Cancer.
It's a curse.
It turns people's lives upside down and ruins their relationships.
Brynne Foster is a perfect example.
After being diagnosed with leukemia at age 17, Brynne's family struggles to accept her decision of refusing chemotherapy...
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"So," I shift uncomfortably in my leather chair while holding the phone against my ear, "What's the damage?"
"S-sir, I think we should discuss this another time. Maybe once this whole situation dies down a little, the team gets a chance to look at what kind of problems we are assessing."
"Don't tell me what you think because I don't give a fuck. Tell me what we're looking at or, you're fired," I spit at the phone.
Sometimes, Antonio gets on my last fucking nerve.
"One hundred and forty million dollars," He almost whispers, "S-sir."
Goddamn it. I clench my fists and feel the cuts from the other night splitting open. I thought that meeting a few nights ago went well. I guess I was wrong. I hate admitting I'm wrong. That's because I'm always right.
Here's what happened;
I sat down with the Spanish mafia boss: Mathias Garcia, and reasoned with him. I explained that it wasn't my men's fault that all of his drug supply was destroyed in a fire. It was. The thing is, Italian men, love to boast.
And the only thing they love more than bragging is getting drunk.
And it so happens that my men got drunk after setting the drugs on fire. They felt the need to go out and tell everyone that they were single-handedly responsible for costing the Spanish mafia one hundred and forty million dollars worth of cocaine.
As you can tell, they're a real smart bunch. So I was forced to meet Mathias in an attempt to reverse the situation. It didn't help that he and I don't exactly have the smoothest relationship.
You see, he believes that I am at fault for his father's death, and I believe he is behind my father's disappearance. I haven't seen my father in ten years. I suspect that the Spanish mafia kidnapped him in an attempt to slow down their competition and get ahead in the game.
Mostly everyone assumes he is dead. Until I see his cold and lifeless body, I still have a reason to look for him and, I'm not giving up anytime soon.
"Are we going to compensate them?" Antonio questions through the phone.
"Hell no. They deserve to suffer. And if we did decide to pay them that would be admitting that we had a part in the fire."
Do I have to spell it out for him?
"Then what should we do sir?"
"We need to get ready for a shootout. Prepare all the guys and make sure that they have the right weapons. I want the base on high-security alert at all times. Bring in the big guns if you have to."
"Is that all?"
"Yes, you fucking dumbass," I hang up the phone.
Any longer talking to that idiot, I would have pulled my hair out. I stare down at my desk. It's covered with papers varying from license agreements to shipment statements. I glance at them and become frustrated so, I push them to the ground.
