Page 10 of Billionaire’s Cruelty

I nodded. “That’s our only option.”

“Do it,” I ordered.

Mario’s smile stretched wider as he shifted gears. “With pleasure, boss.”

There was no point wasting time. Whoever was inside wasn’t going to let us in. And that’s why I’d told Clare to bring the Range Rover. It wasn’t just any luxury SUV. Mario had personally modified the car, reinforcing it with custom brackets designed to absorb heavy impacts. Just in case things ever got messy, he padded the car with bulletproof glass and swapped out the engine for one meant for a monster truck. Power was never a problem.

“Breaking and entering—here I come.”

“That’s illegal here.” I teased, though I had no plans to stop him from destroying Chen’s property.

Mario let out a dry chuckle. “Yeah, yeah. So is kidnapping a woman.”

He flexed his fists like it might somehow help with ramming through a steel gate. With a quick reverse, he angled the car just right.

“You’re not wrong.”

Without another word, he slammed his foot on the gas.

The Range Rover shot forward, colliding with the gate in a thunderous crash.

“You know boss,” he said almost too casually, “the car is less likely to stall if you hit it from the side. Plus, we’re safer that way.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Great tips—I see you’ve done this before.”

The jolt sent a thrill coursing through me. But when the gate still stood, I couldn’t help adding, “but the gate’s still standing.”

Mario grinned, undeterred. “One or two more hits. Promise.”

He eased the car back, revving the engine like a madman who lived for destruction. The deeper the growl, the more the tension in my chest built. For a moment, I imagined Chen’s face when we rolled up uninvited—smashing down his precious gate like it was nothing.

Mario gunned it again.

This time, the gate buckled under the impact, twisting and groaning before it finally gave way.

“Told ya,” he said, triumphant, as he accelerated up the driveway.

The road was lined with towering, ancient trees—deliberately planted to shield the mansion from prying eyes. Not that it mattered now. As we drove further in, I spotted the security guards ahead. Their wide-eyed expressions? Pure gold.

“I saw my pop do this once,” Mario mused, like we were taking a Sunday drive. “Didn’t even scratch the car. But the poor sucker he hit? Dead on the spot.”

His words hung in the air, dark and casual.

“What happened to your dad?” I asked, genuinely curious. Mario rarely talked about him—although I knew his father was part of an old and powerful Mafia family.

He shrugged. “Nothing.”

“Nothing? Your dad killed someone and nothing happened?” I tried to sound neutral. But his overly relaxed manner had me on edge.

“Yeah, it was a hit–and–run. Late at night. No witnesses.” Another shrug, like it was really no big deal.

“Interesting.”

“Haven’t you seen any true crime shows?” Mario’s voice took on a singsong lilt, as if he was reciting a twisted nursery rhyme. “People get away with murders. Lots and lots of people. Lots and lots of people…”

His laughter echoed through the cabin, low and unsettling.

And as we drew closer to the mansion’s entrance, I had the distinct feeling that things were about to get much darker.