MAFIA'S THORN

CHAPTER FOUR

ALTON'S — POV

The warehouse looms in front of me, its metal doors hanging slightly open as I stand next to the car.

At the party, Viktor informed me that the rat has been trapped, and that rat is inside this warehouse.

Gravel crunches beneath my shoes as I walk toward the entrance. My men follow behind me in silence.

Inside the warehouse, dim light spills from scattered overhead fixtures. I shrug off my coat and hand it to one of the men behind me. Another place a golf club in my hand.

I walk toward him, the man kneeling in the center of the warehouse. His hands are tied behind his back. His shirt is already stained with sweat.

His eyes snap up as he hears my footsteps. The moment our eyes meet, he gets terrified. 'Good.' Fear means he understands the situation.

He begins to shake his head. “Why am I here? I didn’t do anything,” He tries to stand up, “They are all trying to set me up. Whatever they said is not true,” he says.

“Traitors,” I say calmly, resting the golf club on his head. “Turn to dust.”

I swing. It slams into the side of his face. His body crashes to the floor like a dead weight, the only sound in the warehouse is his groaning.

“Pick him up," I say.

Two men grab him under the arms and drag him upright. Now he is standing, swaying.

Blood runs from his mouth, dripping onto the concrete. “I swear I have not betrayed you,” he barely utters the words through his groan.

I hit his shin with the golf club. He loses balance and falls to the floor, letting out a loud shout.

They pick him up again, this time he wobbles. They force him to kneel despite his protest.

I take the chair placed in front of him and sit.

“Please… believe me.” he cries out.

I pull the gun from the back of my pants. The click of the safety echoes through the warehouse.

I aim at his thigh. His breathing turns chaotic. “What did you tell them?”

“N–nothing." His lips tremble.

I stare at him for a long moment. Then I pull the trigger, the gunshot explodes through the warehouse.

The man screams as he collapses. My men haul him back up, holding him steady. Blood begins to soak through his pants.

I tilt my head slightly, studying him. Moving the gun to his other thigh, I lock eyes with him.

I tap the gun once. Twice.

He sobs, shaking his head, still not speaking. The second shot echoes.

His scream rips through the air. Sweat pours down his face, as blood pools beneath him, spreading across the concrete.

His body trembles violently, barely able to stay upright. I say nothing, only pointing the gun to his right shoulder.

Silence is a powerful weapon.

Finally, his voice breaks, hoarse. “I shouldn’t have done it… I told them I knew the routes our shipment would take, that I’d tail it and report exactly what it contained.” He takes a deep, shaky breath. “I also told them I’d tip them off if anything big was going to happen.”

I tap once then as I'm about to tap again–

“Wait there’s… something else.” he says.

I don't remove the gun, “Speak.”

" I told them you let someone go who stumbled upon our last shipment."

The warehouse goes still. “Who?” I ask.

He tries to open his eyes wider. “I didn’t give them the details.”

I stare at him, then stand.

A handkerchief is placed into my extended hand. I wipe the blood from my fingers.

After wipping my hands, my coat is handed to me. I slip into it.

“Deal with him.” My men move instantly.

His begging follows me as I walk away. Once is all it takes in my world, there is no forgiveness.

Outside, as I reach the car, I ask, “Viktor, where is she?”

I had gone through her files that Viktor submitted, there is nothing special or shady about her. She is just a regular girl who attend parties as a social escort.

“She went to Thefort Bar.” he replies.

“Let’s go,” I say. Mario turns the engine on and drives off.

When we arrive, I see from the car that the entrance of the bar is blocked by Deluca’s men.

As the car stops, I step out, walking toward them. Viktor and the others fall in behind me.

They wear smug looks. “This is our territory,” one of Deluca’s men says, looking at Viktor. “We don’t need trouble.”

I look him dead in the eyes. “Move.”

A bald man appears and signals them aside. Grudgingly, they step back.

I nod to my crew. “Find her. Now.”

We move inside. The bar has private rooms where people drink behind closed doors, hidden from others. Every corner must be searched until she is found.

A scream cuts through the hum of the bar, my instinct drives me toward the sound. My crew follows close behind.

The voice screams louder again, desperate. My hand shoves the door the scream is coming from open, it rattles violently before crashing open against the wall with a deafening bang.

There she is. Flarie, a unique name I have learned.

Trapped on the couch. A man sprawled on top of her, her arms pinned above her head. Her clothes are torn at the shoulder, a flash of white skin shows beneath the fabric.

The man looks up, startled. “Who the f**k are you?” I move forward in long strides, grab a wine bottle from the table, I smash it over his head. Glass shatters.

He falls backward as I drag him off her. My voice is deadly. “Your end.”

Terror floods her face. I throw my coat over her, shielding her. She’s shaking. “You’re safe,” I say quietly.

My men arrive behind me, Viktor at their front. I lift her carefully and move toward the door, where both Deluca’s men and mine stand in tense silence.

“Viktor,” I say, nodding toward the man who dared touch her. "Kill him.”

The Deluca man from earlier steps forward. “You have already punished him. Show mercy.”

I don’t blink. I stare him down. Then I turn back to Viktor. “Do it.”

Viktor moves fast. Removing his gun, he pulls the trigger the sound of a gun shut rings in the room.

Flarie jerks startled. Trembling, I press her closer, she clings to me trembling,

I glance at the remaining Deluca men. The others move back, no one dare intervene. They understand crossing me has consequences they cannot bear. They clear the part for me as i carry Flarie out.

As I walk toward the exit, out of the corner of my eyes I catch a movement. A figure lurking in the dark.