The Mafia King’s Christmas Claim

2

Devon's POV

With well-trained precision, the moment the door swings open, I fire my Glock, dickhead number one goes down between the eyes.

Too easy sometimes.

Dickhead number two? Different story.

He shoots, aim off thanks to my little ‘tada’ act, and the bullet merely grazes my shoulder. I fire two rounds in response, one into his arm, forcing him to drop the gun, the second into his leg, making sure he can’t run.

He howls like a strangled cat.

“Shut the f**k up!” I boom, storming forward and kicking his weapon across the room. It slams against a pew end with a satisfying thud.

“P-please don’t k-kill me,” he begs, and I sneer at his audacity.

“Who the f**k sent you?!”

“I-I can’t s-say.”

I shoot his other leg, hearing not just his cries but a whimper from the sweet little blonde mouse still in the confessional.

Fuck.

I’ve never seen a woman so innocent yet so… made to be a man’s plaything. Could be her plump pink lips, or the satin smooth skin that flushes under my gaze. Maybe her big, doe-like eyes, blue, yet darkened from nearly blown irises, betray her lust.

I shove the thought aside, focusing on the man before me.

“You fond of your tiny c**k?” I hiss, looming closer over the ratty-looking fucker. “Because it’ll be my next target.”

“P-please, Mr. Marx. I had no choice. He said he’d kill my family if I don’t do this.”

“Boo-f*****g-who,” I snap. “Give me his name.” I train my gun on him.

“I don’t know it!” He holds up his only uninjured hand. “Never met him. Only spoke on the phone. He calls himself… Mr. V.”

“And orders? Word for word!”

“K-kill Devon Marx at St Catherine’s Church on Tuesday evening… or my sister and her three kids die.”

I study the man, poor clothes, neglected hygiene, maybe even teetering on homelessness. He looks like he’d sell his soul for a paycheck. Yet I can’t doubt him.

“Your name?” I demand.

“Phillip Randall.”

I lower, crouching close. “I’ll make sure your sister and her kids stay safe.”

Relief floods his features, only to vanish as I press the muzzle of my gun to his head and pull the trigger.

The echo rattles the church. My ears ring.

Just then, my men burst through the doors, guns raised.

“The f**k happened?” Finn snaps, charging toward me as the others fan out.

“What the f**k does it look like?” I ask my best mate, second-in-command, as I shove my Glock back into my waistband.

“Ahh, Dev?” Miles calls from the confessional doorway. My eyes snap to her, wide, terrified, completely in shock over what she’s just witnessed.

A phone blares. None of us use ringtones, so we glance around.

“It’s coming from the dead guy,” Finn points to Phillip Randall’s lifeless body.

I bend down, see “Mr V” flashing across the screen. f**k.

“Check Father Peters,” I bark, pointing to the pew he was hiding under. I hope he’s okay.

Two men move toward him while I hit answer on the phone.

“You’re a hard man to kill.”

Finn steps closer to listen.

“Wanna tell me who broke one of our most sacred rules?” I snap.

The man chuckles.

“And what rule is that? Daring to go against a Marx family member?”

“No. Churches are sacred ground. We don’t bring our wars here!”

“I don’t live by your rules,” he says. “I do whatever I want.”

A growl rumbles in my chest. Heat flashes through me. Calm, Devon. Calm.

“Who the f**k are you?”

“Someone you shouldn’t have f****d with.”

“Nice and specific,” I point out.

He scoffs. “Stop messing with other people’s lives.”

Fuck. Still vague.

“And killing loved ones? Not your style?” I say, my teeth grit.

“This is Victoria’s scum,” I mutter. People die. Simple as that.

“You sound like a coward, blackmailing people for your dirty work,” I point out.

“Looks like we have that in common,” he scoffs.

“You know my specialty?” I hiss. “Chasing fuckheads to the ends of the earth, making them beg, then dying by my hand.”

“Maybe,” he hisses. “But I’ll start with the people you care about… before you.”

He laughs. “And just for fun, I might even… record it. Send you the video. Might insist she keeps those sexy heels on.”

My eyes widen. Finn catches it too. Cameras.

“She’s not my girl,” I snap, keeping him talking, hoping he slips.

“Isn’t she? Then why save her instead of Father Peters? You dove into that booth like your existence depended on hers.”

“She is nothing but an innocent woman, caught in the wrong place at the wrong time,” I point out.

“Oh, how unfortunate for her,” Mr V says, tone dripping with fake empathy before twisting into pure hatred. “Looks like she’s just another bystander… collateral damage in everything you f*****g touch!”

The line goes dead.

For a long, tense moment, the church is silent.

What the f**k just happened here?

My gaze drops to Phillip Randall. I remember the promise I gave him. Not that he deserves it, but his sister and her three kids don’t deserve to suffer.

“Lenny!” I bark, dragging my eyes from Phillip to our shortest soldier, small but just as fierce as the rest, charging my way. “Do an ID check on both of them.”

As he nears, I lower my voice to a whisper, careful in case Mr V still has audio feed into the church. “Find out who their families are. Send a crew for a welfare check. They may need protection too.”

“Yes, boss.”

I roll my eyes. “Cut the s**t, Lenny. How many times do we have to go over this? You’re not in the police force anymore. Just use my f*****g name.”

He smirks, nodding. “Yes, boss.”

Doesn’t even flinch at my glare. Not scared of anything. Not even me.

I’m not sure I like that.

“Cameras and audio are down,” Dom calls from the doorway as he hurries in with Finn. Relief washes over me knowing the arsehole that ordered my hit tonight can no longer see or hear us, but the tension doesn’t ease. Someone tried to kill me on sacred ground.

“I want everything you can find on these two,” I bark at Dom and Finn as they stop before me. “Phones, computers, contacts, f*****g everything. Find Mr V!”

“On it,” Dom nods, dropping to search Phillip’s body.

“Now tell me why the f**k you took so long to get in here from the street?” I snap at Finn.

“I already told you on the phone. We couldn’t get out of the car.”

“Why? Hair frizz?” I snap. Finn smirks.

“Besides that,” he chuckles, then goes serious. “We couldn’t unlock the doors. We were locked in, and since the windows are bulletproof, Lenny had to s***h through the back are bulletproof. Lenny had to s***h through the back seat, smash into the trunk, break us out.”

“The f**k. Why wouldn’t the doors unlock?”

“f****d if I know. Both cars locked down.”

Fuck. This doesn’t make sense.

“Get the others. Sweep the vehicles. Mr V knew we’d be here. He’s tracking us somehow. The vehicles are compromised.”

Finn nods. “Want me to call Conrad to send some cars?”

I hesitate, my cousins sit at the top of Melbourne’s family food chain. Involving them might bite me later, but ignoring them could bite harder.

“f**k it. Yeah. Call Connie.”

Finn chuckles. “He’s gonna kick your arse if you keep calling him that.”

I shrug. “I’d like to see him f*****g try.”

Conrad is one of eighteen spawned by the head of our family, Ewan Marx. My old man, Leon, Ewan’s brother, prefers chaos, while Ewan demands strict compliance. Rules that even some of his kids ignore.

“You’re still in the Lord’s house, Devon,” Father Peters’ voice draws me from Finn. The old man looks frailer than ever, but that scowl… still firm.

“Apologies, Father,” I offer for my language. “Are you alright?”

He waves me off. “Just a bump on my head. Nothing serious.”

Relief floods me.

Even as I think that, he wavers. Miles hurries forward to steady him.

“s**t. Call the doc. Get him over here,” I demand. Finn rushes off.

Then, the hurried click of heels on stone draws my attention. Blonde hair fans out behind the slender little mouse from the confessional as she tries to flee.

“Miles,” I bark, locking eyes with him. “Stop her.”