Page 8 of Enforcer's Obsession

He stopped no more than three feet away from the door, seeming unconcerned that the two men in front of him were holding rifles.

“I assume this display is to get my attention,” he said.

Both of the men smirked, and the one farthest from the door lifted his gun.

“No, Nico. But this is,” the man farthest from the door said.

I flinched with each sharp shot, unable to believe what I was seeing as two men at a table crumpled, then fell face-first, clearly dead.

“Any questions?” the man with a rifle who was closest to the door asked.

“No. I got your message loud and clear, and hopefully, your boss will get mine,” Dark Eyes—Nico—said.

Then, before I could react, he reached into his waistband, pulled out a gun, and fired twice.

A fine mist of red marred his pristine white shirt, and the two men collapsed, folding like rag dolls.

Nico gave no reaction, but soon barked something in a lyrical language that I didn’t understand but assumed was Italian like the words on the window.

And then, to my shock, he turned and started walking toward me calmly, like he didn’t have blood on the shirt.

Like he hadn’t just killed two men.

Right in front of me.

That realization hit like a hammer, and I pushed back, landing firmly on my well-padded rear end.

Not that my embarrassment made a difference.

I had just seen him kill two people; how clumsy I looked didn’t matter at all.

My concern right now was far more existential.

Nico stopped in front of me, so close that his shoe grazed my calf.

I let my gaze travel up the long, long length of his legs, to meet his eyes.

They were ice cold, unreadable, and I flinched when he grabbed my elbow and pulled me to my feet like I weighed nothing.

Then he turned me and walked me deeper into the bar.

I heard people moving behind me, but didn’t dare look back.

He pushed me even farther down an ominously dark hall, through what I guessed was a storage room, and out of the building into an alley, stopping in front of a car.

“Where’s my friend?” I asked.

I didn’t even care that I sounded weak.

Bravado wouldn’t impress this man.

And more importantly, I knew false bravado was something a man like him would feed on.

But most important of all, we both knew he held my life in his hands.

The only question was what he would do with it.

“You’re concerned for your friend?” he asked.