I Saved the Mafia Boss—Now I'm His Obsession. novel Chapter 14

Adriano

⫘☠︎︎⫘

Someone was fucking with us.

And not just poking around. No, this was a full-blown, dick-out, pissing-on-our-front-door kind of move.

I’d bet my left ball it was the same pricks that jumped me in that alley last month.

I remember their boots more than their faces because they wore mask like fucking cowards.

Now this was something else.

I slammed the steel door behind me so hard it rattled the bolts in the hinges. The warehouse office was filled with the stink of smoke and motor oil.

Vincenzo looked up from the ledger, and my brother Raphael barely glanced away from the CCTV feed.

“You two got five seconds before I start fucking screaming,” I barked.

Vincenzo’s brow twitched, “Don’t—”

“We lost the South Side shipment,” I snarled, my hand twitching for the Glock under my jacket, “Gone. All of it. You know how much that’s worth, Raph? Half a fuckin’ million. Fucking vanished. Just like that.”

Vincenzo folded his arms, trying his best to stay calm.

I paced around in that tiny space, “They torched the trucks, they didn't steal it, didn't hijack it, they torched it. They aren't after the money, Vince, this is something personal.”

Vincenzo looked at Raphael, then back at me, “Same crew?”

“Same boots,” I growled, “I remember those boots. Same mud. Same fucking sound when they cracked my ribs. Same fucking masks!”

I slammed my fist on the table, rattling the ashtray and knocking over a bottle of whiskey.

“Arturo gone and Dario too, just fucking gone. And before you two try and tell me they weren't strong enough to fight back, I found Dario's fucking watch, the one his wife gave him when his kid was born. It was covered in blood, in that alley. They had machetes, Vince, they killed two of our men. They fucking cut of half of his arm.”

Raphael shook his head, focusing on the masks on the screen.

“We’re bleeding,” I snapped, “And I’m done sitting on our hands while they bleed us dry. We need to act fast. Right now. We can’t fight a ghost. We need a fucking face. A name. A head to put on a spike.”

Vincenzo just stared at me with that same cold calmness that always made me want to put my fist through a wall. “What do you think I’m trying to do here, Adriano?”

“I say we burn every fucking inch of this city until someone coughs up a name. Burn all of it down. Find their warehouses, their fronts, their snitches. Shatter their teeth until someone sings.”

Raphael stretched in his seat, he knew what was coming and what I meant.

“We’ve got one of their guys in the cage,” I added, “He’s still breathing. For now. And I swear to God, if I find out someone from our own crew fed them our routes. If someone inside sold us out—”

I unsnapped the safety on my Glock, my eyes locked on the black steel like it might whisper the name I was hunting.

“—I’m putting them in a body bag and mailing the pieces to their mother. With a fucking bow.”

I looked between the two men I trusted most in this world.

Then I smiled, “Tell Luca to prep the tools. I’m gonna make that bastard in the cage talk.”

Raphael exhaled, “We can’t go off half-cocked, Adriano. We don’t even know who’s pulling the strings.”

“I’m not half-cocked, I’m fully armed and homicidal,” I snapped, “Vince, you want calm and strategy. Great. I’ll strategize a list of every fucker who’s ever looked at us sideways, and then I’ll methodically peel their skin off until one of them barks.”

Both of them stared at me and then at one another.

“You say war, Vince,” I added, “I’ll bring hell.”

𓎢𓎠𓎟☠︎︎𓎟𓎠𓎡

I stalked down the hallway, boots echoing against the concrete. This part of the compound wasn’t for business. It was for messages and screams.

Vincenzo believed in patience, in strategy. A cool head kept the family alive. And the less blood spilled, the better for business.

He says you only go full beast when it touches the women then you burn the city down.

Me?

I don’t wait for the fire to reach the front porch. I burn the match the second I smell smoke.

So, I'd say he and I, we balance each other out perfectly.

I spotted a rusted steel chair abandoned against the wall, legs bent, paint chipped.

Perfect.

I picked it up without breaking the stride, fingers curling around the cold metal.

The door to the cage groaned when I pushed it open.

He was tied to the chair, head slumped forward like he was napping.

Fucking cute.

I stepped inside the cage like it was church and I was here to deliver a sermon, and he was the only soul left to be saved.

“Hey,” I said, then I raised the chair and slammed it down on his face.

The chair cracked and the bone did too.

He jerked awake with a wet grunt, blood spattering down his shirt like a Jackson Pollock painting.

“Good fucking morning,” I said, stepping closer, “Hope you’re comfy. I picked out the chair myself, people say I have a real eye for ergonomic suffering.”

He breathed something out, but it didn't matter what because it wasn't what I wanted to hear.

I crouched, resting my forearms on my knees, like we were about to have a heart-to-heart.

“You know what I love about this part?” I asked him, “It’s not the blood. It’s not the screaming. It’s not even the begging.”

I leaned in close, “It’s the moment. The exact moment... when you realize this isn’t gonna stop. That nothing you say, nothing you cry, is gonna slow me down. That’s when it gets fun for me.”

He tried to turn his head. I grabbed his jaw and forced him to look at me.

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