by Serena Light
"So predictable." He grinned at the man as he lowered his gun, taking out the bullet chamber, removing all the bullets from their slot before picking up three bullets and loading them back into the slot.
"Regnante! What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!" Alonzo bellowed as he tried to break away from Major and Uncle Vincent.
"Something which you never can." The Mafia Boss grinned as he snapped his fingers. The doors opened as three men came in, guiding three other figures that had a black bag over their head and their hands tied behind their backs.
Two of them were girls, Salvatore could figure by the dress one of them wore and the famine top of the other, the third was a boy. Seemingly young by his size. The three people were made to stand in front of Alonzo, who was struggling more than ever now. Screaming profanities as Arcangelo just laughed.
Lifting his gun into the air, he grinning like a maniac as realization wrenched the air out of Salvatore's fragile lungs.
He wouldn't. Would he?
With a flick of his wrist, the black bags were removed from their heads as a woman in her early thirties came into view, wearing a dress with her eyes red as tears streamed down her face, screaming around the gag in her mouth. Next was a girl of about 16, wearing the floral top whose face was red and black because of her mascara having smeared due to her constant sobs muffled by the gag. The third was a boy not more than 9, snot running down his nose as he was visibly shaking and crying in fear, saying something that was muffled around the gag in his mouth.
"No! Arcangelo! Let them go!" The man, Alonzo, cried out as he stared at the three people in front of him in panic. "Let them go! Or so help me God-!"
Before he could continue his sentence, Arcangelo pressed the barrel of his gun to the temple of the boy’s head, who instantly started sobbing louder as he closed his eyes. The Mafia Boss looking at him tauntingly.
"-Or what?" He clicked off the safety.
"Arcangelo! Let them go! Let them go!" The man cried out in vain. "They have nothing to do in this!"
"Well, Alonzo. You should have hidden your family somewhere safe before you go and threaten my family, don't you think?"
"The slut of a daughter." He recited as he pressed the barrel to the teenage girl’s head who let out a scream of fear around the cloth in her mouth. "That faggot of a son." The barrel shifted to the little boy who was held up by one of the guards and was on the verge of passing out.
"And that whore of a wife." Arcangelo finished as he pressed the barrel between the space of the woman's eyes, who was shaking and begging around the gag.
No! No! Dad can't do this! He can't do this.
Without realizing, Salvatore stood up to stop him, but a person behind him wrapped an arm around his midriff, locking his arms to the side with a hand clamped over his mouth. He stared with wide eyes at his father who clicked off the safety of his gun, standing behind the girl so that she was watching her father.
"Let me just tell you," Arcangelo spoke to the girl. "If your dad wasn't a stupid jackass, then you three would have survived without a scratch. But you three know too much."
The girl whimpered and shook in front of him as Alonzo was crying and begging for him to stop it and let them go and take him instead.
"And the ones who know too much..." He trailed as Salvatore closed his eyes helplessly, anticipation heavy in his stomach with bile rising in his throat
Three gunshots echoed off the walls of the warehouse.
One. By. One.
An animalistic and painful scream tore through Alonzo's mouth as the shots rang off.
"...they get killed."
Chapter I: Negotiations
15 Years Later
"Hah!" The man jolted awake with a gasp when a bucket of cold water was emptied over his head. Heaving and gasping, his gaze darted around frantically, bile rising in his throat when he realized he was bound to a chair. His stomach churned in unease the moment his eyes adjusted to the dimly lit surroundings which consisted of multiple tables standing in the desolate shadows, the chairs stacked on top.
The sound of a chair being lowered behind him had the man's skin crawling with fear, the bullet wound in his thigh bleeding and pulsating with pain. The wooden legs screeched against the marble flooring as the chair was brought to be resting in front of the captive.
He didn't dare look up, his blood rushing through his veins as he shook with suppressed anxiety. The sound of rustling fabric was accompanied by the musky scent of his captor's cologne. The fragrance wafted around him and mingled with the stench of his blood to concoct the pungent flavor of death. He heard the man sit down as his coin grey slack and polished brown dress shoes came into view as he inhaled deeply, holding his breath.
"Theodore." His voice called out to him, the authority having him snap his gaze up at the man before him.
He sat in a white button-up, whose sleeves had been rolled to his elbows. A navy blue tie around his neck with his grey blazer hanging over the back of his chair. The man's legs were crossed at the ankles with one hand leisurely slipped into his slack's pocket with the other holding a gun.
"I can make this right!" Theodore struggled against his bonds. "Just talk to me!"
"Oh, yes, Theodore." The man before him nodded. "We're going to talk alright." He held out his hand and a bottle of clear liquid was placed into his waiting palm.
Taking a sip of the drink, he poured the liquid over the gaping wound, the skin burning as the alcohol came in contact with the open gunshot. Theodore squirming and whimpering as he squeezed his eyes shut from the pain.
"I've come for your banker." He took another sip from the bottle, exhaling deeply. "Who is your banker?"
"I...I can't..."
Just as those words left his mouth, the man before him stood from his chair, pouring the vodka over his bound figure, forcing him to gag against the wretched smell and squirm at the cold sensation against his burning skin.
Theodore gasped for breath as he watched the other man pick up a cigar from the table beside him, placing it into his mouth before striking the match against the box. His breathing coming out in rapid successions as he watched him light the cigar, taking a puff before holding it in his fingers,
"Sir," He whimpered as the match was brought closer to him, tears welling in his eyes and his heart hammering against his chest. Just as the match was about to come in contact with the highly flammable liquid covering him, his captor extinguished it with a flick.
"The banker," He demanded, bringing the burning cigar threateningly close to the man.
"Please..."
"Let me make this easy for you. There are 7 banks in the East who are capable of financing a mission such as Gerard's. I run money through 4 of them and own the other 2. So tell me, which one?" He brought the cigar impossibly closer, one wrong move and the burning ash will have him combust in flames.
"Okay! Okay! I'll tell you!" Theodore relented, watching him pull back the cigar. "The money was wired from the Dundas Bank in the Italian Office; we have a man there who had it done. I swear that's all I know!"
"Thank you."
"It's-okay, so we're finished?"
"Yes, we're finished." The other man nodded in assurance, watching Theodore hang his head in relief before gasping for breath when he emptied the remaining bottle over his head. The captive coughed, suddenly finding the lit cigar to be placed into his mouth as he panted at the sight, trying his hardest to stay still while the man watched with fascination.
He had this look in his eyes that made him wonder how many people he had killed. And this grin that made him realize he had probably lost count.
"I hate cigars." He chuckled, raising his gun and pulling the trigger. The sound of the bullet leaving the barrel ricocheting off the walls as blood splatters flew everywhere, staining his suit.
Lowering the gun, he retrieved an inhaler from his pocket and took a hit from it before exhaling. Grabbing a napkin from the table, he wiped away the blood and grabbed his suit j
acket, draping it over his shoulder as his retreating footsteps echoed through the interior.
The bright May sunlight blinded him momentarily as he pulled on his sunglasses, making his way towards the open door of the Range Rover. Climbing into the back, the door shut behind.
"Did you get what you wanted?" A voice spoke beside him as the car pulled away from the curb.
"Let Piero know to comb through the activity in the local office of the Dundas Bank. There is a man there who has been wiring the money to Gerard."
"Of course, sir," He nodded.
"What's on today's agenda?"
"You have to meet with Mr. Lombardi to finalize the negotiation deal at 10," Tazio informed, typing away on the screen of his phone as the bloodied man scrunched up his face, opening his mouth to respond before being cut off. "And no, you cannot send a representative again because this is the final stage of the negotiation which you need to sign."
"Fine, and?"
"After that, you have to review the contract with Rolls Royce, who are asking about their planes-"
"-Mafia agenda, Tazio."
"In that case, after the negotiation with Lombardi, you have been invited to lunch at 12 with the Richards. Then you have to go to the construction site of our new warehouse by 2. You will be expecting a call from Mr. Alfonsi around 2:30 who wants to settle a date for a meeting. Speaking of meetings, Mr. Ricci called, canceling the 4'O clock conference-"
"-Why?"
"His son fell down the stairs, sir." Tazio put away his phone. "Then at 5, you have to make with a visit to the Adams Bank in regards to the emptying of your account, which needs your verifying signature, from there on out, Marco will handle the transfer. You will have an opening from 5:30 to 6, so you might want to call your mother. And from 6 to 9 you have those files to attend to. After 9 you wanted to inspect the nightclubs."
"Alright," He nodded. "Before going to Lombardi, I want to shower first."
"You don't want to shower, Salvatore," His second-in-command teased. "You need to shower." The man, Salvatore, chuckling at the remark.
Once he had showered and dressed in a two-piece tan suit with a navy blue tie he made his way to the location chosen by Mr. Lombardi. Arriving at the little café, he stepped into the limited crowd, the older man reading the day's paper by the window was pointed out by his representative as Mr. Lombardi.
"Mr. Lombardi?" Salvatore's second-in-command, Tazio, called out. The older man jumping in fright, causing some of the coffee to spill onto the table as Salvatore watched with a raised eyebrow.
"Yes, that's me." He rushed out, standing up in haste. "Are you Mr. Regnante?"
"That would be me." Salvatore walked forward as Tazio bowed his head.
He watched how the older man's eyes widened as he looked him up and down, looking like he had expected someone else. Mr. Lombardi must have been in his early to mid-60 with greying hair, smile lines at the edge of his hazel eyes and a slightly protruding stomach under his white button-up.
"Pleasure," He stuck out his hand, watching with indifference as Mr. Lombardi stared at him with a gaping mouth and bulging eyes.
"Oh! I'm so sorry!" He jumped out of his stupor as the man next to him cleared his throat. Grasping Salvatore's hand, he gave it a firm shake, grinning up at the taller man. "Pleasure's all mine, Mr. Regnante. Please, take a seat.
With that, the three men with Salvatore settled down as he took a seat, Mr. Lombardi sitting before him with a wide smile still sported on his lips.
"Forgive me for my delayed reaction." He chuckled as Salvatore ordered a coffee. "I was just expecting a man of your stature to be..."
"Older?"
"To put it mildly, yes,"
Nodding, Salvatore took a sip of his coffee as Mr. Lombardi continued to watch him from over his mug.
"How old are you, son?"
"28." The guard behind Salvatore piped in with a smile that instantly melted when his Boss regarded him with a cold look over his shoulder. “Forgive me,”
"Oh! Wow!" Mr. Lombardi exclaimed with bright eyes as if though he had just won a lottery.
"Let's finalize the contract, shall we?" The younger man sighed as he was handed the file. "So we negotiated that I will export your products and in return I will get 35% of the total income, correct?" He questioned, taking out his pen from his inside pocket to sign the document.
"Actually..." Mr. Lombardi halted him as Salvatore glanced up from below his lashes. "I would like to suggest something else."
Sighing, he leaned back, taking a sip of the black coffee before gesturing for him to continue.
"Well, Mr. Regnante. I heard you have your hand in a multitude of businesses."
"Yes."
"In that case, is it correct that you supply weaponry and sometimes in the crates, there are various dealings as well?"
His smile grew when Salvatore stared at him blankly, neither denying nor confirming the allegation put forth.
"Mr. Regnante, I would like to suggest that you sell my product as well as export it to your clients at your usual rates, and give me 90% of all the earnings."
"And why would I do that, Mr. Lombardi?" Salvatore raised an eyebrow in amusement, folding his hands on the top of the table.
"Because I hadn't realized that you'd be 28!" He laughed to himself as the other man watched him patiently. "And I'm assuming you're single by the lack of a wedding ring and I doubt you're in a relationship given that a man of your standing would not have time for such notions."
Salvatore leaned back, looking at him with a raised eyebrow, not understanding what the old man was trying to insinuate.
"Mr. Lombardi, as you just said yourself, I'm a busy man. So if you wouldn't mind, get to the point." Salvatore glanced down at his Tag Heuer. "Why would I conduct your business transactions alongside mine and get only 10% of the total earnings?"
"Mr. Regnante." He chuckled, leaning forward with glinting eyes and a wide grin. "How do you feel about a political merger?"
Chapter II: Consigliere
The sun began to recede behind the mountains by the time Salvatore returned back to his estate.
"What do I have left?" He closed the car door behind him, looking down at his watch once more.
"The files and an inspection of the nightclubs, sir," Tazio got in sync with his steps.
"Move the inspection to another day, and bring the files to my personal study,"
"Not the office, sir?"
"No," Salvatore shook his head and he made his way towards the marble staircase, stopping short as a thought occurred to him. "Also, call my Consigliere. Tell him I want to meet as soon as possible."
"Of course,"
With the instructions given, The Mafia Boss made his way up one flight of stairs before going up another. On the second floor, he walked down the immaculate hallway, the white marble glinting in the bright lighting of the interior as various pictures and paintings lined the beige walls, flower vases situated on the tabletops as he took a left, heading in the opposite direction of his bedroom.
Making his way up another flight of marble stairs, Salvatore arrived at the mahogany door of his study, pushing them open.
Unlike his office on the ground floor, this study was restricted to almost everyone other than the people he summoned. And much unlike his office, it looked quite different as well.
Across the room was a wall covered in curved window panes from the roof to floor, the off-white embroidered curtains pulled back to show the sun setting behind the mountain peaks with a cluster of trees at its base. Two dark velvet high backed chairs settled before the windows and a roundtable sat between them. The walls were a pearl gray with white lining to match the raised ceiling; while the floor covered by a beige carpet. White shelves covered the entire right wall, housing books and trophies and decorations, even some family pictures. At the center of the right wall stood a polished office table with various stationery items neatly placed on the surface, a porcelain fireplace adjacent to the table
with an off-white fainting sofa placed in the corner, a blue circular rug resting in the center of the floor.
Making his way towards his table, Salvatore took a seat before pulling open one of the drawers, rummaging through the contents before pulling out a file, flipping through the pages; his search was cut short by a knock on his door.
"Come."
Tazio stepped in with a handful of files and papers. Making his way over to his boss, he put down the folders and took a step back.
"Your Consigliere will arrive in 20 minutes, and these are the files of the day."
"Dismissed," Salvatore pulled the stack towards him, grabbing the first folder. Giving him a curt nod, Tazio stepped out.
He was halfway through his third file when a knock sounded on the door once more and swung open as Salvatore permitted entrance. The man in the doorway stood tall and confident in a dark grey suit and black button-up as he made his way across the room.
"You called me?" He settled in one of the high backed chairs, opening the button of his blazer.
"Has Tazio debriefed you?"
"No,"
"I met with Mr. Lombardi today to settle the negotiations."
"How did that go?"
"Not the way I had expected." Salvatore sighed, not looking up from the file. "We had agreed that I will export his produce for 35% of the total earnings, but after having met me, he decided to alter the agreement."
"What did he propose?"
"He proposed that rather than exporting a handful of his products, I export his entire business to my clients at my rates for 10% of the total earnings..." Salvatore dropped the pen, leaning back in his chair as he pinched the bridge of his nose.