PROLOUGE:
579 Words
The basement of the Onyx Lounge smelled of copper and damp concrete. A single lightbulb flickered overhead, casting long, jagged shadows against the walls.
Lorenzo Volpe sat in a high-backed leather chair, looking remarkably bored for a man currently watching someone lose their life. On the floor, a rival dealer—a man who had dared to "Owe" Lorenzo on a shipment—was being systematically dismantled by Lorenzo’s men.
"Please!" the man gasped, spitting blood onto Lorenzo’s hand-made Italian shoes. "I’ll get the money. I just need a week!"
Lorenzo didn't flinch. He leaned forward, his eyes cold and void of any human warmth. "You’ve had three weeks. In my world, a week is an eternity, and your time just ran out."
With a slight nod from Lorenzo, his right-hand man, Marco, finished the job. The room went silent, save for the heavy breathing of the guards.
Lorenzo stood up, meticulously wiping a stray drop of blood from his cufflink. "Marco, check the books again. This man wasn't the only leak this month."
Marco flipped through a thick, black leather ledger. "We’ve cleared most of the street debts, Don. But there’s still one outstanding account from the suburban sector. Arthur Sterling." Marco said.
Lorenzo paused, his eyes narrowing. "The architect’s brother? The gambler?"
"The same," Marco replied. "His son, Leo, has been using his father’s name to run up a tab at our underground casinos. They’re down five million. Leo tried to pay us back with a stolen car last night. It was an insult."
Lorenzo walked over to a glass cabinet and poured himself a glass of neat bourbon. "Five million. That’s not a debt; that’s a death sentence. Why haven't we collected?"
"Leo claims they have nothing left. He said they sold the family business, the cars, everything. He’s begging for 'mercy'
Lorenzo swirled his drink, the ice clinking like a funeral bell. "I don't do mercy, Marco. I do math. If they have no money, they have blood. Or they have assets."
"Actually, sir," Marco stepped closer, lowering his voice. "The scouts were watching the Sterling house. Leo has a sister. Veronica. She’s eighteen. Works a diner job, stays out of trouble. Our sources say she’s... 'untouched.' Pure. In certain circles, a girl like that is worth more than five million in cash."
Lorenzo stared into the amber liquid of his glass. He wasn't a man who indulged in women often—he found them to be distractions. But a "pure" asset in a world this dirty was a rarity. It was a trophy.
"A virgin?" Lorenzo mused, a dark, predatory smirk finally touching his lips. "In that neighborhood? That’s almost impossible to believe."
"Leo is desperate enough to sell her," Marco added. "He’s terrified of you. He’ll give her up just to keep his own skin."
Lorenzo downed the rest of his drink and set the glass on the table with a sharp clack.
"Send word to Leo Sterling," Lorenzo commanded. "Tell him I’ll wipe the five million. But I don't want his father’s house, and I don't want his excuses. I want the girl. And tell him if she arrives with so much as a scratch on her, I’ll kill him slowly."
He turned back to the shadows of the basement. "Let’s see if this 'golden girl' is worth the price of a life."
- Writer
