Book cover Submissive to the Billionaire mafia Boss

Pov Tyler "You’re going to pay for this, you son of a b***h!" The bastard's voice came out ragged, spat along with the blood he was trying to hold in his mouth. He crawled on the floor like a worm, his eyes wide with pure hatred and fear. I stepped forward and pressed my boot against his face, driving the sole into his skin and making him howl in pain as he writhed on the dirty floor. "Pay? " No, my friend. I leaned down just enough for him to feel my warm breath against his face. "The one who’s going to pay here is you and the rest of your worthless crew for stealing the hundred kilos of cocaine I sent north. " When I twisted the neck of every last one of you, this place will burn to the ground. " And you know what will be left of your name?" I smiled coldly, "Absolutely nothing . Not a single damn memory." Before he could attempt a reply, my hand shot toward him, and the punch sent his skull crashing against the concrete, making a sickening crack as bones broke. "s**t, Tyler, you honestly took too long to find me!" he laughed, wiping the blood dripping from his split lips. "You’ve been getting way too cocky lately." He tried to stand up, using the iron pillars for support, his footsteps echoing in the empty warehouse. "Do you really think you're as good as your father? As smart? As ruthless? " Do you really think you deserve to take over this empire?" "I'm much better than him," I spat the words like a death sentence, feeling rage take over every inch of my being. "Your problem, Bruce, is that you don’t know when to shut your damn mouth." I yelled in fury, landing another punch on his face. Bruce laughed. A dry, mocking laugh that boiled the blood in my veins. "You Blackwoods are all the same," he said, stopping just a few steps away from me, pulling his hands out of his pockets. "You think you’re untouchable, that you can keep shitting on everyone for decades." But do you know what I think?" I clenched my fists, feeling my knuckles throb. "I don’t care what you think, Bruce. It’s over for you. This is the end of the line for the Connor family." "Oh, but you should," he said, tilting his head, his eyes piercing into me. Because your family’s luck is about to run out. And when it does, I’ll be there to spit on the grave of every last one of you—your father, your uncle, and even yours—after I cut off your head and hang it as a trophy." Silence fell heavy. For a moment, there was only that raw hatred between us—the kind that couldn’t be resolved with words. I stepped closer until our noses were almost touching. "Say your last words, Bruce Connor," I murmured, pointing the barrel of my gun at his head and unlocking the trigger. Bruce swallowed hard, the smile finally fading from his face. "What would a man do if he lost everything he loved in a matter of seconds?" he said seriously, looking straight into my eyes, even in his final moments. Then he moved. It was fast. Too fast. Before my finger could pull the trigger, I felt an explosion of pain on the left side of my abdomen. The blade sank deep, hot, tearing through flesh and muscle. The air left my lungs in a harsh gasp, and my vision blurred for a second. "See you in hell, Blackwood," he hissed through his teeth, his face close enough for me to feel his blood splattering on mine. The pain was unbearable, but the rage roared louder. My hands trembled, but I didn’t falter. I pulled the trigger. The gunshot echoed through the warehouse, loud and sharp. His head snapped back, and his body collapsed like a sack of flesh. Blood pooled quickly on the concrete floor. The knife was still embedded in my flesh, and the hot, sticky sensation of my own blood poured out far too fast. Shit. I took a deep breath and yanked the knife out in one swift motion, grunting as the blade slid free. The ground spun beneath my feet, but I stayed upright. "Someone clean up this mess," I ordered, holstering my pistol. I ran my hands through my hair, exhilarated, and tore most of my shirt, wrapping the fabric around my abdomen to staunch the blood that wouldn’t stop flowing. Fortunately, the wound wasn’t too deep, and that bastard hadn’t managed to hit any vital organs. But how could I have known that, after taking such a brutal beating, the damned worm still had a knife hidden near his feet? "Mr. Blackwood, are you alright?" I heard Jacob's deep voice. When I turned around, he had already grabbed the first aid kit and placed it on the table to treat my wound. "That was close," he said, pouring alcohol on the wound. I clenched my eyes shut, grimacing. The pain only fueled my anger against that man and his family. "That bastard… even in his final moments, knowing he was going to die, he tried to drag me down with him. " How was I supposed to imagine that after hours of getting beaten like a coward, he’d find the courage to try and stab me from behind?" I chuckled at my own words, recalling the sound my gun made when I blew that scumbag’s brains out. "Even so, we need to be careful," Bruce seemed too calm for someone who received a death sentence along with his entire family three weeks ago," Jacob said with a shrug, indifferent as he finished covering the wound with gauze and a proper bandage. Some of my men stayed behind to dispose of the body, while Jacob helped me walk to the car. As soon as I sat on the leather seat and fastened my seatbelt, my phone rang. "Hello?" I answered impatiently, lighting a cigarette. "Did you finish the job?" I heard my father's gruff, arrogant voice on the other end, making me roll my eyes. "Of course. He’s dead. Don’t worry. " I ordered my men to send his heads to you tonight as a grand gift," I said sarcastically. I heard my father punch something, followed by the sound of shattering and falling to the floor. "Don’t play games with me, boy. You may have grown enough to make your own choices, but I’m still your father—the man who raised you and made you what you are today! " Everything you have, everything you are, came from me! " The houses, the property, your men, your strength, even the fear people have of you. " So don’t even think about challenging me—I can still teach you a lesson and treat you like a child if you insist on behaving like!" he growled angrily, and I swallowed hard, knowing better than to push his limits. "Now, return home and immediately start training your sons. " Nathan and Caleb need to learn to be part of our world instead of wasting their time playing football!" he barked before abruptly hanging up. The drive to the mansion was silent. As soon as we opened the gates, I spotted the boys in the yard, running across the vast lawn, happily kicking their favorite soccer ball. "Mr. Blackwood, don’t you think they’re too young for this? " The twins are only ten," Jacob said as he parked the car. "I was the same age when I started my training. Stay out of my family matters, Jacob. This doesn’t concern you, nor is it something someone of your mentality could understand. " It’s long past time for them to leave theory behind and face practice!" I said impatiently, opening the car door. Jacob swallowed hard, nodding and lowering his head as he backed away. The boys saw me from a distance and ran toward me, their knees slightly scratched. They noticed the blood dripping down my arms and laughed, finding the situation amusing, unconcerned about where I had been or what I was doing. "Daddy... Daddy, you're back! " Can we play in the pool now?" Nathan, the taller one with a pair of green eyes, smiled excitedly. "Play?" I chuckled softly, stepping closer to them as if I were about to share a secret. "Don’t you think you’re too old to play? Tomorrow, your training begins. I’ve already arranged a few instructors for you. You’ll learn combat, martial arts, and shooting. At first, you’ll start with toy guns, with no real ammunition, until you’re older and ready to handle the real thing," I said seriously. The two nodded their heads in agreement. "Now go, change your clothes, and get in the car with Uncle Jacob. " He’ll take you to the warehouse, where you’ll meet your teachers," I instructed sternly. They ran inside, peeling off their clothes and tossing them across the yard, clearly thrilled. No one is born knowing how to kill or how to hold a gun, but that’s the true craft of our family. We are the infamous Blackwoods, ruling this city for generations—the largest local mafia, which has recently expanded and increased its reach, dominating a significant portion of the United States. Some people might think I’m turning my sons’ lives into hell by starting their training so early, but the truth? I can’t directly defy my father’s orders, even if they bother me. When I turned eighteen, my father took me to my first brothel, where I met the twins’ mother, Sasha. My father insisted I climb inside her and start producing heirs for our empire. Soon after, she became pregnant with two boys. It was a golden move. Nathan and Jasper were incredibly healthy and intelligent—perfect for our plans. "We’re ready, Dad. " Bye!" the two called out, waving as they raced against each other to see who would reach the car first. I smiled, watching the scene from afar while smoking a cigarette. I loved my sons. Even though they had been just another imposition from my father, I truly loved them. They were everything that mattered to me, and with me by their side, they could always feel safe. The smell came suddenly. Gasoline. A cold wave ran down my spine. The breeze felt laden with something wrong, something toxic. My eyes narrowed, scanning the surroundings. There was nothing, no one. But the smell was far too strong. And then the car's engine roared.