Chapter 3 The Boss

• Vicktor’s POV
• I run things around here, and no one double-crosses me. Especially not for chump change like half a million dollars. You mess with me, you pay the price.
• The cold concrete room is dimly lit, the only light coming from a single bulb hanging from the ceiling. It swings slightly, casting moving shadows on the walls.
• Three men are tied up, their backs against metal chairs, their faces swollen and bloody. They're sweating and shaking. They know they've messed up big time.
• "You know, I can't believe you did this," I say, my voice low and calm, but there's a storm brewing inside me. I walk slowly around them, my hands behind my back. They try not to look at me, but they can feel my eyes burning into them.
• "We... we're sorry, Boss ," stammers one, his voice cracking with fear.
• "Sorry?" I laugh, but there's no humor in it. "You sold me out for half a million? That's what my loyalty's worth to you?"
• "It was a mistake, Boss ! We didn't think—"
• "Exactly, you didn't think!" I interrupt him sharply. I grab a rusty chain from the floor and let it clink in my hands. The sound makes them flinch.
• "Please, Boss , please, we have families," another one pleads, tears starting to stream down his cheeks.
• "Families?" I sneer, moving closer to him. "What about my family? What about my organization that treated you like brothers?" I’m close enough now to see his pupils dilate in fear.
• I grab the first man by the collar and pull his face close to mine. "Tell me, who approached you? Who knows you're such a cheap sell?"
• He's sobbing now, his body trembling. "It was Franco, Franco made us do it. He said it was easy money."
• Franco, my longtime rival. The anger in me boils hotter. I throw the man back against the chair, and it clangs loudly against the floor.
• "Easy money," I repeat, shaking my head. I turn to my men standing by the door. "Give me the pliers."
• One of them hurries over, handing me the cold metal tool. The men on the chairs are mumbling prayers now, begging for their lives.
• "Look at me!" I command. They raise their heads, trying to muster whatever dignity they have left. I grab the hand of one, his fingers trembling. I position the pliers on his index finger.
• "Every betrayal has a price," I say coldly, and then I squeeze. The sound of crunching bone fills the room, followed by a horrific scream. I let go, and his finger is a mangled mess.
• The room fills with the sounds of crying and begging. I move to the next man, repeating the process. My hands are stained with their blood, the metallic smell filling my nostrils.
• After dealing with the last one, I stand back, my chest heaving with exertion and rage. They're all whimpering, their hands ruined, their spirits broken.
• I wipe my bloody hands on my pants, feeling the sticky warmth. I'm tired, disgusted with their cowardice and betrayal.
• "I'm done here," I say in Italian, turning to my men. "Finish this."
• I don't wait to see the end. I leave the room, the echoes of their cries fading behind me. My steps are heavy as I make my way to the bathroom upstairs. I need to wash away the grime and the fury.
• The hot water from the shower feels good on my skin, washing away the blood and sweat. But it can't wash away the anger, the betrayal. I let the water run over me for a long time, trying to calm the storm inside.
• Finally, I shut off the water and dry myself off. I look at my reflection in the mirror. This is the life I've chosen, the life of a mafia boss. It's brutal, it's bloody, but it's mine.
• I dress in fresh clothes, my movements automatic. I need to clear my head, to get away from the darkness of the day. I decide to go to my exclusive strip club, a place where I can relax and let off some steam.
• The club is buzzing when I arrive, the sound of music and laughter a stark contrast to the silence of the torture room. I nod to my men at the door, and they let me in with respect.
• Inside, the lights are bright, the women beautiful as they dance. I find a secluded spot and sit down, a glass of whiskey in hand. The warmth of the alcohol spreads through me, soothing, calming.
• As I watch the dancers, I feel the tension slowly leaving my body. This is my escape, my refuge from the demands of my life.
• The bass of the music pulses through the club like a heartbeat, thumping against my chest. The air is thick with perfume and smoke, blending into a fragrance that’s both intoxicating and familiar. I lean back, my eyes scanning the crowd, watching as people lose themselves to the night.
• A dancer catches my eye. She moves with a grace that's almost too perfect, her body and curves swaying in ways that seem to defy the rhythm, yet match it perfectly. She notices me watching and gives me a small, knowing smile.
• "Another drink, sir?" The bartender, a young guy with quick hands, slides up to my table. He knows better than to wait for a response, pouring another whiskey before I nod.
• "Thanks," I murmured, my voice drowned out by the music. The glass feels cold against my warm fingers.
• The ice clinks softly as I swirl the drink, lost in thought. Tonight, my men took my loyalty and crushed it underfoot. That's why I had to teach them a lesson even after years of their loyalty to me, I can’t let them slip.
• But the anger of it presses down on me and even the sexy dancer didn’t get my attention tonight.
• I took another sip of my whiskey. The alcohol warms me, a familiar comfort. The club continued to buzz around and I was looking around when my sharp intuitive eyes landed on the pale lady in red. She doesn’t belong here and I have never seen her.
• I was wondering what she was doing in the club since I don’t see her attached to any man or group.My eyes were keenly on her and watching her every move you can imagine the shock on my face when I saw her stealing one of my client’s fat wallets.