Cuffed By The Devil (Mafia Romance) Prt 2

 

Chapter 2

Amund Isak POV

I ran my fingers through my hair, trying to ease the tension coiled in my muscles. Another cousin dead. I had been too lenient with the gangs encroaching on my organization.

"Boss, we pulled CCTV footage. It shows Anges wandering off toward the old abandoned warehouse," Sergio reported.

"Was he with anyone?" I asked, rising from my knees before the altar.

"Alone. But the cameras picked up a few cars." He placed a printed photo in front of me. I studied the image, a classic, old-school vehicle.

"Those Mexican motherfuckers," I muttered under my breath.

"Should we retaliate?"

"No. Not yet. Why the hell was he doing business with the Mexicans?"

We didn’t associate with street gangs. It would ruin our reputation. A king doesn’t bargain with peasants.

"Drugs," Sergio said. "The dust was all over the crime scene."

I frowned. "Why would he be supplying them with drugs? They run the biggest drug trade in the city." None of it made sense.

Anges had always been a hustler, never one to bend to the old ways of the family business. He wanted to spread his wings. Too bad someone clipped them.

"Some deal must've gone south," Sergio added.

I nodded, still studying the photograph. "Trading guns for drugs, maybe." I exhaled. "Not that it matters now. I have a phone call to make to his mother."

"About that…"

I looked up. "What?"

"She’s already here. And she’s not happy."

"Her son was just murdered," I murmured, dipping my fingers into the holy water before pressing them to my lips. "Send her in."

"Yes, boss."

I turned just as she entered the room, grief twisting her features, curses spilling from her mouth.

"I rushed over the moment I heard the news. My son is dead. Who did this?" Synnøve demanded, her voice wobbling with fury.

"Please, Synnøve, we're in God's house," I pleaded, guiding her to an empty pew. "From what I’ve gathered so far, it was the Mexicans."

"Where is his body?"

"I made sure our personal morgue collected it. Once we're done here, you can go see him."

She broke down, her hands shaking. "I can’t. My poor son... He was the only one I had left."

"I know, Auntie. I failed you," I whispered, guilt weighing heavy in my chest.

Her warm hands enveloped mine, but there was no comfort in her grip; only the cold steel of vengeance.

"You did fail me," she hissed. "And you’ll fail me even more if you don’t have the bastard who did this killed. I want his head at my doorstep. No later than tomorrow. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Auntie," I murmured.

"Your father left you in charge of this city. I suggest you start using your power to its fullest extent."

I clenched my jaw and nodded.

She stood, her heels clicking against the stone floor as she walked up to the altar. Bowing her head, she whispered a prayer before turning back to me. Her eyes burned with righteous fury.

"God said an eye for an eye. I want his head."

I nodded again.

Without another word, she walked out.

Sergio stepped forward. "Boss? What’s the next move?"

"Find the bastards responsible. Bring them to the spot where my cousin died. I need a head."

"Yes, boss."

***********

Two of my soldiers restrained the men responsible for my cousin’s murder.

"This is the bastard from the blue Volvo?" I asked, approaching them.

"Yes, boss."

"Good. I like to make sure I’m executing the right head."

The man was forced to his knees in the dried blood of my cousin.

"You know whose blood this is?" I asked, my voice even.

He glared up at me and spat on my shoes. "What, you think I forgot about the white piece of shit I killed?"

I nodded slowly, absorbing his words.

"You killed my aunt’s last child," I said, my voice laced with something colder than anger. "A woman with no mercy."

Her two other children had died—both to the lifestyle. She always claimed it was the family’s curse. The lives we took, the blood we spilled—it all came back around.

But I never believed in curses. I was born with a purpose.

To kill. To lead.

Curses didn’t concern me.

The people around me did.

"I just need to be certain," I whispered, the knife protruding from beneath my jacket sleeve.

He chuckled, his bravado unconvincing. "I’m not scared of death."

"Good. What was he trading with you?"

He spat, his eyes narrowing with a flicker of fear. He couldn’t afford to show it, not when he knew that death was unavoidable.

"I'm no snitch," he replied defiantly.

"You’re going to die anyway, Santiago. It’s better to cooperate; at least you might find some peace for your soul."

"I'm not dying as a snitch."

"Perhaps I shouldn’t make it quick," I said, appraising his body with a hint of amusement. "Strip him down."

"What?!" he yelled, struggling against the firm grip of my men.

"A little torture isn't so bad, is it, Santiago? Just a foot soldier in the cartel's drug trade. You're not all that important to them; I had a feeling as much."

"Which gang were you trading with, and what was the exchange? Give me that information, and I can promise you a pain-free death."

He chuckled bitterly. "That’s not much of a deal."

I laughed. "It’s a hell of a deal." Grabbing his hair, I leaned in closer. "Enough games. Give me a name!" I yelled, driving the knife into his arm. His scream echoed in the room, saliva splattering onto my face.

"Fuck you!" he growled, his eyes darting to the blade embedded in his flesh. His breaths grew increasingly ragged.

I twisted the knife deeper, and he squealed in agony, pushing against his restraints.

"You see, death is easy. Pain is not," I murmured, my grip tightening on the knife. "Give me the name."

"Okay!" he cried out, desperation piercing his voice. "Just stop, dammit!" He cursed, his defiance faltering.

"Names," I growled.

"Fernando. Your cousin wants some drugs. Apparently, your suppliers aren't up to par." He spat, the agony intensifying. "We have the good stuff, and you have—"

"The weapons," I interjected quietly.

"We outsmarted him, took back our drugs and the weapons."

"Why the weapons?"

"I don’t know."

I twisted the knife in his arm, pushing it deeper. "Why the weapons? The cartels already have plenty."

He squeaked, "Not enough. More weapons mean more soldiers."

I laughed. "I could let you run back with a message for your little gang leader. But I promised my aunt a head, and you're just the right candidate." I withdrew the knife and drove it into his neck.

"Let him go. Let him fight for his life, and then take his head," I commanded, coldly. "Sergio!" I called out for my loyal soldier.

"Yes, boss?" he responded promptly, attentively watching the struggling man.

"I want you to find this Fernando. Give him a little wake-up call."

"Yes, boss?"

The beast had been slumbering for too long. I turned to head back to the car. "Take the head and put it in a nice box. Pink. My auntie has a penchant for pink."

"Boss, we need to get out of here. I see cops approaching."

"It's that damn rookie girl."

"Should I take care of her?"

"No."

"She’s just another complication. We have enough challenges as it is. It’s best to cut our losses, boss."

I glared at Sergio, who always felt the need to dictate how I should run a job I had been executing for half my life.

"Sorry, boss."

I smirked. "She's precisely the challenge I want. Just do as I say."

"Yes, boss."

"Leave the headless body right where it is. I want it messy this time. I want her coming after me."

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