chronicles of the mafia… 1.5
I am pumped on adrenaline and high on weed. For those of you who don’t know the feeling, it’s exhilarating, pure ecstasy. I’ve been living on the edge and drinking myself to death. But even Hades knows I decide when I kick the bucket. Who am I?
My name is Gambino; that name strikes fear. I’m even more ruthless than my father because no one crosses me and lives to tell the tale; the reason he’s six feet under at the moment is because he made a mistake by laying his hand on my mother. But I do not want to go down memory lane; that is a tale for another day.
When you live a fast life, you learn a lot of things. Number one: the taste of blood is metallic. Number two: family is everything; you protect them at all costs.
As head of the Italian mafia, it was my duty to protect my family, and recently, those Russian bastards have been getting on my nerves. Just this week, I had lost $25 million worth of drugs; they were stealing from my warehouse, and once I caught the rat betraying me, he was going to pay, along with all of the Russian cagna’s.
My men were stationed outside the commissioner’s house, and with one word, they would blow his house up to bits with his two-year-old daughter and whore of a wife tied up in the basement. Most people may think that is a cruel thing to do, but when you’re in this business, you cannot leave loose ends. She is just a child now, but what happens when she grows up and learns the truth about a parent’s death?
She would definitely want revenge, and that little girl could be the undoing of a great empire. I would not let that happen on my watch; I leave no loose ends, and I always cut the thread.
If you’re wondering why I’m blowing up his house, I have a very simple answer: he double-crossed me by giving out information on my latest acquisition, a crystal meth lab. Not only did he snitch, the bastard snitched to my enemy, the head of the Russian mob, Leggero.
However, I won’t let Commissioner Gordon die so easily; he had to suffer first. I didn’t gain the respect of the underworld by being soft. I am a ruthless man, and I take joy in that. The blood excites me, the darkness is welcomed, and my drugs are simple: murder, money, sex, and family.
I live by the code, and I’ll die by the code.
I hear a knock on my office door and ask the person to enter. I really do not like to be interrupted, so whoever it is better have a good goddamn reason for the disturbance or I’m putting a bullet through their skull.
The door opens, and I’m face to face with a very sexy-looking brunette; she rolls in cleaning equipment and looks at me with doe eyes that could melt even the cruelest of men into sappy-looking puppies. Her eyes were sea blue, and she is fucking beautiful with the perfect shape—just like I like my women—average breasts and wider buttoms. She looks delicious.
I clear my throat and fix my gaze on her face before my mind wanders off to a dangerous place.
“Who are you, and where the fuck is Mrs. Palloni?” I ask her using my Italian accent. I was fond of my maid, Mrs. Palloni, a middle-aged Spanish woman who dragged my ears on some occasions when I got severe injuries and stained my bed with blood.
“My name is Skylar, and Mrs. Palloni couldn’t make it today, so she sent me in her place.” She replied but couldn’t even look at my face. I wouldn’t want it any other way; she knew her place.
I pick up my gun and point it at her face. The look she gives me makes my blood boil. those doe eye’s don’t look so appealing, I wonder how she would look without them. She looks at me like scum.
“Who the fuck do you think you are? Just because you’re some rich bastard does not give you the right to assault me, so if you’re not going to shoot me, I suggest you point the fucking gun down, sir.”Skylar spits at me.
