Mafia Arranged Marriage

This world works in a funny way.

You offer worthless leaches a pity hand, the opportunity for an upgrade of that filthy lifestyle, and the next thing you know they latch onto the base of your neck, sucking your blood out vehemently.

This is a mere reminder to why you should never offer worthless dogs your hand, because sooner or later they’ll bite off of it.

Nature beats nurture. Always.

Striding confidently, I make my way towards the gloomy warehouse. This is where we bring the traitorous leaches and pop their guts out for once and forever.

I tug the fine fabric of my black suit, despising that in a matter of minutes it’ll be stained in blood.

Nonetheless, a suit could always be washed and dry cleaned. The question asked is, where do you get your soul washed out ? What detergent is strong enough to cleanse your stinky hands of all the stealth ?

I shake the unpleasant thoughts off to the back of my head for now, it’s time to put my emotions to the side in order to be a ruthless killer.

I enter the warehouse, the guards stationed there on duty offering a nod in acknowledgment, though I smell a hint of fear escaping through their dilated pupils and nervous alert stances, but decide not to comment on it.

Anyways, they should fear me. I was the boss after all.

Technically, my father Dominic Valentino is still the boss, just in name though. I am the rightful heir of his thorny throne, and the man who’s in charge, while he’s the one sitting behind a desk calling the shots.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve looked up to my father, eyes glistening with pride. I always wanted to grow up and be a respected and feared boss like him.

I wanted everyone to stop breathing in horror and anticipation whenever I stepped into a room.

Granted, I got what I wanted by being the way I am. This ‘no bullshit’ policy was making sure I was perceived just like I wanted.

Entering the room where I needed be, my second in command, Luca Bellucci nods upon seeing me. He gets up from the chair laid in front of Alberto, this lovely morning’s leach and stands opposite to me, with his back to Alberto now.

« Good you’re here. This son of a bitch won’t crack » He murmurs bitterly only intended for my ears to hear.

A sick smirk plays at the corner of my lips. A tough nut to crack, huh ?

I’ve always enjoyed those more. Instead of being obedient and boring, the ones who struggled and fought off gave me more satisfaction. It makes me feel like I’ve earned it. It makes me sweat and work in order to squeeze the information out.

I take notice of Luca’s bruised knuckles, and the disfigured features of Alberto’s not detectable face anymore.

Well, this is going to be fun, I thought.

I nod and step away from Luca further into the stench of blood and rusty copper, while tossing my suit jacket haphazardly to the side, I lift my white button shirt’s sleeves, rolling them up just to reach bellow my elbows.

I occupy Luca’s previous chair, the metal screeching the floor in the process intentionally, just in time to catch the surprise on my prisoner’s bloodied face.

I take a thorough look to examine his state. His face, well, speaks for itself.

He’s tied to a chair, I can see the marks of robes digging painfully into his hands and legs. His clothes are soaked with sweat and blood, a deadly combination that I’ve grown to like.

« Luca over there says you wouldn’t say much » I tell him and he keeps his face stoic.

« Well, I’m not a man of many words either, but I can tell we’re going to have a lot of fun to get that mouth of yours to tell me the name of who sent you » I say before playfully picking up a metal knife off of a table nearby.

This piece of shit, detained here, just cost me a few million dollars after messing up an extremely vital shipment.

A few millions meant nothing, like spare change in my pants pockets. The thought is what counts.

If you let them get away from stealing from you, then you are teaching your subordinates that disrespect is tolerable, which is never is.

Because, today they mess up a shipment, tomorrow they show up at your doorstep with a gun, plastering a bullet to your head to claim the next slot as boss.

That’s why you kill them, mainly so they don’t think rebellion is acceptable under any circumstance. But, also that others can see what happens to those who dare to step out of line. Spoiler alert, they don’t get to see tomorrow’s sunrise.

After our little play date, this sick bastard finally decided to let go of the name of who sent him. Ivan Volkov.

Fuck, that’s the Russian mafia leader.

And if they’re sending spies for inside info and to sabotage our shipments, that means they think that they could break the treaty and get away with it. In other words, they’ve decided to play with fire.

Cocking my gun, I lift it and shoot a bullet to his head, straight between his eyes.