MAFIA'S THORN

CHAPTER SIX

ALTON’S — POV

I don’t tell Mario to move until the light in her apartment is on. I sit there for a brief moment, watching and scanning the area.

Only when I'm satisfied do I lean back into the leather seat. “Back to the mansion.”

We reach the estate by past midnight. The gates are already sliding open when we approach. The sound of tires crunching over gravel is loud in the quiet, the mansion appears ahead.

Mario stops at the steps. I step out as he opens the door, the front doors swinging open. Inside, bright light floods the foyer.

A staff member steps forward and takes my suit jacket without a word. The mansion is quiet at this hour. Most of the staff have already retired to their quarters, leaving the halls empty.

I head upstairs.

My room is already lit when I enter. The floor-to-ceiling windows show the view outside. I move through it removing the rest of my clothes.

By the time I step into the shower, the night with Flarie is already replaying in my head. The anger in her voice. One thing is for sure, she is a person who stands her ground even when she recognizes who she is speaking to. Most people would have cowered in my presence, but she didn’t.

Water runs down my face from the shower, but it doesn’t wash her out of my head. If anything, it fixes her there which is a problem.

And I don’t ignore problems. I deal with them. Now she’s in my head and people who stay in my head don’t stay safe for long.

When I finally step out of the shower, I dry myself and put on a pair of lounge pants. As soon as my back hits the bed, I doze off.

***

My eyes open on their own, I make a quick stop to the bathroom. After that, I check the time. It's four am. I change into workout clothes and head to the gym on the other side of the house.

The gym is filled with equipment from weights, punching bags to aerobic tools. Reaching for the boxing gloves, I sit on a bench and wear them. I start with the heavy bag, each strike lands with a dull thud that echoes against the walls.

After a while, Viktor joins me. He watches quietly as I finish another round before speaking, “There is something you should see.”

Removing the gloves, I grab a towel and wipe the sweat from my face, flexible my wrist.

Viktor hands me a file as we step out of the gym. "Also, you have a meeting with your father today."

I briefly flip it open to see grainy night shots of a familiar face.

“Where did you get this?” I close it.

“From our intel,” Viktor says.

“Keep it quiet."

He nods.

Two hours later, we head to the hospital. Inside, the building is already busy with doctors, nurses, and visitors moving through the halls. We ride up to the restricted floor.

The elevator dings softly as the doors open. Bright lights, white tiles and closed ward doors line both sides of the hall.

My father’s room sits at the fourth door to the right of the elevator. Two guards stand outside it. They straighten the moment they see me and open the door without asking for identification.

Inside, the air smells of disinfectant layered over something floral that doesn’t quite mask it. Sunlight pours through the windows, softened by sheer curtains that are only half drawn. An air purifier hums quietly in the corner. White lilies sit beside his bed, carefully maintained, like the machines that surround him.

Screens display slow-moving lines with a soft glow, a heart monitor beeps in a steady rhythm that is constant to remind you it’s there. Tubes and wires run from the machines to my father’s body, taped carefully to his skin. An IV drip feeds into his arm from a plastic bag hung on a metal stand, the liquid catching the light as it falls drop by drop. The rise and fall of his chest is visible beneath white sheets, fogging his oxygen mask slightly with each breath.

I pull a chair closer to the bed and sit. His eyes follow my movement.

Slowly, he lifts a hand and removes the oxygen mask, setting it aside with care. The machine emits a soft warning tone before settling.

“How are things?” he asks. His voice is rough, but even now he refuses to sound weak.

“Stable,” I answer.

He looks past me toward the curtain. “I thought you wouldn’t come.”

“And yet here I am.”

A faint smile touches his lips.

“Because you’re mine.”

“No,” I say calmly. “Because if I don’t show up, the wolves circle faster.”

His gaze turns and he hits me with it. “I heard about Matteo.”

After a brief moment," I handled it,” I tell him coldly.

His gaze shifts to me. “You killed him.”

“Yes.”

The memory of Matteo trying to deny what he did and pleading comes back. He had one chance to speak. He used it wrongly, that was enough.

“He was loyal.”

“He was compromised.” I lean back.

“He was mine,” my father corrects.

“Until he decided he didn’t want to be. That was the problem.” matteo was overconfident or stupid. Either way, he wasn't going to make it after what he did.

His eyes narrow. “You think loyalty is a weakness now?”

“I think misplaced loyalty is deadly.”

Matteo tried to be smart. He talked when he shouldn’t have. That’s all it takes.

“He held his ground for years,” my father says.

“Men like that get comfortable," I tell him. “And they tend to want what they shouldn’t.”

We both don't speak.

“How dare you make that decision without asking first?” he asks.

“I don’t need to, I'm in charge now, and I know what's best.”

His jaw tightens slightly. “That’s where you’re wrong,” he coughs, looking flushed with refrained anger. “You invest in your people. You build loyalty so they don’t break in the first place.”

“You didn’t build loyalty,” I say. “You demanded it.”

His eyes snaps up. “I gave them everything. "

“Look where it got you,” I reply. “That wasn’t enough for him.”

“You’re wasting potential,” he says. “You could be unstoppable if you stopped pretending you’re different from me.”

I ease back into the chair. “I am eradicating pretentious waste.”

He closes his eyes. After a moment, he opens them. “Your arrogance won’t get you far.”

“I won’t end up like you, that's why I don't give second chances," I say.

Something flashes in his eyes. His hand trembles slightly as he reaches for the oxygen mask and places it back over his face. The machine adjusts with a soft hiss.

He looks at me through the plastic, eyes still sharp. “Don’t disappoint me,” he says, the words muffled.

I stand, “That’s one thing you can count on.” I don’t wait for his response. I straighten my jacket and walk toward the door. Outside, the guards immediately return to their rigid positions.

Viktor falls into step beside me as we head toward the elevator. We’re halfway down the hallway when his phone buzzes, he pulls it from his pocket and glances at the screen.

His expression changes. “Boss,” he says quietly.

I stop walking. “What is it?”

Viktor hesitates before spilling “Erdo is back.”

The elevator doors slide open behind us. But neither of us moves.