Mafia Lords: On Their Knees Begging For Her Forgiveness

Chapter Eight

Marco had vanished, he must’ve rushed to the eastern gate.

It’s better for him to find that fcker.

Just before stepping inside, my eyes were blazing with fury and vengeance. I growled at one of the guards, “Tell the Capo, I want the sniper alive.”

Everything was in chaos, people were running around, and women were screaming. The mafia bosses of the families were surrounded by their bodyguards. Unlike our guards, who were trained to operate under extreme pressure and now stand firm in their positions, guiding people with steely presicion.

Being able to reach the second gate of the eastern territory could only mean one thing: there was a traitor. No, traitors. And I would never forgive this betrayal.

I walked down the hall toward the basement and gently laid Mila’s barely-conscious body on the bed in the fully equipped operating room.

I slapped her face gently, just enough to keep her from losing consciousness.

“Mila, please…” I uttered, my voice was a little harsh.

Sweat was dripping from my forehead, even though the weather wasn’t warm, and water was still dripping from my body as well.

I cleared my voice and tried again. “Piccolo Gatto, Mila,” I whispered, squeezing her hand as I continued slapping her cheeks gently.

“You will be okay, I promise.” I wasn’t sure who I was promising though. She was bleeding heavily. Her closed eyes were as beautiful as ever.

Memories of her as a little girl kept scrolling in my mind, how she used to jump on my back and ride me like a unicorn horse. I shook my head. This wasn’t my Mila. My Mila had died for this one to be born.

She opened her eyes slowly and stuttered, “A… Angelo…”

I searched for a strile cloth and pressed it gently onto her wound to stop the bleeding, as the floor began to fill with a mix of her blood and water.

She stared at me with fading eyes and barely whispered, “Angelo...”

The sweat overwhelmed me. It wasn’t just on my forehead anymore; my palms and back were drenched in hot sweat too. A headache slammed sharply in my head.

Doctor Alfredo barged in with two nurses in record time. They froze, staring at the blood on the ground in shock.

“Start sterilizing the patient immediately. It looks like she’s lost a lot of blood,” he ordered the nurses as he began sterilizing his hands.

“She was shot by a sniper,” I growled, trying to explain the situation to him.

Alfredo stared at me, his expression tense, and said, “Mr. Hayden, why don’t you wait outside with the others?”

I shook my head in refusal as the headache began to overwhelm me even more, and he fell silent, knowing there was no point in trying to convince me.

I put the phone on speaker after dialing Marco. The moment he answered, I roared, “I want him alive. It’s better for you and your soldiers.”

I didn’t wait for his answer; I hung up as soon as I saw the frown on Alfredo’s face after examining her. “It’s just a surface injury, she’s not bleeding…”

He looked at me, then down to the chair I was sitting on, where a pool of blood spread beneath it. Pointing to the ground, he added, “You’re.”

I knew I was injured, but not to that extent, though.

“Help her first, I can handle it,” I said, my heart aching as I realized it was likely from the blood loss.

“But… Mr. Hayden, she’s fine. It’s just a surface injury; she’ll likely need two or three stitches,” he explained nervously, glancing between my face and the blood pool under the chair. “But you’re the one who’s bleeding much.”

****

It didn’t take from Dr. Alfredo more than half an hour to pull the bullet from my body—the bullet had grazed Mila’s waist before lodging itself in my abdomen—and stitched me up without anesthesia. Even though he tried to convince me to use it, I refused. I didn’t have time for that sht. All I wanted was to bury my fingers into that sniper’s neck.

It wasn’t like this was the first time I’d endured pain. I couldn’t even count the countless times I’d pulled a bullet from my own body with my bare hands.

Three hours had passed since the assassination. The backyard was already empty, except for Marco, Recardo, a few soldiers and a man in black, kneeling on the ground before them. The tables and decorations were still in place.

Marco conducted the investigation himself with that sniper, alone in a cell in the underground basement. After a third of an hour, the sniper admitted he had been sent by the Ricci family.

Who could tolerate Marco’s investigation? No one, at least for now.

My eyes darkened when Ricardo told me that, as I sat in the study, watching the surveillance camera recordings.

“So, the target was Mila. They didn’t forget their revenge after all,” I said at that moment.

Here I was now, standing in the backyard before that pawn who would lose his life after a few minutes. He was a stupid pawn though, didn’t even know who helped him to get to the roof of the eastern gate.

“Mercy, Il Cattivo, please. I have a wife and kids,” he begged. I kicked him as he clutched at my feet. He already knew he was dead, unless a divine miracle happened.

“And the one you tried to kill is a mother of a child. Didn’t you think you were going to make him an orphan?” I yanked him up with his collar.

“Regret won’t help me now,” he pleaded, tears running down his swollen eyes. “But please, my kids and my wife, they have no fault.”

I bared my teeth as I swiftly turned him, so his back was against my chest, then whispered in his ear, “Don’t be scared, fcker, everything will be fast. You won’t feel a thing.”

I didn’t have a choice. I had to kill him, and anyone who caused harm to the Haydens. It’s all about reputation. If I didn’t, it would be seen as a weakness, and everyone would rabel. So, slay the lamb to scare the dogs.

It wasn’t like I wouldn’t enjoy killing him. Even if I had the choice, I'd still kill him. But he was not my goal, he was a nobody. My revenge with the Riccis. No one dares to threaten my family and servives my punishment. Even though the woman they threatened was the one I hated most, Mila.

Only I get to make her suffer.

Her pale face flashed in the back of my mind. My eyes darkened, and I clenched my fists in fury.

“Please, Il Cattivo,” the fcker begged. I could feal his heartbeat pounding furiously.

I whispered, “I’m already showing you mercy by killing you fast.”

At the moment I placed one hand on his jaw and the other on the back of his head and snapped his neck, my eyes met Mila's, who was standing by one of the basement windows overlooking the backyard.

Her eyes widened in shock and disbelief, both hands flying to cover her mouth. Then, she disappeared from the window.

“Investigate his family. If he wasn’t one of the Ricci family’s men and was just an ordinary pawn, then send a monthly money amount to his family, if he really did have kids. Tell them it was a car accident,” I told Ricardo as I walked back to the study to review the surveillance footage, with Marco walking silently beside me.

This wasn’t mercy. It was balance, and paying off loyalties.

“It seems the Ricci are really looking to take revenge on her. It’s a good thing you brought her from Italy,” Marco said as we entered the mansion.

“Four years of heavy security on her in Italy didn’t stop them from reaching her. Her return was mandatory,” I said as I stopped, then added, “Go to the study, I’ll catch up.” Then I turned and headed to the basement.