Obeying The Cruel Mafia

REPRISAL.

CHAPTER ONE.

RICARDO MARTELLO.

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I made a pledge to my mother and brother's grave and my handicapped father back when I was still home, in Italy, promising him to wipe out everyone who had a hand in my mother's and brother's death. And that meant wiping out the whole America mafias and their entire family, in order to put a stop to any upcoming generations. Yet, years had passed since my mother and brother died and I had only been able to kill Diego Acosta, the man who had pulled the trigger on both their heads. Meanwhile the whole members of the American mafias, popularly known as the devil right hand mens, were still alive. Living. Partying. And assassinating members of other Mafia groups.

The devil's right hand mens were going to die by my hands, and I was going to make sure of it because I couldn't wait for the Acosta's to go extinct. With me being the reason for their extinction. One by one, I was going to decapitate them and place all their heads on the mantle or in a stake in the church they built as their cover-up profession.

In the eyes of the Americans, and the whole world at large, the Acosta's were righteous people who served God wholeheartedly. They had the biggest Church in all of America; little did they know that the Acosta's were saints during the day and demons during the night who sold illegal drugs — cocaine, poppies, and hunted for people's souls and wealth, simultaneously, claiming territories across America. The Acosta's were allies to the most ruthless Mexican cartel's. They were also the enemies I needed to wipe out, even if it meant taking my last breath in the process.

A smile made its way to my face as I wrote the name of the last member in the Acosta family into my journal, "Amber Acosta," I muttered to myself, dropping the pen next to my journal. Amber Acosta was the last member of the Acosta family, according to my men. But the only problem I had was, there wasn't a face to the name. I didn't even know if the name belonged to a male or a female. Though I knew the name Amber was mostly common within the female gender, but I couldn't be decisive because I knew the name could also be unisex. However, I figured my men were going to get me a face to the name soon. "Eccellente."

It had taken me two whole years but I finally got the names of everyone related to the Acosta family. It was an achievement that needed to be celebrated and I planned on doing so by killing a member of the Acosta's tonight. I glanced through the long list of names, staring intently on who to kill randomly amongst them all and then I made my decision. I planned on killing a key member of the Acosta family; Damon Acosta.

Damon Acosta was the third son of the Acosta's. He was twenty years older than I was, and I clearly remember the first day I met him because he left me with an impression after throwing a punch at me just because I had mistakenly bumped into him at the palla di beneficenza in Rome. Ever since then, I knew I would be the one to take his last breath.

A crooked smile made its way to my face as I moved away from my desk. I headed towards the secret door in my room, punched in the high-profile code which required my face and finger for recognition before typing in my passcode, which by the way was the first thirty number of the pie. I gained access into the dark room and after clapping my hands twice, light illuminated the whole room.

The room was the place I kept my artillery, knives and everything needed to put a bullet through someone's head and decapitate a person. The secret room had four doors, the south door, the north door, the east and west door. The north door was the door which led to my room. The east and west door didn't lead to nowhere, they only served as a decoy in case the enemies got to me. The south door was a secret passage to my underground driveway which could easily lead me to the outskirts of Orleans, that secret passage was for emergency reasons only.

I picked up a rifle bag and picked up some of my favorite pistols — my 9mm Glock 7 and my 9mm Glock 9, from its spot. I also took some sharp knives, a Gerber StrongArm and LMF II, a benchmade Nimravus Tanto or Drop Point, and a fox 479 G10 Emerson Wave Karambit which was given to me by my father. I ran a finger through the sharp edges of the karambit, and the knife left a scratch on my fingertip, silently voicing to me that it was sharp enough to cut through flesh even without applying pressure. I threw the knives into the bag, some magazines and bullets, picked up some rifles and threw them in. I even added a pepper-spray, it could come in handy.

Zipping the bag close, I picked up a gun holster and wore it over my body. Ever since I turned fifteen my father made it a necessity for me to wear a holster, because of our enemies who could be lurking around, waiting to kill me. So, I was always alert. After arranging my guns on the holster, I picked up a black beanie and wore it over my head. Then I picked up black leather gloves and a jacket before wearing them.

Grande. I was good to go.

I threw the bag over my shoulder and exited the secret room through the south door which led to my underground garage. After passing through some flights of stairs, I eventually reached my garage and chose to ride my Ferrari Portofino — It was the fastest car amongst my fleets of other cars I had. I threw my rifle bag on the other side of the seat and ignited the car. I drove out of my garage, into the darkness that lurked with the full moon before driving straight out of the outskirts of Orleans.

Picking up my phone, I sent a message to one of my men requesting for the whereabouts of the 'almighty' Damon Acosta. Not long after my request, I received his GPS location. I jammed his location into my GPS tracker and turned on the radio in my car, increasing the volume to the max as Heroes Tonight by janji and jonning boomed out of my stereo.

I got to the Damon Acosta location sooner than I expected but it made me happy because it meant I could kill and skin him sooner. I packed my car at a far distance from his house and looked at the numerous guards that paraded his gate. Even without being told I knew the security deposit at the house was at its max. I took my rifle bag and opened it. I placed my karambit knife into my spiky boot, using my leather pants to cover the sheath which spiked out. My Glock 7 went into the side of the pants, along with some magazines and extra bullets, and lastly, my pepper-spray went into my pocket.

I was fully dressed.

Dressed to shed blood.

Dressed to avenge the Injustice the American Mafia had done to the Italian Mafia.

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