Page 53 of The Mafia King's Reign
“Full repayment by the first of the month.” His voice has gone thin, reedy, like a child caught in a lie. “Interest forgiven as a sign of good faith.”
“Good faith.” The words taste like betrayal. “And the third principle, Zio?”
“Control,” Arturo answers.
“Control.” I let the word hang in the fetid air like a death sentence. “You mentioned the rest, Tommaso. Let me explain what happens with the rest.”
I begin circling him slowly, the way my father taught me when I was eighteen, standing over the body of my first kill. Never let them see you stand still. Movement is power. Movement is death waiting to strike.
“The rest of my capos start wondering if they can short me too. The rest of my allies question whether the Vitale name still means anything. The rest of my enemies, and believe me, I have many, they start circling like vultures, waiting for my kingdom to show weakness.”
I stop directly in front of him, close enough to smell the fear rolling off his skin, sour sweat, and piss. He’d wet himself. I could see the dark stain spreading down his trouser leg.
Pathetic.
“But the real problem isn’t the money, Tommaso.” I grab his jaw, forcing his face up to meet mine, my fingers digging into flesh. “It’s control. Control of my fucking city. And you…” I release him with a shove that sends him stumbling backward,arms pinwheeling. “You just became an example for what was it you said? Oh yeah… “the rest”.
I straightened my jacket, watching him scramble to regain his footing. The duffel bag of money sits forgotten on the floor between us.
“You know what I did to the last man who tried to short me?” I asked, my voice conversational. Almost friendly. “That fucking Greco, you remember him. Ran the gambling operations on the east side.” I smile. “I took his hands first. Then his tongue. Let him live another six months like that couldn’t hold cards, couldn’t beg for mercy, couldn’t even tell his wife why he screamed in his sleep every night.” I step closer. “When I finally killed him, it was a mercy.” A page from Raffaele’s book. Maybe I’ll leave this piece of shit for him after all,” I chuckle.
Tommaso’s face has gone gray.
“That’s what patience looks like, Tommaso.” I tilt my head, studying him. “How long do you think you’ll last?”
I search his face for something, any indication he understood what was coming. All I see is a desperate, cornered animal.
And cornered animals do desperate things.
I look at Zio Arturo and walk away. The command, though unspoken, is clear.
Handle this. Make it slow.
But when I turn around, four of Tommaso’s men burst from behind the stacked crates, weapons drawn. My hand finds my Beretta before my brain even registers the threat from muscle memory and instinct, a thousand hours of training compressed into a single, fluid motion.
Foolish bastard.
What he didn’t know is that I have a whole fucking army positioned outside. I’d clocked his nervous energy since this meeting was scheduled. Then, the way he kept glancing at the eastern entrance. The subtle hand signal he thought I’d missed when he adjusted his collar.
He came to this meeting with half my money on a random weekday. I knew he was planning something the moment he suggested the location.
Too fucking weak to handle his own territories, but he thinks he has a shot at mine.
The slaughter is quick. My men pour through every entrance like a tide of violence. Nico through the east door, Luca and his team from the loading dock, and six more dropping from the roof access. Within sixty seconds, the warehouse floor is painted red.
Tommaso’s men drop like animals in a slaughterhouse. The ones who tried to run didn’t make it three steps. I put two bullets in one myself, watching his body jerk and crumple.
I holster my weapon and straighten my cuffs, surveying the carnage with satisfaction. Blood pools across the concrete, steam rising from fresh wounds in the cold warehouse air. The copper smell is thick enough to taste.
This is what betrayal costs.
Tommaso himself is on his knees in the center of it all, bleeding from multiple gunshot wounds, surrounded by the bodies of men who’d followed him into this foolish ambush. His face is a mask of shock and fury and the dawning realization that he’d just destroyed everything he’d ever built and took some soldier’s lives with him.
I walk toward him, but right before I reach him, I realize I recognize one of the soldiers he brought with him used to workfor me. Now he’s lying there lifeless. He must have recruited him. I shake my head in disappointment to see the young soldier lose his life over bullshit.
“Did you really think four men could take me?” I crouch in front of him, close enough to see my reflection in his wide, terrified eyes. “You’ve known me since I was a boy, Tommaso. You watched me rise. You watched me bury armies twice your size.” I shake my head slowly. “And you still thought you could win. He was just a kid, made plans to go to college, you took that from him. You cost those men their lives today; their blood is on your hands.”
He opens his mouth to beg, probably. To plead for mercy he’d never receive.
