…”
“Right. Apologies. Back to the matter at hand. It wasn’t Mallory. Who else?”
“I… D-Diana?”
—
“Diana?” Matten repeated, exchanging a glance with Leo. He shrugged before grabbing the hammer and bringing it down hard on one of Brian’s fingers. Brian screamed, pulling against his restraints, begging for mercy. “Please, no more…”
“Jesus Christ,” Leo muttered, rubbing his face in frustration.
“Think carefully, Brian,” Matten said, his anger simmering just beneath the surface. “We were at a wedding.”
Understanding dawned on Brian’s face, his jaw slack. “Gen… I didn’t… I just grabbed her arm…”
Matten’s fist shot out, connecting squarely with Brian’s jaw. “Did you hear that, Leo? He only grabbed her. The only thing he left were his filthy fingerprints pressed into her skin.”
Matten’s fists rained down five more times before he could rein in his fury. Brian spat blood onto the table, and Matten leaned forward, gripping Brian’s shoulder with a pressure that would be healing if applied correctly.
“Lucky for you, what you did sent her running to my bed.”
Brian looked up, a flicker of jealousy flashing in his eyes.
“That’s right. I’ve had her. Tasted every inch of that ivory skin and had her seeing double before dawn.”
Due to their chairs, Matten explained, he would give Brian a choice. He tapped Brian’s left knee with the mallet, then the right.
Brian looked down, his swollen eyes struggling to focus. “What?”
“It’s simple. Left or right? Choose, or I take both.”
Brian stared into Matten’s eyes for a long, tense moment. Matten couldn’t tell what he sought—pity, mercy, doubt—but none would be found. The silence, broken only by the heart monitor’s beeping and the drip of blood on concrete, stretched on. Finally, Brian’s head sagged, and his Adam’s apple bobbed.
“Right,” he whispered.
“Wise choice,” Matten said, stepping back toward the table of instruments.
Brian’s heart rate spiked as Matten picked up a rusty saw.
“I… I thought…”
“What? That I’d break your kneecap? You thought I’d go easy because it was already broken? No one touches what’s mine, Mr. Woodall. If I see you near Genevieve Sinclair again, I won’t be this merciful.”
Matten’s lips curled into a cold smile as the saw blade grazed Brian’s wrist, cutting slightly into the skin. “I hope you’re up to date on your tetanus shots. Hold still.”
—
Fifteen minutes later, Matten and Leo emerged from the freezer. Matten wiped his hands on a rag handed to him by a guard. Brian had long since passed out. Matten ordered two men to transport Brian to the back entrance of the hospital where his fiancée was giving birth, instructing them to ensure she had family or someone to help with the newborn now that the father was incapacitated. As he washed the blood from his hands, Marco appeared in the mirror’s reflection behind him.
“Called the screening firm in Boston,” Marco said quietly. “They’re taking the case. Should have the investigation wrapped up in a matter of days.”