CHAPTER 27
CHRISTIAN'S POV
The exterior of the pawn shop could have fooled anyone. Probably even me if I didn't know what I knew. It looked very old on the outside, nothing suspicious. The faded paint peeled like tired skin from the walls, the windows clouded with age and deliberate neglect. Dust clung to the signage as if the place had been forgotten by time itself. A relic. Harmless. Invisible.
Massimo and I waited around the corner till the shop cleared. We stood in silence, watching through the reflection of a cracked storefront window across the street. Patience in our world wasn't a virtue — it was survival.
After closing the door behind us, Massimo turned the sign to closed. The metallic click of the latch echoed louder than it should have in the stale air.
The man behind the counter was small and bald. Japanese with tattoos on his bald head, must be to make up for the hair. The ink spiraled in intricate patterns — dragons, waves, symbols of old wars and older loyalties. Men like him didn't decorate themselves without meaning.
"How may I help you?" He asked with a warm smile.
A rehearsed smile. The kind that never reached the eyes.
"Do you do hair transplants here?" Massimo asked sarcastically.
I had to bite back a laugh. Massimo enjoyed the performance.
"What we want isn't in this make believe bullshit that you've put out on the front! Our business is at the back!" I said, loosening my tie. I sat on the opposite side of the counter, maintaining eye contact.
Dominance is rarely loud. It is in posture. In silence. In refusing to blink.
"I don't know what you're talking about!" He said bluntly.
Too quick. Too clean.
I took out the ring from my pocket and placed it on the table. Trejo's ring.
The gold caught the dim light, its engraving unmistakable — deliberate, expensive, symbolic. It wasn't jewelry. It was a signature.
He looked at it for some time, clearly waiting for something to convince him even more. His pupils dilated just slightly. Recognition. Then calculation.
"We work for Trejo. Our boss sent us to you!"
That was it. His face broke into some sort of familiarity.
Fear has a smell. It smells like metal and sweat.
"Why didn't you say so? Come, let's go!"
We followed him to the back door and once it was opened, the blue light stung my eyes for a second.
The transition was violent.
From dust and decay to neon and decadence.
I could smell weed, Hennessy, sweat. And pussy! The air was thick — humid with bodies, smoke swirling like ghosts over skin. Bass vibrated faintly through the floorboards. There were naked girls on stretchers getting tattooed by naked males. Ink needles buzzed against flesh. It was a very erotic setting. It was an underground sex club. Some were fucking, others were tonguing each other down while others were humping on themselves. What a scene!
No shame. No secrecy. Just indulgence.
It wasn't chaos.
It was business disguised as sin.
"Come, come!" The man ushered us to the very back. We ended up in a tiny office.
The room was suffocatingly small. A metal desk. A flickering fluorescent bulb. No windows. A single camera in the corner — probably fake. Or maybe not.
"So, what does Trejo want? Any new orders?" He asked.
"Not really." I placed the ring in front of him, again. "Boss sent us to find out that after him, was there anyone who purchased a ring like this? This one to be precise?"
Calling Trejo boss was like pouring acid down my throat. It tasted so unpleasant on my tongue.
The man took the ring and examined it carefully. His fingers trembled — barely noticeable, but noticeable enough. He nervously looked at us, fear was stealing its way into him.
"Nobody!" He said, fast!
Too fast.
I knew he was lying the moment he became nervous.
"Our boss only ordered one ring from you. Now how could there be another one out on the streets? And who would have made it?" I looked at Massimo who bore a wicked smile before I turned to look at the man, "it can only be you!"
Logic cornered him tighter than threats ever could.
"I have been playing nice since I got here! You see him? He's not very nice. If I let him take over, you'll be screaming after the first question he asks!"
I was referring to Massimo who stood behind the man.
Good cop. Bad cop.
But in our case, neither of us were good.
The old man swallowed. His hand moved down a bit, just like I suspected. Be nice, and get fucked over. He was about to pull out a gun but Massimo quickly twisted his hand back and slammed his face right into the table. Pinning him down.
The crack of bone against wood filled the room.
"Now you'll tell us everything by force. Whether you like it or not! Now for the last time, who got a duplicate of the ring?" I asked him.
Considering the martial arts history of his race, I didn't expect him to be that delicate. He was bleeding profusely. Blood pooled near his cheek, dark and immediate.
"Fine! I'll tell you!" He gasped.
Massimo lifted his hand from his face and let his arm loose, a little.
"Two months ago, a group of men barged in here. Sicilians, I suspect. They threatened me with my family and had me make them a duplicate of the ring." He explained everything to us.
Sicilians.
Only a despicable Sicilian would turn against his word, and whoever had raided us had done just that.
Betrayal is worse when it comes from blood.
"So, the new head of the Sicilian mafia was the one who raided us!" I said thoughtfully once we were in the car.
The city lights streaked past the windshield like blurred warnings.
"From what I know, his name is Daemon. I tried to gather intel on where he is but I just kept reaching a dead end."
A ghost with a name.
"Did you ask Christian for help?" I asked him. In times like these, Christian could give us one lead or two.
"Yes I did! The only thing he said was that he was getting blocked by an unknown network!"
Someone powerful enough to cloak themselves digitally.
There was only one way to get to the bottom of this. Trejo was the way!
I picked up my phone and called Reginald. It was a video call.
Reginald was lying on a stretcher, with a mask on his face and cucumber slices covering his eyes. There were about four Indian girls tending to him.
Luxury. Excess. Carelessness.
"Can't a man have a good time?" He asked, clearly annoyed.
"You will next time, just not now. Kick those girls out, I need to talk to you about something!" I told him. I didn't intend on ruining his night but I had no choice.
"Don't worry. These bitches don't understand English. They speak Urdu. Well technically they sign in Urdu because they are deaf!"
"Caution Reginald. You told me that!" I reminded him.
He groaned and gestured them to the door and they each bowed then obliged.
"What's up? You got a lead on who did that to us?"
"Is Trejo still within your reach?" I asked.
"He's in the next room, having the time of his life. I took him in." He chuckled.
"I need you to fly back home. Take the next flight and bring Trejo with you, drag him if you have to!"
"The next flight leaves tomorrow at ten man!" He replied.
"Rent a private jet if you have to, this is important!"
"Sure!"
I hung up the call.
The son of the former Sicilian mafia just spat on his father's corpse with his actions. And for messing with us, there was always a price.
Always.
NEXT DAY
I was in the gym, it was almost dusk. The sky outside burned orange, fading into violet. I had to sweat out the tension in my body. I was on the treadmill when I got a text from Reginald.
'ACE HOTEL'
I smiled.
Finally something to look forward to.
With Brenda always haunting my memories, I needed something to distract me. Whenever my world went quiet, she always found her way to disturb my thoughts.
Silence was dangerous.
It made room for her.
I opened the door to room 111, on the bed lay Reginald. Trejo was gazing out of the window with a glass of whiskey in his hand.
The room smelled of expensive cologne and oak-aged alcohol.
"Finally you're here!" Reginald got up from the bed and proceeded towards me, we hugged for a second.
"That's so gay!" Trejo scoffed.
"You got a girlfriend?" Reginald asked Trejo.
"Yeah I do!"
"Why don't you give me night with her, then she'll tell you how gay I am!"
I chuckled.
"Trejo, how are you?" I asked.
The question clearly annoyed him.
"I was kidnapped, how can I be fine?" He asked, gulped his whiskey and poured himself another glass.
He wasn't scared.
He was embarrassed.
"Believe me, I didn't want to bring you here but this is important. Someone wanted us to become enemies, I found that out yesterday! They are trying to pit us against each other. They want us to go to war, so they can attack us at our weakest!" I narrated to the two men.
Trejo seemed troubled by the whole thing.
"But why? What do they stand to gain if we fight?"
"I don't know if it's your ugly face or low IQ that makes me loathe you so much. To take both groups you idiot!" Reginald hissed.
"Watch your tone Regina!" He deliberately called him that.
"Enough both of you!"
The two men calmed down.
"They want us at war with each other right? Let's give them what they want!" I placed a leg on top of another.
Strategic deception.
Controlled chaos.
"Wh-what? You can't do that. You'll wipe out my entire gang! You know I'm bankrupt and my men are only a fraction of yours." Trejo fumed.
That explained why he went into hiding in the first place.
"You really are dumb! We're not actually fighting against ourselves. We're making them believe that there's actual hostility between us. Making them believe that their plan was successful!"
War is loud.
But fake war?
That's art.
"You said something about going bankrupt! So you're broke!" Reginald stared at Trejo.
"Bankrupt…not broke!" Trejo hissed.
"What's the difference? You. Are. Broke."
"Can you two quit? You're bickering like pregnant women. Trejo, I can help you out financially." I straightened my shirt and got up.
"What's the catch?" He asked.
Smart question.
"You will be the head of your mafia group but you'll report to me. Everyone will know you as Don Massimo, nobody has to know about me. The final say comes from me though!"
Control without exposure.
Power without visibility.
"And what if I don't agree?"
"I can tell your men about your financial struggles and we can actually go to war. You know how that will end though Trejo!"
Fear is most effective when it is calm.
"How much are we talking about?"
"Three hundred and fifty million dollars!"
Trejo gasped.
Money buys loyalty. But control buys empires.
Trejo got up from his chair and walked towards me. He stretched out his hand to me and I shook it.
We had a deal.
And just like that —
The board was reset.