CHAPTER 2
991 Words
AUTHOR’S POV****
The underground hall was quiet. Tense. Men moved around, checking weapons, sending quick reports of their own. No one looked up at him. Denis didn't wait for greetings. His boots hit the floor, heavy and steady. Everyone knew better than to make eye contact.
“Viktor! Gather everyone. Now.” His voice cut through the silence. Sharp. Measured.
The men scrambled. No questions. No hesitation. The radio clicked, orders were delayed. Every movement was precise. Fear simmered in the air.
Denis stopped in the center. He roared, loud enough to shake the room. “I am Denis Volkov. The most feared mafia in this country. Everyone trembles at the mention of my name. Who dares to attack me?”
The hall went still. Men shifted nervously. No one spoke. He scanned thier faces, sharp eyes looking for a sign.
“When I ask a question, you answer!” he yelled.
“Who attacked me?!” His voice rose, low and threatening.
Silence. Then a chuckle. Not his.
One man lingered too long, eyes glued to the floor. Denis didn't hesitate. He lifted his pistol and fired. One shot. The man dropped. Blood pooled around him. The others froze, rigid, staring at the body. Anyone of them could be next.
“Who leaked the location of my shipment?” His voice lowered, cold. Waiting. Still nothing.
“You. Come here.” He pointed at one man. The man ran to him, hands shaking.
“Open your mouth.” Denis shoved the pistol inside. Ready.
“Sir… we found him,” Viktor interrupted. “The one who tipped them off.”
Denis turned his gaze. In the corner, they dragged a trembling man forward. Wide eyes, hands flailing. Denis shoved him into a chair. The man screamed instantly.
“You dare to betray me? Denis Volkov. Your master?”
Denis's voice was calm. Steady. But every word was danger. His hands moved to the man's fingers. He twisted. The man screamed, clawing at himself, blood running down his face.
“Please… I didn't –” The voice broke.
“Shut up!” Denis snapped. He picked up a small blade. He chopped out his fingers like it was nothing. One by one. The man writhed. Sweat, blood. Denis didn't flinch. Didn't look away.
He picked a hot iron, pressed it onto the man's cheek. Engraving his initials on his cheek. Boldly.
Finally, when the man was barely conscious, Denis lifted his face to meet his eyes. “Let it be known: No one goes against me and lives to tell the tale.” One gunshot. Dead.
Viktor checked his body. Denis ordered it removed. Wiped his hands on Viktor's jacket. Silence returned. Only when spoken to did anyone move.
Denis walked past the men slowly, scanning each face. One mistake. One betrayal. That's all it took. They all understood.
He moved towards the elevator, to his office above the hall. But paused at the bathroom door to clean up. Viktor stepped aside to answer a call.
“Sir… Damian Petrov is waiting in your office,” Viktor said.
Denis didn't answer immediately. He straightened his jacket, checked his gun. “Tell him to wait.” Viktor nodded and left. Denis took his time. Cleaned his hands. Checked his reflection and smirked.
Finally, he left the hall. Boots clicked on stone floors. Viktor followed. Quiet. Careful. The elevator doors closed behind them.
Damian waited. Hands shaking, face pale.
“Please… I beg you… let me keep my house… my children…”
Denis sat on his chair. Didn't soften. “You've lost everything. Your mistake cost me millions of dollars. Your house, your property– it all belongs to me. I have allowed you to stay in the house for a year, it's time to give back what's mine.” He gritted. “You should be grateful.”
Damian pleaded. Wailed. “Please, there's nowhere for me and my children… just give me one more year, Denis, just one year. I can work for you again. I will make it right this time.”
“You are lucky, you know. You should rejoice. Celebrating, that I didn't kill you. Yet, here you are, with the audacity to beg like a child.”
“Oh! How the mighty have fallen,” he mocked.
Denis didn't flinch. “Viktor,” he said.
“Sir.”
“Walk him out. And make sure he never comes back here.”
Viktor escorted Damian. Denis's eyes never left him.
“Two days. They are out. I've been patient enough.”
He relaxed into his chair. Staring at his name etched on the gold platter on his desk. Authority. Power. Control.
“Sir, I'm back,” Viktor said.
“Did you get the information I asked for earlier?”
“Yes. All in the file on your desk.”
Denis picked up the file. Laughed low, dangerous. “Artem?” he asked. With no surprise. One of the members of the Mafia empire.
“Artem has always been one with no satisfaction. He wants everything to himself. Now see where that has gotten him — to the Lion's den.” He chuckled. Looking out the window.
“Greed has finally cost him his life. He thinks he can eliminate me to claim my throne? Reputation and business which I built brick by brick?” He turned to Viktor.
He was filled with rage.
“Gather the men,” Denis said.
He changed his shirt. Rolled up his sleeves. Smirked at his reflection. Jacket over one shoulder.
The exit loomed. Hallway was silent. Each step is deliberate, measured.
Denis stopped at the exit. Looked at the city beyond the building. It had no idea what was coming.
“Viktor,” he said.
“Yes, sir.”
“Are the men assembled?”
“They are, sir.”
“Let's go show the enemy that no-one attacks me and lives.”
- Writer
