Marry
I really should not have driven.
I cut the roaring engine of my matte-black Porsche 911 GT3, the twin-turbo flat-six dying with a deep, throaty sputter that echoed off the concrete walls of my attached garage. Six gears, five hundred horsepower, and three double shots of top-shelf tequila were a lethal combination, leaving my brain to spin in slow, dizzying circles. But my pride had refused to let me call a driver.
My head was pounding a lethal rhythm behind my eyes, courtesy of four too many shots down at the docks. I stumbled out into the damp night air, using the driver's side door to keep my knees from buckling, staring up at the dark silhouette of my house.
It was my refuge. The one address in this godforsaken city where the Moretti name wasn't supposed to reach.
I grabbed my bag, took a deep, steadying breath, and pushed through the interior door connecting the garage to the house.
My heels clicked heavily against the tile as I headed up the small flight of stairs leading into the main living area. But the second my eyes reached the top landing, the alcohol evaporated into a sharp, icy spike of adrenaline.
The door was sitting half an inch ajar.
Warm light spilled out onto the top stair, and through the crack, the low, muffled rumble of a dozen heavy male voices echoed out. Before I could even take another step, the voices abruptly cut out. Dead silence filled the stairwell. They'd heard my heels.
Then I caught it the faint, metallic scent of copper and fresh rain, mixed with a trail of expensive cologne that didn't belong to me.
The alcohol in my veins froze solid almost sobering me instantly.
My survival instincts took over long before my slurred brain could catch up.
I whipped my leather jacket aside, my hand going straight for the grip of my pearl-handled Kimber 9mm concealed at my hip. I flicked the safety off with a slick, metallic snap, lunged up the remaining steps, and kicked the heavy door wide open with the heel of my boot, sweeping the barrel across the room as I burst into the foyer.
Packed into my house were at least twenty men the entire ruling elite of the city's underworld. Every major mafia family had sent their bosses and heir apparents, crammed into my space like vultures waiting around a dying animal.
Men in tailored suits were sprawling across my velvet furniture including my father, helping themselves to my top-shelf bourbon. Right in the center of my sofa sat my father, Nico Moretti, looking like a king taking attendance.
"Put the piece away, principessa," Nico said smoothly, not even lifting his eyes from his glass. "You're going to put a hole in the plaster."
I didn't lower the sight from his forehead. "How the hell did you get in here?"
Nico finally looked up, letting out an exhausted, patronizing sigh as he gestured toward the front entrance. "With those pathetic excuses for locks? A half-blind associate with a hairpin could bypass your security in thirty seconds. I told you three months ago to install the biometric system I sent over, but as usual, your stubbornness trumps your survival instincts."
"It's my house," I growled.
"Jesus, Nico, control your daughter," snapped Lorenzo Valenti, wiping a sudden bead of cold sweat from his forehead as my gun barrel lingered near his chest.
"She almost took my head off," Gianni Bruno muttered, taking a tense step back toward the bar counter.
Around the room, the rest of the syndicate royalty watched me with a mix of shock, caution, and dark, hungry interest Matteo, Marco, Donnie, Salvatore, Vincenzo, Luca, Antonio, Gianni, Rocco, Fabio, Sergio, Dante, Bruno, Angelo, Santino, Bernardo, and Lorenzo. Half of these bastards hated each other's guts, their hands resting subtly inside their tailored coats, but none of them were moving while my iron was out.
My gaze dragged across the gallery of men watching me. Directly across from my dad sat Edison Medici, leaning back with a lazy, arrogant smirk that made my trigger finger itch. Clustered around him were his adopted brothers Jeremy, Alex, Dexter, and Sebastian. Every single one of them looked at me like I was a prize up for auction. Edison gave me a slow, visual drag from my messy hair down to my boots. We'd hated each other since we were kids, but that had never stopped him from looking at me like he wanted to own me.
Edison Medici.
He stood near the windows, broad-shouldered, impeccably dressed, and completely unbothered by my weapon. His dark, stoic eyes locked onto mine, burning straight through my intoxicated fog with a heavy, suffocating intensity.
I didn't lower the gun. I held it rock-steady, my gaze snapping back to my father. I'd been ducking his calls for once word on the street hit that he was actively shopping his only daughter around for an arranged match and now the old bastard had brought the entire market directly to my doorstep.
I let the Kimber linger over Edison's chest.
"You're drunk," Nico snapped, his sharp eyes cutting straight through me as he leaned forward in his armchair, dark veins standing out on his pale temples. "You've been drinking, Meredith. And you just drove that fucking Porsche home like a damn maniac."
Before he could even start lecturing me, I reached into my leather jacket pocket, pulled out a pack of cigarettes, and slid a stick between my lips. I flicked my silver Zippo open with one hand never letting my Kimber drop an inch from Edison's chest and lit the tip, sparking a thin trail of smoke into the quiet room.
I took a slow, deep drag, letting the nicotine settle over the burn of the tequila, and blew a cool cloud of smoke right toward my father.
"You're smoking indoors," Nico grunted, standing up. He marched over, ripped the lit cigarette right from my fingers when it was three-quarters done, and crushed it into a decorative dish on my table.
Without breaking eye contact, I reached into my coat, pulled out a fresh pack, popped a new one between my lips, and lit it right in his face.
I blew a cloud of gray smoke straight over his shoulder toward the room of silent, watching men, and crossed my arms over my chest.
"So, what's the occasion, Dad?" I asked, my voice dripping with pure ice. "Is this some kind of mafia orgy? Because I'm really not interested."
Nico didn't even flinch as the second cloud of smoke washed over his face. He just closed his eyes, took a deep breath to keep his composure, and adjusted the cuffs of his suit jacket.
"Watch your mouth, Meredith," he said, his voice dangerously quiet, though the twitch in his jaw gave away his frustration. "You're talking about your future husband. One of them, at least."
A low, collective murmur rippled through the living room.
"I'd prefer if she kept the mouth," Edison interjected crossing his arms. The firelight of the electric fire caught the sharp angles of his jawline. "Serves as a nice warning before she bites."
His adopted brothers chuckled softly. Jeremy shook his head with a smirk, while Dexter and Sebastian exchanged amused looks. Alex just kept his dark eyes locked on me, weighing every movement like he was sizing up an opponent in the ring.
I cut Edison a glare that could peel paint off a wall. "Keep talking, Medici, and I'll give you something new to bleed out of."
"See?" Edison grinned, completely unbothered, taking a slow sip of his well my bourbon. "Feisty. Just how I like 'em."
Nico stepped into my line of sight, blocking Edison from my view. "Enough. All of you." He turned back to me, lowering his voice so only I could hear the full weight of his authority. "You've ignored my calls for weeks, Meredith. You skipped the sit-down in Florence, you conveniently forgot the dinner with the Falcones, and you've been sleeping with a piece under your pillow like you don't have fifty soldiers in your arsenal. I'm done playing games."
"This is my house, Dad," I hissed, taking another slow drag from my cigarette and letting the ash fall onto the hardwood. "You brought a circus into my living room at three in the morning."
"I brought option cards," Nico corrected coldly. "You are twenty-six years old. You carry the Moretti name, which makes you the most valuable asset in this city. Every family from is waiting for a slip-up, and an unmarried, loose-cannon daughter is a liability I won't tolerate any longer."
"I am not an asset," I snapped. "And I sure as hell am not a prize for these glorified enforcers."
Across the room, Donnie suddenly found his expensive watch fascinating, tapping the face repeatedly to avoid eye contact with anyone. Smart boy. He knew if he spoke up, I'd mention his sweet little art-student girlfriend hiding out in the states the one his traditional father would strip him of his inheritance for seeing.
Meanwhile, the four idiots in the corner Marco, Luca, Matteo and Giovanni shifted uncomfortably under my gaze. Marco's left eye still had a faint trace of the scar I'd given him six months ago when I found out he'd put his hands on his fiancee. They knew better than to open their mouths.
"You're getting married, Meredith," Nico said, his voice final, leaving zero room for debate. "By the end of the month. You can choose which one of these men stands beside you at the altar, or I will choose for you. But you will sign the contract."
I looked past my father, sweeping my eyes over the room of suitors. The men all powerful, all lethal, and all looking at me like I was the last territory left to conquer.
Edison stood up slowly, setting his glass on the coffee table. He walked over until he was standing right beside my dad, towering over me with that infuriating, arrogant tilt of his head.
"Take your time, principessa," Edison murmured, his voice dropping into a low, rough velvet that made the back of my neck prickle. "Personally, I vote for the fast track. Save us all the headache."
I took the cigarette from my lips, stepped right up into his space until our chests were almost touching, and blew the smoke directly into his eyes.
"I'd rather burn the family empire to the ground," I whispered.
Edison blinked through the veil of gray smoke, his smirk widening instead of fading, though a dangerous spark flared in his dark eyes.
"Put that damn cigarette out," Nico growled, his jaw clenching as he glared up at me. "It's rude. We have guests."
I took a long, deliberate drag, the cherry glowing hot in the dim light of the foyer, before blowing a thin, lazy ring of smoke straight into the air above Lorenzo Valenti's head.
"I think breaking into someone's house uninvited with over twenty armed men is rude, Dad, so I'll pass," I drawled, resting my free hand on my hip while keeping the gun leveled squarely at Edison's chest. "Besides, if these 'guests' are going to linger around my furniture like cheap dust, they can inhale a little secondhand smoke."
Gianni Bruno scoffed, shifting his weight. "You've got a mouth on you, Meredith. Just like your father."
"And you have my least favorite face in the area, Gianni, yet here we are," I purred, flicking a stray speck of ash onto the polished floor near his Italian leather loafers. He flinched backward as if I'd dropped a live grenade.
I turned my head slightly, my eyes tracking over the sea of dark suits filling my space. "Honestly, if I wanted this many aggressively dressed men standing around staring at me, I would've just gone back to the club. At least there the drinks are free and nobody tries to negotiate my dowry over my scotch."
"Lower the weapon, Meredith," Edison rumbled again, stepping forward just a fraction of an inch. He didn't sound angry; he sounded entirely unbothered, his dark eyes locking onto mine with an unyielding, possessive weight that made the back of my neck prickle. "You're outnumbered, you're intoxicated, and you're making a scene."
"Outnumbered? Maybe," I said, letting out a sharp, breathless laugh as I brought the cigarette back to my lips. "Intoxicated? Absolutely. But making a scene is my specialty, Medici. And until someone tells me why there's a syndicate clearance sale happening in my living room, the iron stays up."
Rolling my eyes at the stony silence, I clicked the safety back on and smoothly holstered the Kimber at my hip. If none of these bastards were going to talk, I wasn't going to waste my energy holding up five pounds of steel while my brain was still humming from tequila.
I brushed past Lorenzo Valenti who practically threw himself against the wall to get out of my way and headed straight for the crystal decanters on my bar cart.
"What the hell are you doing now?" my father demanded, his voice rising in disbelief as he watched me grab a heavy double rocks glass. "Why are you drinking? You're already intoxicated, Meredith."
"Yeah, well, I feel like I need a whole lot more to deal with all of you," I replied smoothly, unstopping the decanter and pouring a generous three-inch splash of dark amber bourbon into the glass dropping some ice.
Nico rubbed his temples, looking like he was five seconds away from an aneurysm. "Have you had anything else to drink today?"
"Obviously," I said, raising an eyebrow at him as I took a deliberate, slow sip. "What am I doing right now, Dad? Drinking."
He glared at me, his knuckles white against the armrest. "You know what I mean. Water, Meredith."
"Oh, please. Hydration is really important, Dad. I take it very seriously," I purred, swirling the bourbon in my glass until the ice clinked softly against the crystal. "This has ice in it. Ice is water. Ergo, hydration."
A low, gravelly chuckle broke through the quiet room. I flicked my eyes toward the window to see Alex Medici leaning against the frame, his pierced tongue clicking sharply against his teeth as he smirked at me. Edison didn't smile, but his heavy, dark gaze tracked every move I made as I leaned my hip back against the bar, taking another slow drink while twenty mafia leaders stood there watching me like I was a ticking bomb.
I set my glass down on the quartz counter and reached back into my leather jacket pocket, pulling out the pack to fish out a fresh cigarette. I tapped the bottom against my palm, getting ready to slide another one between my lips.
Before I could even flick my Zippo, my father pushed himself up out of his leather armchair with a tired groan, snatched the entire pack right out of my fingers, and shoved it deep into his suit coat.
"Hey!" I snapped, my eyes widening in genuine outrage as I glared at him. "Those are mine!"
"You've had enough," Nico grumbled, settling back into his chair with a heavy sigh that made him look every bit his age. "And you're not smoking up your living room while we're trying to conduct business."
"I bought those with my own money, Dad," I scoffed, crossing my arms over my chest and leaning back against the bar cart. "If you're going to steal from me in my own home, at least have the decency to hand over a lighter so I can burn this whole place down with all of you in it."
A few subtle shifts echoed through the room as some of the lower-ranking men exchanged uneasy looks, clearly not used to seeing anyone speak to Nico Moretti like a rebellious teenager.
Edison didn't take his eyes off me for a single second. He took two slow, unhurried steps away from the floor-to-ceiling windows, stopping just a few feet short of the bar. His sheer size completely eclipsed the light behind him, throwing a long shadow straight over me.
"Your father isn't here to play games tonight, Meredith," Edison rumbled, his deep voice carrying a dark, heavy authority that silenced the faint murmurs in the room. "And neither are we."
"Meredith, put the glass down and listen to me," Nico growled, his footsteps heavy as he followed me across the room. "This isn't a negotiation."
"Everything is a negotiation, Dad," I replied, before taking another solid swallow of scotch. I leaned back against the cabinet, completely unbothered by the gallery of lethal men watching my every move. "And right now, your leverage is zero, your timing is trash, and your lineup is fucking pathetic."
"Watch it," Sebestain Medici warned from the couch, though his grin betrayed his amusement.
"Shut up, Sebestain , or I'll tell your father about the off-the-books shipment you lost last Tuesday."
Sebestain's grin vanished instantly, his mouth shutting tight.
Edison turned around slowly, resting his hands in his pockets as he watched me sip my drink. "You really think you can dodge this forever, Meredith? Your dad's right about one thing. Your family needs a union, and whether you like it or not, one of us is going to put a ring on that finger."
"You're welcome to try, Edison," I said, lowering my glass and offering him a sharp, venomous smile. "Just make sure your life insurance policy is up to date first."
The silence that followed crashed over the room like a physical weight.
Donnie choked slightly on his scotch. Matteo smirked quickly masking it. Across the rug, Marco and Luca froze, their faces going pale, while Edison's four brothers sat up straight, the collective smirk wiped clean off their faces.
I swirled the ice in my glass, and let my eyes drag slowly over every single one of them.
"Seriously?" I asked, my voice carrying a quiet, lethal edge that echoed off the high ceiling. "Are all of you so pathetic that you can't get pussy on your own? Your daddies actually have to set up a field trip so you can beg for mine?"
Nico's jaw clenched so tight I thought his teeth might shatter. "Meredith—"
"No, Dad, let's talk about it," I snapped, taking a step forward and pointing my glass toward the sofas. "Look at them. Twenty supposed made men, sitting in my living room like desperate dogs waiting for scraps."
I locked eyes with Donnie, who was practically sweating into his expensive suit. "Starting with you, Donnie. You need an arranged setup because you're too spineless to admit to daddy you're already taken?"
My gaze snapped over to the corner, landing on the four bastards whose exes I'd had to straighten out. "Or what about you three idiots? Is this your backup plan after I put your last girlfriends in the emergency room for shitty behavior? Figures you'd need my dad to order a woman to stand next to you, since no one else will do it without stealing from you."
Luca cleared his throat nervously, pulling his collar back, while Marco stared down at the floor probably praying I didn't expose him for hitting his ex girlfriend for no reason.
"And then we have the Medici circus," I continued, turning my full attention to the brothers. I pointed my glass straight at Jeremy, Alex, Dexter, and Sebastian. "Four grown men trailing behind their brother like puppies, hoping for a pass at the boss's daughter because none of you can handle a real woman on your own."
Finally, my eyes landed back on Edison, who was standing just a few feet away. I took a slow swallow of my scotch. "And you, Edison. You're the worst of the lot. Acting like you're the ultimate prize when you can't even get laid without my father signing off on a business contract first."
Edison didn't flinch. Instead, a slow, dark grin spread across his face, his eyes flashing with something dangerous and entirely unhinged.
"Careful, Meredith," Edison murmured, stepping right up into my space until I could feel the heat radiating off him. "Keep talking like that, and someone might mistake all that mouth for an invitation."
Edison's eyes darkened, a muscle in his jaw ticking as he stood less than an inch away from me.
I didn't step back. Instead, I leaned in just a fraction closer, tilting my chin up to meet his glare, before cutting my gaze directly over his shoulder to my father.
"Oh, please, Edison," I sneered, my voice dripping with pure sarcasm. "Go on. Tell my dad exactly what you plan to do with my mouth."
Edison smirk widened instead of faded, though a dangerous spark flared in his dark eyes.
Nico's eyes flared, his chest heaving as he took a threatening step forward. "Meredith, that is enough—"
"I'm just trying to understand the logistics here, Dad," I purred, entirely unbothered by the sudden spike in tension. I took a slow, deliberate sip from my bourbon, my eyes never leaving Edison's stoic, granite face. "Because last time I checked, big, scary men doesn't usually need another don to help them negotiate a date. Unless, of course, he's worried he can't handle a woman who doesn't come with an instruction manual."
Edison didn't flinch. He didn't blink. He just stepped even closer, closing the distance between us until the dark wool of his tailored suit jacket was nearly touching the bare skin of my shoulder. The faint scent of expensive cedar, leather, and gunpowder rolled off him in waves, thick and suffocating.
"I don't need negotiations to handle you, Meredith,"
Edison rumbled, his voice dropping so low it vibrated right through the heavy glass in my hand. He reached out, his thick, calloused fingers wrapping firmly around the stem of my bourbon glass, slowly forcing it down toward the counter without taking his blue possessive eyes off mine. "And when I take you, it won't be because your father handed you over. It'll be because you realized there isn't a single other man in this room strong enough to keep you alive."
"I can keep myself alive, thank you," I spat, yanking my wrist back from his grip, though he barely let the glass go before I set it down with a heavy click. "I don't need any of your help. I've done just fine on my own."
"Well, you're going to marry somebody in this room, so you need to start watching what you're saying!" Nico snapped, his voice sharp enough to cut through the heavy tension in the air. He pushed himself upright in his leather chair, pointing a stern, shaking finger at me. "One of these men is going to be your husband, Meredith. Like it or not."
I let out a harsh, incredulous laugh, rolling my eyes as I leaned back against the quartz counter. "No, Dad. Not happening."
"You don't have a choice," Nico growled, his jaw tight as his dark eyes locked onto mine with absolute finality. "Refuse this, and I cut you off completely. No Moretti security, no access to the family accounts, no safe houses, and no backing when rival territories come knocking. You want to play the independent princess? Try doing it with zero money, zero power, and every target in the tri-state area painted squarely on your back."
"Okay," I said, throwing my hands up in mock surrender before crossing them tightly over my chest. "And when I get shot up like fucking Swiss cheese, it'll be your fault. Your only living daughter. Is that what you want, Dad? Your daughter turned into Swiss cheese?"
"Meredith, stop being dramatic," Nico grumbled, though a flicker of annoyance and genuine fatigue passed over his pale face.
"Dramatic?" I gasped, putting a hand over my heart with theatrical mock offense. "I am talking about standard hole-to-flesh ratios here! You cut me off, I have no security, somebody puts five rounds in my chest, and suddenly I'm a human colander. You'll be sitting at my funeral, looking at a casket full of Swiss cheese, wondering why you didn't just let me live my life."
Lorenzo Valenti cleared his throat nervously, pulling at his collar. "She really has a colorful way with words, Nico."
"Shut up, Lorenzo," I snapped without even looking at him, my glare locked right back onto my father. "If I wanted input from a man who smells like knock-off scandal and cheap pomade, I'd ask."
Edison let out a low, rough exhale beside me, a dark, dangerous hum that vibrated against my side. He didn't look amused by my rant, but his gaze remained fixed on me, tracking the sharp rise and fall of my breath.
"You're not going to be turned into Swiss cheese," Edison rumbled softly, leaning in until his mouth was inches from my ear, his tone dropping into a thick, possessive warning. "Because the second you walk out that door as my wife, anyone who even looks at you with a gun in their hand dies before they can pull the trigger."
"Okay, Dad, since you're so fucking confident," I said, spinning away from Edison and grabjing my drink and taking a bold, dramatic step back into the center of the room, my glass of bourbon sloshing slightly over my knuckles. "One of these capable men is going to become my husband, correct? Then I think we should actually test that capability. Them, their security, and whatever brainless muscle they keep on their payroll."
Nico squeezed the bridge of his nose, looking like he wanted to jump out a window. "Meredith, what the hell are you babbling about?"
"I'm pitching an audition, Dad!" I announced, gesturing wildly with my glass at the twenty men standing around like stone statues. "I'm going to give them challenges. Whatever ridiculous, sadistic bullshit I can come up with when I'm bored and intoxicated. The winner of my games gets my hand. Does that sound bad? You want me to marry one of these bastards, I'm at least going to make sure they're worth my fucking time."
A stunned, suffocating silence fell over my living room.
"Are you fucking insane?" Gianni Bruno spat out, his jaw tight with indignation. "You expect leaders of syndicate families to play little games for a spoiled heiress?"
"I expect you to do whatever the hell I tell you to do if you want my father's territory, Gianni," I purred, flashing him a sweet, venomous smile before turning my eyes back to Edison. "What's the matter, boys? Scared you can't handle a little competition curated by a drunk girl?"
Edison didn't look remotely bothered. In fact, a faint, dark shadow of a smirk flickered across his lethal jawline. He closed the distance between us in two heavy, unhurried strides, stopping right in front of me until I had to tilt my chin up just to look into his eyes.
"Set whatever sick games you want, little cat," Edison rumbled, his deep voice slicing through the room like a serrated blade. "Call your challenges. Send your tests. But don't delude yourself into thinking this is a fair fight. Every single man in this room is just playing for second place."
"Like hell I'm playing second place to a Medici," Gianni Bruno snarled, taking an aggressive step forward, his hand hovering dangerously close to the tailored lapel of his jacket. "You don't own this commission, Edison, and you sure as hell don't own her yet."
"Back off, Gianni, before someone puts you back in your box," Matteo Rossini snapped from across the room, glaring at Bruno with pure, unadulterated hatred. He shot a dark look toward Edison, his jaw tight. "The Medici family thinks they can just walk in here and claim the Moretti empire like it's already written in blood. Some of us actually have the men and the turf to back up a real offer."
"You couldn't hold your own borders against the Valenti crew last month, Matteo," Lorenzo Valenti sneered, letting out a sharp, mocking laugh. "If anyone's taking the girl and the territory, it isn't a Rossini."
"Say that again to my face, Lorenzo, and see if you make it back to your car," Matteo growled, his knuckles turning white as he braced himself.
Within seconds, the entire room erupted.
Veins bulged on necks, hands shifted toward shoulder holsters, and heavy Italian curses echoed off my living room walls. Twenty mafia bosses and heir apparents men who had been trying to murder each other over drug routes, dockyards, and territorial lines for decades were suddenly at each other's throats, entirely forgetting my father was even sitting there.
I took a slow, satisfied sip of my bourbon, watching the chaos unfold with pure delight.
"See, Dad?" I purred, leaning my shoulder against Edison's rock-hard arm, completely unbothered by the sheer testosterone and death threats bouncing around my ceiling. "They're practically begging to play my games. Look at them—they're practically feral."
Edison didn't even bother turning his head to look at the men shouting behind him. His eyes remained locked on mine, dark, steady, and utterly lethal, ignoring the shouting match as if twenty armed syndicate leaders were nothing more than buzzing flies.
"Let them bark, Meredith," Edison rumbled, his deep voice easily cutting through the noise in my ears. "It just makes it easier to sweep them off the board when your game starts."
"I'm going to say something now, and I might scare some of you off," I announced, raising my voice over the shouting match until the entire room gradually went dead quiet. "In fact, I really fucking hope it does."
I took a step away from them to get a good look at all of them, holding my bourbon glass like a baton as I swept my icy, drunken glare across every single syndicate leader in the room.
"If by some fucking miracle one of you actually wins my challenges, just know that I am going to be absolute hell to live with. I don't want to marry a single one of you. I'm going to piss you off, I'm going to push every button you have, and I'm going to make these challenges so ridiculously miserable that if you don't have the stomach for it, you're going to lose—and I am going to be happily single anyways."
A few of the guys exchanged uneasy, shifting glances, but I wasn't finished. I took a slow step forward, my eyes hardening into something dark and ruthless.
"And if by some other miracle you win, and you actually think you can keep some bitch or mistress on the side while you're married to me..." I paused, flashing a sweet, razor-sharp smile that made Gianni Bruno visibly flinch. "...just know that I will find her, I will cut her tits off, and I will serve them to you on a silver platter for breakfast. Are we clear?"
