THE MAFIA'S KITTEN

​In a dimly lit room, several men that looked terrifying sat looking grim. Some were smoking cigarettes; some just sat there with crossed legs. Suddenly, the door swung open as if it had been forcefully kicked. Two bulky men walked in, dragging a badly injured person, and threw him on the ground right where the men sat before going to stand at the corner of the room where they were barely visible. ​The man on the floor, feeling the eyes of everyone on him, got up and took a kneeling position. He started sweating profusely when he spotted his boss at the far end of the room glaring at him. ​"Malcom… is it?" One of the men sitting on the sofa with a glass of red wine spoke calmly. ​"Ye-y-yes sir," the man answered, stuttering. ​"You were told to take your boys and wipe out one of the Dark Dragon hideouts, weren't you?" The man questioned while looking straight into his eyes, making the Malcom guy almost piss himself. ​"Yes s... sir." ​Malcom looked obviously terrified, knowing that the man could kill him with the snap of a finger and his boss wouldn't say s**t about it. ​"So… if that’s the case…" he drawled out, swirling the contents of his glass. "What happened? Because as far as I can recall, you left with 100 boys to attack a hideout containing a little over 20 people… why did you fail then?" ​The man questioned, "Sir, I didn't, I didn't know they'd be that strong. They were just too strong; they overpowered us in seconds. I was the only one who managed to escape." ​Malcom rushed his speech with hopes of convincing them that it was not his fault. ​The Mafia Smirked, dropped his glass on the table, and sat up straight so he could get a better look at the man kneeling. "So you're telling me that you and a hundred of your boys couldn't take out 20 of those Dark Dragon brats, is that it?" ​Malcom shifted uncomfortably and answered, "Yes sir. I mean no sir. They, they overpowered us, they were stronger than us." ​"Strong, huh?" The Mafia scoffed and rested his back before turning to look at Malcom’s boss, who returned the glare even harder. ​"That's some men you have here, Rufus. 100 of them can't take out 20 brats." The Mafia laughed with the others. Then someone burst in, saying, "Yeah, he’s raising a bunch of weak d***s," and they erupted into another round of laughter. ​When everything calmed, Mafia Rufus was already red with anger and shame. "Malcom, I entrusted you with a simple task of wiping out one of his small hideouts… and you failed." He drew out the last statement while staring daggers at the man. ​"You know the consequences, right?" he asked. ​"No sir… please sir… Give me a chance… One last chance… please. I promise I won't fail… please…" Malcom begged while crying, but to no avail. ​Rufus signaled his assistant to take him out. The guy moved and without hesitation dragged the man by his collar to take him outside. Not too long after, a gunshot rang out. The man had been shot dead. ​Back in the room, Rufus sat back down and held out his glass cup to be refilled by one of his boys standing nearby. When the glass was half full, he downed the entire content in one gulp with hope of flushing the anger and embarrassment he’d gotten today, but his eyes were still bloodshot. ​The room was quiet until someone spoke to tighten the atmosphere. "So what do we do now? As it turns out, we have failed to wipe out one of their hideouts and they'll be on alert from here on. If truly those dickheads are strong, then we can’t go on full war with them. We've completely missed our chance of landing them a surprise attack. And there is no f*****g way we’re fighting their mafia directly," the red-hair mafia spoke thoughtfully. ​Then a brown-haired man with a tall physique and a potbelly slammed his glass on the table, shattering it in an instance, anger visible on his face. ​"This is all bullshit! I f*****g said it, Rufus can't get the job done, but y'all refused to listen. Now if the Dark Dragon mafia finds out what happened and traces it back to us, we're dead… f*****g dead!" ​"Now calm down, Johnathan," the first mafia who spoke to Malcom said, trying to settle things. ​"No… don't f*****g tell me that, Lucien. Piece of s**t Lucien, don’t, 'cause I said it. I f*****g begged to be given a chance to lead my boys into war, but you refused. Instead, you let that asshole take the job and mess it up," the brown-haired mafia called Johnathan said. ​Rufus shot up from his seat and grabbed Johnathan by his shirt, fisting it. He demanded, "Who are you calling an asshole?" ​"Of course it's you, motherfucker," Johnathan replied and pushed him off. ​A fight was about to break out. ​TBC…