Blaze found himself cleaning up a mess once again. For the past two hours, he'd been torturing a couple of guys, squeezing them for intel on his enemies. They finally cracked, spilling the names he needed. But did they really think that giving up the info would save them? Hell no, estupidos he thought, pulling out his gun and putting bullets in both their heads without hesitation. He shook his head, calling in his crew to handle the cleanup before heading out.

Back at his massive mansion, Blaze often wondered why he even needed such a big place when he lived alone. Fuck it He deserved this luxury. He earned every bit of it. He worked for it—really worked for it. Scheming, killing, spilling blood, but he made it. He avenged his parents' deaths and became the most feared man in the Bronx. His gang was growing stronger every day. He had given his grandma a peaceful life, paying her back for everything she'd done for little Blaze. And his businesses? Especially his strip club, it was like a money-printing machine, dollar after dollar.

Speaking of which, his club wasn't just about the money—his prostitutes were top-tier, handpicked by him. But there was one that stood out among them all. He still remembered the first time she walked into his office—so young and fragile... but Dios mío... so beautiful She desperately needed the job, and Blaze, in his own twisted way, gave it to her. But let's be real, Blaze wasn't kind. He never was. The only reason he hired her was to own her, break her, make her entirely dependent on him—and he did just that. She became his personal property, his favorite prostitute. No one dared touch her, and those who tried? Well, you could ask the 23 men now buried in the dirt if you wanted.

After a cold shower, Blaze made his way to the club. The moment he stepped in, everyone could feel his presence, and the fear rippled through the crowd. He scanned the place, his creation, with a smirk. But before he could enjoy the moment, one of his security guys rushed over, clearly nervous. "Boss... she..."

Blaze's smirk vanished instantly. He glared at the guard, his voice low and menacing. "She what? Spit it out before I cut your fuckin' tongue out."

The guard swallowed hard before continuing, "She... she ran away, boss. Just minutes ago."

Blaze's expression darkened. His mood shifted to something dangerous as he stormed into his office, dialing a number. "Bring her back—alive. I'll be the one to teach her a lesson."

*1 Hour later

Blaze waited, seething, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the desk, a calm that only hinted at the storm brewing inside him. The door creaked open, and one of his most trusted guys entered, dragging her in with him. They left her standing there and closed the door behind them.

Blaze eyed her, trembling before him, and a cold smirk spread across his face. Are you scared, little cordera? you should be He stood and moved toward her, slow and deliberate. His hand wrapped around her throat, squeezing tightly as he pinned her to the wall. "Look at me," he growled, slamming her harder against the surface. His grip tightened. "You thought you could run from me, huh? You really thought that was gonna work, you stupid whore?" He chuckled darkly, grabbing her jaw roughly. "Open," he ordered, forcing her mouth open before spitting inside. "Swallow. Every. Fuckin'. Drop." He pressed her mouth shut, making sure she complied.