Chapter 11
1644 Words
The next day, Mickey arrives at the opulent, heavily guarded mansion that serves as the headquarters of Austin’s father’s organization. In his hand is a polished black box—a bold and calculated statement. The room he steps into is vast, the air thick with cigar smoke and tension. Austin, the fourteen-year-old heir to the organization, sits at the head of the long table. His youthful face is a mix of determination and unease, a mask he wears to conceal his inexperience. Beside him stands d**k, his father’s most trusted consigliere, who now acts as his enforcer and advisor.
The other men in the room—grizzled veterans of the underworld—look at Mickey with a mix of skepticism and thinly veiled hostility. To them, he’s an outsider, an interloper with ambition written all over his face. Mickey strides confidently toward the table, ignoring the murmurs. He places the box in front of Austin with deliberate care, the corners of his lips curving into a smirk.
“Morning, kid,” Mickey says, his tone sharp but not unkind. “Thought I’d bring you proof that I’m a man of my word.”
Austin straightens in his seat, his hands clasped tightly in his lap. “What’s in the box?”
Mickey gestures toward it. “Go on. See for yourself.”
Dick steps forward, his eyes narrowing as he assesses Mickey. “If this is some kind of trick—”
“It’s not a trick,” Mickey cuts in smoothly. “It’s a statement. Open it, Dick.”
Reluctantly, d**k flicks open the lid. The room collectively inhales sharply. Inside lies the severed head of Emilio Ortega who was known as Rocco, the Don who orchestrated the death of Austin’s father. His face is frozen in an expression of terror, his eyes staring blankly ahead.
The room falls into stunned silence. One of the older men mutters a curse under his breath. Another shifts uncomfortably, glancing at Austin, who stares at the head for a long moment before looking up at Mickey.
“It’s done?” Austin’s voice wavers slightly, but he forces it steady.
Mickey nods, his smirk unwavering. “Done. Ortega’s empire is mine now. His men either pledged loyalty or were... dealt with.”
Austin’s eyes narrow. “You kept your end of the deal.”
“I did.” Mickey steps closer, his voice cold and firm. “Now it’s time for you to keep yours.”
Before Austin can respond, d**k slams his hand on the table. “No. This is insanity!” He rounds on Austin, his eyes blazing with fury. “You’re really going to hand over everything your father built to him? A stranger? A nobody?”
Austin meets d**k’s glare with quiet defiance. “He did what none of us could, d**k. We made a deal—”
“A deal with the devil!” d**k snarls, pulling a gun and aiming it squarely at Austin’s head. The room erupts into chaos as men shout and reach for their weapons, but Mickey’s voice cuts through the noise like a knife.
“Put the gun down, d**k,” Mickey says, his tone deceptively calm. “You don’t want to do this.”
Dick doesn’t budge. His hand trembles slightly as he presses the barrel against Austin’s temple. “You think I’m just going to stand by and watch this kid hand over everything to you? Over my dead body.”
Mickey’s smirk fades, replaced by a chillingly neutral expression. He steps forward, his movements slow and deliberate. “If you pull that trigger, you’ll be dead before his body hits the floor.”
Dick sneers. “You think you scare me?”
“No,” Mickey replies, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper. “I know I do.”
For a moment, the room holds its breath. Then, with lightning speed, Mickey pulls his own gun and fires. The shot echoes in the room as d**k crumples to the ground, blood pooling beneath him.
Mickey holsters his weapon and turns to the room, his eyes scanning the faces of the stunned men. “Anyone else have a problem with me taking the reins?”
Silence.
Mickey looks at Austin, who stares at d**k’s lifeless body, his face pale but composed. “You’re smart, kid,” Mickey says, his tone softening slightly. “Smarter than your father gave you credit for. That’s why I’m making you my right-hand man. You’ll learn everything—how to lead, how to survive, how to win. But make no mistake—this is my organization now.”
Austin nods slowly, his voice steady despite the chaos around him. “I understand.”
Mickey turns back to the room. “Clean this up. And spread the word—I Cobra Mortali runs Seattle now.”
As the men move to obey, Mickey leans close to Austin, his voice low. “You’ve got potential, kid. Don’t waste it.”
Austin looks up at him, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “I won’t.”
Mickey straightens and heads for the door, the weight of his victory settling over the room. But as he reaches the threshold, one of the capos speaks up, his voice filled with trepidation.
“What’s your name, boss?”
Mickey pauses, his back to the room. He doesn’t turn as he replies, his voice like steel.
“Mickey. Just Mickey.”
And with that, he steps into the shadows, leaving a room full of shaken men and a fourteen-year-old boy who has just taken his first step into a world darker than he could have imagined.
The doors closed behind him, leaving a room full of shaken men and a boy who had just taken his first step into a world darker than he could have imagined.
But as Mickey walked down the mansion’s grand hallway, his smirk faded. His eyes narrowed, his instincts prickling with unease. Something wasn’t right. He had barely stepped outside when the sharp sound of a gun being c****d stopped him in his tracks.
“Well, well,” a cold voice drawled from the shadows. “You’ve been busy, haven’t you, Mickey?”
Mickey turned slowly, his hand moving to his gun. The figure that emerged from the darkness was someone he hadn’t expected to see—someone whose very presence threatened to unravel everything he’d just built.
For the first time in years, Mickey Mickey felt a flicker of genuine uncertainty.
XXXX
Mickey spends the rest of the night in the shadows of his thoughts, seated at the edge of his desk in his penthouse overlooking the city. The lights of Seattle twinkle like stars fallen to earth, each one representing an opportunity, a threat, or a secret. His drink sits untouched, the ice melting slowly, mirroring his growing unease.
That stranger.
Who the hell is he? How does he know so much? And more importantly, how much of a threat does he pose? Mickey leans back, his fingers drumming against the edge of the desk as he replays the man’s words in his mind.
“Reshape the city... Work for me...”
Mickey doesn’t take orders from anyone. That man’s arrogance would be laughable if not for the ominous undertone in his voice. Whoever he is, he’s well-connected, powerful, and bold enough to confront Mickey on his turf. That isn’t just reckless—it’s calculated.
He can’t ignore it. His thoughts are cut short by his phone ringing. He stares at the caller ID with an unreadable expression before answering it.
“Boss,” a voice says from the other end. It’s Axel, one of his newly elected trusted lieutenants.
“We’ve got a problem.”
Mickey raises an eyebrow, gesturing for Axel to continue.
“There’s been movement in Ortega’s old territories,” Axel says. “Some of the captains who swore allegiance to us... they’ve flipped. Word is, there’s a new player stepping in to fill the vacuum.”
Mickey’s jaw tightens. “Let me guess. Tall guy, sharp suit, talks like he owns the city?”
Axel nods, clearly surprised. “Yeah. You’ve met him?”
“Something like that.” Mickey pushes himself off the desk, his mind already calculating his next move. “Get everyone we trust in one place. Now.”
Axel hesitates. “That’s not all. The word is, he’s making alliances. Not just with the remnants of Ortega’s crew, but with some of the smaller factions we’ve been squeezing out.”
“Who?”
“The Serpents. The Black Crows. Even a few of the Bratva.”
Mickey lets out a low whistle, more impressed than worried. This guy isn’t just playing games—he’s building an army.
Axel shifts uneasily. “Boss, if this keeps up, we’ll have a full-scale war on our hands. We’re spread thin as it is.”
“That’s exactly what he wants,” Mickey says, his voice cold and calculating. “He’s trying to force our hand, make us react instead of taking the lead. But we’re not going to play by his rules.”
Axel nods, though his worry is evident through the tone of his voice. “What’s the plan?”
“First, we remind everyone who runs this city now,” Mickey says, his smirk returning. “Anyone caught flipping sides gets one warning. After that, they’re an example. Second, we find out everything we can about this guy—who he is, where he came from, and what his weaknesses are. No one just walks into my city and starts making moves without consequences.”
Axel hesitates again. “And if we can’t find anything?”
Mickey’s eyes darken. “Then we make him come to us. But one way or another, this ends with him six feet under.”
- Writer
