Reed's Era

Chapter 1

Reed Pipes reclined in his dimly lit office, the scent of whiskey enveloping the air. His intense gaze fixated on the glass in his hand, the amber liquid reflecting the glow of the room's low-hanging chandelier.

As a mafia prince, the weight of his responsibilities bore down on him, and in these solitary moments, he sought solace in the burn of alcohol cascading down his throat. His office, a sanctuary of power, exuded opulence. A colossal mahogany desk dominated the space, cluttered with stacks of documents and a small ashtray, where remnants of his cigarette lay. The walls were adorned with paintings depicting violence and betrayal, while glass shelves held expensive liquor bottles, their labels gleaming in subdued lighting.

A palpable tension hung in the room, mirroring Reed's tumultuous existence. His piercing sapphire blue eyes, framed by thick lashes, possessed an uncanny ability to peer into the depths of souls. His alabaster skin, untouched by imperfections, contrasted sharply with the brutal path he had traversed. Intricate tattoos covered his muscular arms and snaked up his neck, marking him as a man of both power and danger.

His jet-black hair, meticulously slicked back, added an air of sophistication tinged with menace. A well-groomed salt-and-pepper beard framed his strong jawline, amplifying his commanding presence. A calculated smile from him silenced the room, instilling a chill even in the bravest souls. With each step, he exuded the confidence and authority befitting a seasoned mafia boss, ready to wield power with ruthless efficiency.

Reed's notoriety reached far beyond the criminal circles he inhabited. Even rival mafia cartels and lower-level bosses feared him, recognizing him not merely as a murderer but as a force unto himself. His ability to dispatch targets with chilling efficiency set him apart even among the most notorious killers.

Law enforcement agencies and security forces worldwide relentlessly pursued him, yearning to bring him to justice and halt his reign of terror. Yet, amidst the chaos and peril enveloping Reed, he resisted the concept of commitment. Women, drawn to his power and charisma, desired him, but Reed harbored no intention of entangling himself in emotional bonds. The burdens on his mind allowed no room for love or attachments.

A solitary figure, consumed by the darkness that permeated his existence, Reed faced societal expectations with indifference. The world demanded that a man of his stature settle down, find his "maria," and construct a future. However, Reed's path, paved with bloodshed and secrets, diverged from society's expectations.

Even as security forces futilely pursued him, women found it challenging to resist his allure. The pull of his power and charisma drew them in, while the fear of his lethal abilities kept them at a cautious distance.

He stood as a contradiction, both desired and feared, a man who defied norms and waltzed on the edge of darkness. In the shadows, Reed moved with purpose, propelled by an insatiable hunger for control and power. The world quivered at his name, and his enemies trembled in fear.

As another sip of whiskey touched his lips, the piercing ring of his phone disrupted the silence. The sound echoed through the room, slicing through the thick atmosphere. With a sigh, Reed set his glass down and reached for the device, his fingers brushing against its smooth surface. "Commissioner Collins," Reed answered in his deep, authoritative voice.

The mere mention of the commissioner's name sent shivers through those acquainted with the criminal underworld. The man held immense power, commanding respect even among the most hardened criminals. The voice on the other end was a blend of gravitas and weariness.

"Reed, I have something you need to see," Collins said, his words carrying a weight that captured Reed's interest. "I've sent you a document. Check your messages." Curiosity laced with apprehension washed over Reed as he unlocked his phone and navigated to his messages.

Amidst the barrage of texts and notifications lay the document sent by Collins. Reed's eyes narrowed as he opened it, revealing a grim truth. The document held detailed pictures of a male corpse, the screen displaying a gruesome scene. A sense of revulsion and partial indifference overcame Reed as he absorbed the horrifying details. The accompanying text read, "Michael Thompson, 28 years old, found dead in an alley. The autopsy reveals signs of torture and mutilation. We're working on the case, Reed."

His grip tightened around the phone and his glass of whiskey, shattering the glass and leaving an imprint on the edges of his phone. Cold eyes absorbed the chilling details, the weight of the murder settling heavily on his shoulders, making his body rigid, his teeth clenched.

This was something that nobody would ever try in his father's era.This was nothing more than someone shitting on his authority

Reed recalled the times he had crossed paths with Michael Thompson, a low-level associate in the mafia. Thompson had always been a loyal member although a disposal one, making the brutality of his demise all the more perplexing. Reed's mind raced with questions, and his instincts told him that this brutality ran deeper than the surface.

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