Chapter 12

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.