The Mafia's Hunt

Chapter One

Chapter One

Chaos wasn't an exception in Golithe, the Axe Mafia's territory. Smoke and blood covered the streets.

Ten-year-old Diane hid in the dark, her brother’s hand trembled in hers. She placed her second hand over his mouth to keep him quiet.

Gun shots and screams made them so scared. Her chest burned with every air she took in from smoke.

“Don’t be scared, my pumpkins. Run to the hiding room,” Dad said. His eyes lingered on them for a moment as he pressed a quick kiss to their foreheads. Then he turned to his men. “Go.” Stop them from coming close. Spare no one.”

They waited there, but no one came. Diane turned to her brother lying beside her looking famished. “Daddy, will come get us okay?” She whispered, forcing out the words as her voice shook.

Hours passed, but no familiar voice called out, no footsteps either. They could not wait any longer.

Barefoot and bleeding, they ran past fallen buildings. Their mansion was ash. Charred bodies littered the ruins. “Dad? Mom?!” Diane’s voice broke, her chest beating fast, but she held and squeezed her brother’s hand tight. She had to be the brave one.

They ran until, BANG! A gunshot echoed behind her.”

Immediately, his hand slipped from hers. She turned around. Her brother was gone.

She hid behind a tree, shaking, her eyes red. Her arms locked around her legs, all alone she sobbed. The sound of footsteps drew closer. She stood up and ran faster until she became weak. Her vision blurred, then black.

*************

Present

The warehouse stunk of blood. Both old, fresh, wet from people dealt with.

It was a stained and cracked concrete floor. A few bulbs hung on the ceiling, shaky light reflecting across. The beams were stained in patches, water dripped from the roof, each drop echoing.

Two men dressed in black suits stood still at the entrance, staring at the Black SUV that had pulled up. Zara and Mark stepped out, dressed like assassins in dark shirts, pants, and boots pulled over their ankles.

They moved forward to the guards, each step hitting the ground.

Where is that traitor? Zara’s voice cut through the air.

“He’s in, ma’m. Still alive, just like you instructed,” one of the guards said, keeping his eyes forward.

Her eyes didn’t leave his. “Bring him to me.”

The guards didn’t waste time. They moved inside where they kept the traitor. His groan echoed from far inside the building, accompanied by the sound of their boots hitting the warehouse floor. They moved a beaten man close to her, his body hanging between their arms.

His face was swollen and bruised from the torment of the guards, his eyes barely open. Blood clung to his mouth and his clothes reeked of urine and sweat.

Almost impossible to tell what color his shirt had been.

Zara stood over the snitch, one glove already on, the other still clenched in her fist. She wasn’t in a rush. He was already on his knees, crying on the floor, his sweat mixed with the blood in his mouth talking nonsense about how he didn’t mean it.

He had ratted out on the mafia group for money and thought it would be overlooked. Not with Zara around.

Never with her, especially not after her father had given her permission long ago: “Anyone who tries to play smart with the enemy, deal with them however you want.” That was all she needed.

Zara was her new name and identity now. Everyone knew her as Zara, not Diane.

She knew how everyone viewed her at first sight. Beautiful, delicate, soft, blue innocent eyes perceived by someone who should’ve been an heiress, not tormenting a traitor in a warehouse. She looked harmless, making her outside jobs easier.

But there she was, mean. Quick to spill blood if someone crossed her line. She didn’t care who begged.

She saw the shock in the mafia's eyes; especially the men. She knew she wasn’t just dangerous to them, but she was more brutal than most of the men from rumors she'd heard. And she loved that perspective.

Zara put on her other glove slowly, like it was part of a ritual. Then she grabbed the hammer from the weapons crate, positioned it between knives and pistols.

The man’s eyes widened. “Please.” I swear I didn’t say anything.

She cut him off with a slap. Then she leaned in close. "Aw," she said, her voice calm, almost sweet. "You didn’t say anything." You just sold your people out for money?

We are family, we take care of our own. You are paid well. "If you had a problem you would come to us, not our enemies," she added.

He tried to speak again, but she slapped him harder. “Shut up.”

Oh, but of course. "You didn’t mean it," she said, picking up the hammer and resting it on her shoulder. “Let me guess; you were drunk? Or maybe possessed? ”

He shook his head fast. "Zara, I swear." I don't know what came…

“You didn’t know? That’s your problem.” She kicked him in the chest with her boot, sending him backward with a grunt.“Bring him up,” she ordered one of the guards.

She stood over him again, voice low. "I don’t have time for weak men who think running their mouths won’t cost them." "You made a choice, now reap it."

He pleaded, crying, his body shaking, asking for a second chance. But Zara had heard it all before. The crying, the promises, wasn't new to her, neither did it change her mind on what she was going to do.

She had no mercy on traitors and opposing mafias. She gripped the hammer tighter. "Some have to go down for balance to exist."

"You’re just one of them." That was her mantra that fueled her hunt.

She didn't smile; never did while handling business.

Zara turned her back on the bleeding man, begging for another chance. Then a sudden crack came through. His pleas turned to a choking sound.