Chapter 3 The Boss

Vicktor’s POV I run things around here, and no one double-crosses me. Especially not for chump change like half a million dollars. You mess with me, you pay the price. The cold concrete room is dimly lit, the only light coming from a single bulb hanging from the ceiling. It swings slightly, casting moving shadows on the walls. Three men are tied up, their backs against metal chairs, their faces swollen and bloody. They're sweating and shaking. They know they've messed up big time. "You know, I can't believe you did this," I say, my voice low and calm, but there's a storm brewing inside me. I walk slowly around them, my hands behind my back. They try not to look at me, but they can feel my eyes burning into them. "We... we're sorry, Boss ," stammers one, his voice cracking with fear. "Sorry?" I laugh, but there's no humor in it. "You sold me out for half a million? That's what my loyalty's worth to you?" "It was a mistake, Boss ! We didn't think—" "Exactly, you didn't think!" I interrupt him sharply. I grab a rusty chain from the floor and let it clink in my hands. The sound makes them flinch. "Please, Boss , please, we have families," another one pleads, tears starting to stream down his cheeks. "Families?" I sneer, moving closer to him. "What about my family? What about my organization that treated you like brothers?" I’m close enough now to see his pupils dilate in fear. I grab the first man by the collar and pull his face close to mine. "Tell me, who approached you? Who knows you're such a cheap sell?" He's sobbing now, his body trembling. "It was Franco, Franco made us do it. He said it was easy money." Franco, my longtime rival. The anger in me boils hotter. I throw the man back against the chair, and it clangs loudly against the floor. "Easy money," I repeat, shaking my head. I turn to my men standing by the door. "Give me the pliers." One of them hurries over, handing me the cold metal tool. The men on the chairs are mumbling prayers now, begging for their lives. "Look at me!" I command. They raise their heads, trying to muster whatever dignity they have left. I grab the hand of one, his fingers trembling. I position the pliers on his index finger. "Every betrayal has a price," I say coldly, and then I squeeze. The sound of crunching bone fills the room, followed by a horrific scream. I let go, and his finger is a mangled mess. The room fills with the sounds of crying and begging. I move to the next man, repeating the process. My hands are stained with their blood, the metallic smell filling my nostrils. After dealing with the last one, I stand back, my chest heaving with exertion and rage. They're all whimpering, their hands ruined, their spirits broken. I wipe my bloody hands on my pants, feeling the sticky warmth. I'm tired, disgusted with their cowardice and betrayal. "I'm done here," I say in Italian, turning to my men. "Finish this." I don't wait to see the end. I leave the room, the echoes of their cries fading behind me. My steps are heavy as I make my way to the bathroom upstairs. I need to wash away the grime and the fury. The hot water from the shower feels good on my skin, washing away the blood and sweat. But it can't wash away the anger, the betrayal. I let the water run over me for a long time, trying to calm the storm inside. Finally, I shut off the water and dry myself off. I look at my reflection in the mirror. This is the life I've chosen, the life of a mafia boss. It's brutal, it's bloody, but it's mine. I dress in fresh clothes, my movements automatic. I need to clear my head, to get away from the darkness of the day. I decide to go to my exclusive strip club, a place where I can relax and let off some steam. The club is buzzing when I arrive, the sound of music and laughter a stark contrast to the silence of the torture room. I nod to my men at the door, and they let me in with respect. Inside, the lights are bright, the women beautiful as they dance. I find a secluded spot and sit down, a glass of whiskey in hand. The warmth of the alcohol spreads through me, soothing, calming. As I watch the dancers, I feel the tension slowly leaving my body. This is my escape, my refuge from the demands of my life. The bass of the music pulses through the club like a heartbeat, thumping against my chest. The air is thick with perfume and smoke, blending into a fragrance that’s both intoxicating and familiar. I lean back, my eyes scanning the crowd, watching as people lose themselves to the night. A dancer catches my eye. She moves with a grace that's almost too perfect, her body and curves swaying in ways that seem to defy the rhythm, yet match it perfectly. She notices me watching and gives me a small, knowing smile. "Another drink, sir?" The bartender, a young guy with quick hands, slides up to my table. He knows better than to wait for a response, pouring another whiskey before I nod. "Thanks," I murmured, my voice drowned out by the music. The glass feels cold against my warm fingers. The ice clinks softly as I swirl the drink, lost in thought. Tonight, my men took my loyalty and crushed it underfoot. That's why I had to teach them a lesson even after years of their loyalty to me, I can’t let them slip. But the anger of it presses down on me and even the sexy dancer didn’t get my attention tonight. I took another sip of my whiskey. The alcohol warms me, a familiar comfort. The club continued to buzz around and I was looking around when my sharp intuitive eyes landed on the pale lady in red. She doesn’t belong here and I have never seen her. I was wondering what she was doing in the club since I don’t see her attached to any man or group.My eyes were keenly on her and watching her every move you can imagine the shock on my face when I saw her stealing one of my client’s fat wallets.