Sold To The Wrong Mafia King

Chapter 2

Luca's Pov

The screams never moved me. Not the first, not the hundredth. Pain had a rhythm, a music of its own—desperate, guttural, wet. The traitor had long since lost his dignity, chained naked to the blood-slick floor of the cellar. His name didn’t matter anymore.

I crouched in front of him, watching the pathetic rise and fall of his chest. One eye was swollen shut, the other rolled back in delirium. His teeth lay in a crimson puddle by his feet.

I clocked my head to the side, just watching him. Then I stood and grabbed a knife from the table beside me. I walked back to the man and brandished the knife in front of his eyes.

“I actually prefer knives to guns, you know,” I began, my voice clear and calm. “It's sharper and more aesthetically useful,” I added as I dragged the blade slowly down the traitor’s chest. The steel glinted under the single overhead light, slicing flesh with ease, painting the concrete floor crimson.

The man sobbed and writhed in his chair, unable to make a sound due to the gag in his mouth. Tears streamed down his cheeks, making his already damaged eyes look even worse.

I spoke slowly, voice calm. “You gave my trade routes to Matteo.”

He whimpered something, maybe a denial. Maybe a prayer. It didn’t matter.

I reached for the blowtorch.

“Last chance.”

He didn’t respond, just a soft gurgle of blood and mucus. I pressed the flame into his thigh. The hiss of searing flesh filled the room. He screamed, high and shrill.

“Tell me who else was involved.”

“I—I don’t—” he stuttered, his voice muffled.

I shoved the flame higher, until the skin peeled and muscle twitched like a dying animal. The smell of charred meat hit my nose. One of my men gagged in the corner, but it was the animalistic cry that escaped the traitor's mouth that thrilled me the most.

It took another twenty minutes before he broke. Names, dates, whispers. Useless now. I slit his throat when I was done, watching the blood fan across the floor like spilled ink.

I stood and stepped back, wiped the blade clean on the dead man’s shirt, and tossed it to one of my soldiers. "Burn the body. Dump the ashes in the sewer."

"Yes, boss."

I turned without another glance, brushing invisible dust from his tailored black jacket. Blood splattered my sleeves, but I just didn't care. It was just another Tuesday.

****

My club—The Crimson Halo—sat like a dark jewel in the heart of the city. From the outside, it looked like a fortress of tinted glass and iron. Inside, the pulse of low bass vibrated through the velvet-lined walls. Smoke coiled under chandeliers, and laughter rang from VIP rooms where deals and sins shared the same bed.

As I walked through, every dancer paused. Bartenders froze mid-shake. My presence was a warning, a promise. My eyes swept across the main floor. No one looked back. No one ever dared.

Upstairs, I passed by a two-way mirror overlooking the dance floor. Women danced in glittering shadows, high on power and pleasure. Men drank themselves stupidly, thinking they owned the night. Fools. The night belonged to me.

From the corner of my eye, I spied Gabriel stepping in line behind me. He was a brick wall of muscle, so it made it easier to spot him every time. He was my second-in-command, trusted only because he’d proven his loyalty a hundred times over.

I entered my private office, walls lined with liquor, guns, and silence. Gabriel followed, closing the door behind him.

I poured myself a drink—whiskey. Neat. A bottle you couldn’t buy unless you owned three city blocks, and walked back to my desk.

"Talk," I said, leaning back in my chair, my voice carrying the weight of command.

Gabriel didn’t waste time. "We hit another shipment. Guns came in clean. No heat."

"Good."

"But there’s something else."

My brow lifted slightly. "Go on."

He passed me a tablet, photos of crying girls, busted cages, bruises, a horror show of innocence ruined. I stared at the images, jaw tightening.

"Where?"

"Southside. Right under our turf. A prostitution ring ran through one of the abandoned bakeries. Girls between the ages of eight and fifteen. We didn’t know it was happening. The ring was busted two nights ago. The police are keeping it quiet."

"Who’s behind it?"

"We traced it back to Viktor’s men," he answered.

Viktor Romano, my archenemy and the devil himself. I have never prided myself on being good or anything... I have killed so many to consider myself righteous, but I do have principles guiding me.

In my world and line of work, it is hard not to get your hands dirty by shedding some blood, but I have constantly made it law that no one under me— not even me-touches children or women.

But Viktor doesn't care about anything like that. He never did.

My grip on the glass tightened until it cracked.

"He dares bring that filth to my streets?" I growled, "I kill for money." "For territory. But children?"

"We didn’t touch the operation, boss." "You know that," Gabe assured me.

"I know. If I had, I’d kill myself."

I stood abruptly, the glass shattering in my hand, but I barely flinched.

"I want Matteo’s head on my desk."

"Already working on it."

"No. I want to make him beg. I want his empire to rot. I want the same cages he put those girls in—but filled with his f*****g men. I want the world to watch as I strip him of everything."

"Yes, boss."

I sighed, raking my fingers through my hair and sweeping it back. "What happened to the girls?"

“We made sure the place was torched,” Gabe continued. The girls were taken to safe houses. No casualties. But the whole thing stinks of a challenge. "Viktor wanted us to find it."

I settled back down into my chair, and drummed my fingers once on the desk. “Bait.”

“Yes.”

I leaned back, eyes narrowing. Viktor had always been a snake, but this was new. Brazen.

“I want his supply lines traced. Every truck, every guard. Tear into his security until he bleeds intel.”

Gabe nodded. “Already in motion.”

I looked past him, down to the floor of the club, where the music pounded and people pretended they were safe.

“He wants a war,” I muttered.

Gabe waited. He knew better than to speak unless spoken to.

“Then we gave him one. But on my terms.”

I stood. “Send a message. Hit something he values. Quietly.”

"Yes, boss," Gabe said with another curt nod,

I turned away from the window. Viktor had made his move. Now it was my turn.

And I never played fair.