Salvatore's cheekbone throbbed with excruciating pain. He spat out a mouthful of bloody foam, his words slurred through broken teeth. "This is torture! I'll sue you!"

Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, staining his shirtfront crimson.

Ethan's eyes darkened with fury. Another brutal punch landed in Salvatore's abdomen.

Thud!

Salvatore doubled over like a boiled shrimp, gasping in agony.

Detective North watched coldly. "Mr. Sullivan, avoid visible injuries."

Understanding, Ethan raised his leg and delivered a savage kick to Salvatore's knee.

A sharp crack echoed through the room.

Salvatore collapsed to his knees, sweat beading on his forehead like pearls.

When the chair struck his back, Salvatore finally screamed like a slaughtered pig.

Images flashed through Ethan's mind—Jack's lifeless body, his elderly parents burying their only son, Jack's widow collapsing in grief with his portrait, and the unborn child who would never see the light of day...

Ethan's vision turned red. He grabbed the chair and swung again.

"Stop! I demand my lawyer!" Salvatore scrambled toward the corner. "North! Are you fucking blind?"

The detective turned away to light a cigarette.

Scum like this deserved no mercy.

"Please, Mr. Sullivan!" Salvatore suddenly changed tactics, snot and tears streaming down his face. "I swear I don't know what I did wrong—"

"Playing dumb?" Ethan ground his shoe into Salvatore's wrist. "How will you repay Jack's life? My child's life?"

Salvatore's eyes rolled back in pain, yet he kept lying. "Where's your evidence? No proof means slander!"

North blew a smoke ring. "This bastard's trained in anti-interrogation. Won't break even after seventy-two hours without sleep."

Ethan smirked and drove his fist into Salvatore's temple.

Thump!

Salvatore's head slammed against the wall, blood smearing half his face.

"Mr. Sullivan!" The assistant wrung his hands. "He'll die if you keep going!"

Ethan ignored him.

He hauled Salvatore up by the throat and kneed him in the gut.

Salvatore vomited blood, his gaze turning glassy.

The assistant frantically dialed Sophia. "Madam! Mr. Sullivan's going to kill him!"

The sound of shattering porcelain came through the phone.

"Send the address." Sophia's voice was glacial. "Tell him to wait."

When the interrogation room door opened, Ethan was smashing Salvatore's head against the wall again.

Blood bloomed across the white surface like grotesque flowers.

"Ethan." Sophia's soft voice cut through the violence.

He froze, slowly turning.

Their eyes met—his crimson with rage, hers clear as spring water. The fury drained from him instantly.

"Your hands." She caught his bloodied fist.

He tried to pull away, but she held tight.

"Let's go home." She wrapped his wounds with her silk scarf. "I made hangover soup."

Ethan blinked, then suddenly laughed.

Careful not to stain her, he tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"Yes. Home."