The Code To A Don's Heart

p r o l o g u e

3 hours before shit went South

V I K T O R    M A K A R O V I C H    —    T H E    B U T C H E R

Being a new Don is never easy especially when your predecessor was one of the most feared men in the world.

My underboss did not think I was worthy to be the Don. I understood. My father had his ways of doing business and so did I. Seated across from me devouring a seasoned stake, the man in question, Markov Makarovich, my uncle blabbered on about what had happened in the mafia this past week, all events that I knew of because unlike my father, I wasn't leaving the affairs of the Bratva entirely to him. If his stocky frame and pot belly did not prove him to be greedy then the thousand dollar suit, shoes and gold rings he bore spoke volumes. He earned enough money to get him these things but some expenses exceeded his wage. He could have a side job, he could be using my resources for other reasons but, I needed proof before I decided to shoot him.

I really wanted to but I was at a point where no decisions could be made on a whim. I needed the men of my Bratva to both fear and respect me despite the fact that I was no older than most of their sons. I was their Don and they wold accept it peacefully or by means of force. The latter method proved to be more effective and I quite enjoyed it. Unfortunately, I couldn't resort to it yet.

"..... managed to get everything across the boarder and are in the process of selling as much as they can before the required deadline," Markov was saying.

"The drugs have moved, weapons are coming in, half my debts are paid and new recruits have joined the Capos of the Eastern boarder," I listed down what I'd picked from his incoherent explanations. The urge to shove the steak he ate down his throat so he could address me properly was overwhelming but I needed in his good graces. I wonder why my father picked this man out of everyone in the family.

"There's nothing else of course," I pressed on, knowing there had been some difficulty in one of the headquarters not far from here. It had caused enough of an uproar to bring Markov back from two states over. I didn't know what had happened because I wanted to trust Markov would tell me.

"Nothing," he said easily running a hand down his round belly. He didn't even look at me when he answered and that annoyed me enough to sit up in my booth.

We were at a restaurant called la Lanterne Bouillante. It was a beautiful place with an ebony theme, round tables covered by white cloth and even the booths reserved for business like where Markov and I sat had beautiful centre pieces. This place reminded me of everything my father despised in men.

"They think just because they have the most expensive seats and can afford each and every course, they can dictate who you are and what you need to know," he used to say. "Don't let them pull you down Viktor. Show them that knowledge is power and you don't need them to have it."