ARELLA (A Mafia Story)

Twenty-Seven

Damon

I cackle with glee as Andrea drags our hostage into the trunk of our car. He put up a good fight, managing to get a sharp right swing right to Andrea's eye. The flesh is swollen and starting to turn purple.

I was completely prepared to jump from the car to come to my sons aid. The only thing that stopped me was Davide clasping my shoulder and demanding that Andrea had it.

That doesn't mean this fuck head isn't going to the kennels, though. He's associated with Dimitri and that's reason enough. But to hit my son? There's a price to pay.

Maybe I'll let Andrea chop off the hand he used to hit my son. An eye for an eye and the world goes blind isn't a saying in my circles.

"Get off of me you demented fuck!" The cowardly guy shrieks, thrashing in Andrea's hold as he tries to stuff him in the trunk.

He's causing a scene. If he gets much louder, people are going to start looking out of their windows. The neighborhood we're in isn't great at all.

The houses are in various states of disrepair and the people are living well below the poverty line. Dimitri sent this man to collect debts from this small family, knowing that they couldn't pay up.

If we didn't make an appearance when we did, the man would've slaughtered the whole family without remorse, killing their two young children. Nobody deserves to be shot in their own home because they had no choice but to take from a loan shark.

When Davide and Andrea bursted through the door, the man already had his gun pulled out and aimed at the fathers head.

I was hoping to catch Dimitri here, ending all of this right here and now. He's a slippery fucker and decided to give this job to one of his close men. He'll most definitely know where Dimitri is hiding.

We need to act quickly. If Dimitri doesn't hear from this man soon, he's going to jump ship and go into hiding again. That means there's no time to torture beyond the necessary means.

That'll have to be saved for later. I'm going to have fun finding and torturing the slimy Russian. The plans I have for him would make most faint in shock. There's a reason they call me The Devil.

I'm the judge, jury, and executioner. I take lives without remorse or fear of judgement. Even the police don't come anywhere near me. Not when I give hefty donations to their precincts. Plus, the dirt I have dug up on several officers.

"I'm so fucking sick of this." I hear Andrea complain, followed by two thuds.

Turning to look over my shoulder, I see the man passed out in the trunk with a large knot starting to bloom on his forehead. Andrea holds his gun still for a second, then puts it back in his shoulder holster.

"He better be awake by the time we get to the kennels, son." I say through gritted teeth.

"I didn't hit him that hard. He'll be fine." Slamming the trunk shut, Andrea enters the passenger seat and nods to our driver.

Davide taps his foot on the floor, cracking his fingers while the driver navigates the streets of New York. We pass through old neighborhoods, run down apartments, until we finally reach tall skyscrapers, passing them by as well.