{FRANCESCO}
I pushed past the glass door into the Red Lotus–my fucking night club. I stood in the middle, my eyes roving around from the damaged wine shelf, to the bottles on the floor, the puddle formed on the floor by all the liquor, to the broken chairs and tables, and the shattered glass windows. As I surveyed the damage done, calculating the costs, steaming rage coursed through my veins.
The broken glass screeched under my teeth. It was impossible to find the tiniest spot on the floor without it.
I kept stepping between the blood puddles which marked the spot where three of my men had been stabbed and a few of those fucking intruders gutted.
I walked over to the bar, noting the
"I will fucking kill them!" I growled through my teeth, snatching a half broken bottle and shattering it on the wall.
"Well, someone's in a mood," Julio said, coming up behind me. "It's not the first time someone would ruin your club. So what pissed you off that much?"
"Maybe I'm just done with and tired of renovating my clubs," I said.
"Nah," Julio shook his head. "That's not it." He stepped closer, scanning me from head to toe. Then a smirk curved his lips. "You were at the wedding yesterday. Something went wrong with the sinister plan you had?"
My jaw clenched as I turned to face him. "Do you see me at a wedding party right now?" I hissed before drawing a long breath to regain my composure. "There were complications and then the attack...I had to improvise. But the plan remains."
That surely piqued his interest.
"These...complications...they have a name?"
"Bernoulli Bernini," I gritted out.
"Isn't that new?" Julio chuckled. "Where's he?"
"Basement," I replied curtly.
"Will you kill him?" he inquired curiously.
I stared blankly. I sure as hell wanted to kill him. He deserved to die. But a move like that would have its consequences and I doubted if I was ready for whatever the consequences would be.
I had to count the cost.
"I don't know yet," I said at last, in response to Julio's question.
"What did he do this time?" Julio inquired.
"Come to the basement with me and you'll find out," I replied.
He nodded. "Fair enough." Then he turned and pointed at the eight beat-up sons of bitches kneeling on the floor with their hands behind their heads.
The so-called survivors. Well, not for long.
"What do you want me to do with those?" Julio asked me.
I walked over to them. Most of their faces were covered with blood and swollen. And some had cuts or broken noses.
I put my hands in the pockets of my jacket, faced one of them and announced, "Last chance. Whoever speaks up now gets to live."
One of them, a guy with one eye swollen shut and another nearly blinded by blood lifted his chin defiantly and stared me in the eyes. "Fuck you," he rasped and spat on my face.
I lifted my hand slowly, wiping the bloody saliva from my face with the back of my palm. Then, with the back of my palm, I delivered a stinging slap on his already battered face.
Julio lined up with me. "You may live," he said. "All you need to do is tell us who hired you."
"I will tell!" screamed the pathetic fucker at the end of the line. "It was a guy...in a black mask!"
Julio groaned and shook his head.
I gave him a meaningful look and he clenched his teeth. The men were either stupidly loyal, threatened or their silence had been bought.
It was useless trying to persuade them and get them to speak except I tortured them–and I didn't have the time for torture.
They literally begged us to kill them. They just have realised that they would have been killed either way, so they hoped the death we'd give them would be quicker, cleaner, less painful...
"Boss?" one of my goons raised an inquiring brow, awaiting an order.
I nodded and bounded towards the exit.
The series of shots sounded as I walked towards the exit and as Julio held the door open for me, the eight shot came. They had gotten what they wanted: a clean shot to the forehead.
....
Our cleaning team was doing their job, taking care of the mess–both the bodies and the damaged club–while I returned to my estate in Bloomsdale.
The 'basement' was what we called the well lit, perfectly furnished air-conditioned underground floor in my mansion. All the walls there were designed to be easily cleaned and all the rooms were soundproof.
One could never be too cautious. Moreover, I didn't want my regular employees freaking out, hearing the loud screams and cried and grunts that accompanied every encounter I had with a scumbag who deserved torture.
I passed the corridor and entered the first room. I flicked on the switch, and the light came on instantly, flooding the room and blinding the fucker who had been locked there for hours.
Bernoulli Bernini.
I had met him first three years ago.
He had come to one of my clubs and raped one of the waitresses. And not only that. He also shot one of the guards who tried to intervene and later unalived the waitress too.
I should have killed him then.
That was one of my clubs in Manhattan. The second time, he visited another club, one in Brooklyn. He raped two waitresses this time. I would have done anything to help them. We would have gotten them revenge. But the Bernini crime family had found them first. They had offered them a large sum. They'd taken the money and quickly left New York.
The pattern repeated itself a few more times and each time, the Bernini had cleaned Bernoulli's mess.
This time would be different.
I would take care of the mess and I would make sure he never made any mess again.
I stepped closer to the wall where the pathetic bastard had been hanging. His hands were cuffed, the chain in-between the cuffs hung to a hook far above his head. His feet were far from the floor, making his whole body stretch.
I stopped in front of him and scoffed.
"Untie me," Bernoulli growled, trying to glare at me, but his face creased into a painful wince instead. "You can't–"
He swallowed the rest of his words painfully as I punched him in the stomach, making him groan. Then I leaned closer, a knowing smirk on my face.
"Behave," I said. "I haven't decided yet if you'll live or die. Whether you'll walk out of here or if you'll be carried out with a toe tag depends on you."
"So," Julio drawled, suddenly appearing behind me. "What did the dickhead do this time?"
I glanced at him before returning to the bastard. "He tried to rape Stephanie."
Julio chuckled for a while and then he looked up at
"Don't you have control over your dick?"
"Maybe we'll cut it off to help him," I said and chuckled knowing it was only an empty threat. But the horror in his eyes amused me.
"Is this all because of that bitch?" Bernoulli asked, coughing out a laugh.
In response, I drove another punch into his stomach.
"Behave. No talking," I said and sent another punch to his jaw.
Then I grabbed his chin, forcing him to look into my eyes. "Now, tell me. Why did you follow her?"
"I heard she likes it rough," he replied with a lewd chuckle.
I released his chin and stepped back, driving another punch into his stomach. It sent him swaying, pushing the chains to the side, straining his broken arm.
A satisfying, hoarse scream broke free.
Good.
I loved that sound.
"Heard it from who?" I demanded.
He gritted his teeth and pursed his lips. Then his eyes flew to Julio as if expecting rescue.
Good luck with that.
Julio only shrugged and shook his head slowly.
He returned his pleading gaze to me.
"The groom...it was Drake..." he choked out.
"Drake was Stephanie's ex-boyfriend," Julio supplied.
"Son of a bitch!" I growled furiously and balled my fingers into fists.
Bernoulli flinched, bracing himself for another punch.
And he wasn't wrong. I was going to turn him into a bloody pulp, a bloody mess. I wasn't going to stop until he was paste.
I also had the dark thought to castrate him.
But as my fists tightened, ready to deliver the first strikes, my phone which was on the steel table metres away buzzed and began to ring, delaying his beating.
"Speak," I said coldly into the phone.
Berberi Luca, one of the three dons I could call my allies, cleared his throat. "I did what you asked me to," he announced. "Mr McMahon took the bait."
A slow smirk tugged at the corner of my lips.
"Good," I said, thoroughly pleased. "I'll owe you."
He chuckled, quite nervously.
"I just hope you have a good reason for doing this," he said. "Glocciano is a fucking psychopath, you know that."
"I have my reasons," I said with an enigmatic smile. "And the girl will be fine. I'll send someone to watch over her just in case."
He sighed heavily. "Alright. Have it your way, then. But there are other easier ways to have this girl."
"Well, this girl is special," I said.
He laughed. "Since when did a girl become special to you?"
I chuckled too.
"Okay. Good luck," he said and hung up.
I ended the call, my lips gradually stretching into a mischievous grin. The wheel was set in motion already, and all that remained was to watch everything play out.
I returned the phone to the table and walked back to business. I stopped in front of Bernoulli and clenched my fists slowly.
"Now..." I said slowly. "Where were we?"