I was introduced to the mafia world at a young age. My father didn't give me a choice—he made sure I learned quickly. I had witnessed his brutality firsthand, watched him take lives without hesitation, and, over time, I became desensitized to it.
In this world, people's lives were nothing more than currency, a means to an end. Weakness wasn't tolerated. Love was a liability.
Trust? A foolish notion—especially when it came to family.
From the time I was a child, my father trained me for this life. By the time I turned twenty-five, he handed over the reins, passing his position as the mafia lord to me. Enemies came at me from every direction—relatives, rivals, people who thought they could bring me down—but none of them ever succeeded.
None of them ever would. I had learned everything from my father—how to control, how to dominate, how to take what was mine and crush anyone who dared challenge me.
The power was mine, and I'd die before I let anyone take it.
I walked into the warehouse, my boots echoing on the concrete floor, the stench of sweat and fear thick in the air. The thief was chained to a chair, blood dripping from his face in slow, sickening drops.
His body trembled, and I couldn't help but smirk at the pathetic sight.
"So, what the fuck were you thinking?" I drawled, stepping closer. "Stealing from a mafia? Did you honestly think I wouldn't find out?"
The scum in front of me stammered, his eyes wide with terror. "No...no... I—"
I raised a brow, my voice dripping with disdain. "You were so stupid, trying to fool me." I circled him slowly, letting the tension in the room build.
"And you thought you could get away with it?"
Tears rolled down his cheeks, his voice shaking with desperation. "I just... I needed money.
To settle some scores, please..." His words were pathetic.
I scoffed, disgusted. "Family? Really?" I mocked, pacing in front of him.
"What the hell would your precious family say if they knew what you were doing in that club? What would your wife say if she knew you were fucking around with other pussy's while stealing from me?"
He couldn't even hide the truth. His self-centered greed was written all over his face.
He didn't care about his family. He didn't care about anything but himself. People like him made me sick to my stomach.
"Don't worry," I said coldly, pulling a gun from the holster at my waist, "It won't happen again. We'll make sure of that."
He begged, his voice breaking. "Please, don't... Please don't kill me... I'm all my family has..."
I didn't even flinch. "Family? You don't even care about your own blood."
Without another word, I raised my gun and fired a clean shot into his throat. The sound of the bullet tearing through his flesh was followed by the sickening wet gurgle as his life quickly drained away.
I turned to my men. "Clean this up," I ordered, my voice dark, low, and unbothered. "I've got more important things to do."
And with that, I walked out, leaving the mess behind.