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The men show no mercy. Another punch is followed by a forceful kick in his gut. I flinch with every impact, my stomach churning.
Stop it. Please.
The room echoes with the sickening thuds. Mr. Smith tries to shield himself with trembling hands. A vicious blow to his temple leaves him momentarily dazed, and I can see a gash forming, a thin line from which the blood oozes.
The tall man watches impassively as Mr. Smith’s pleas for mercy fade into guttural groans, the sound of a man pushed beyond his limits.
I think about barging in, but my legs tremble at the thought. I feel helpless.
"Please, no more…" Mr. Smith struggles to breathe.
Ignoring the plea, the tall man, with his back to me until now, finally turns around. A chill courses through me as I catch a glimpse of his face.
No.
I feel my heart plunge. My breath catches, and I gasp.
Without a second thought, I turn and run. Coming out of the restaurant, I gasp for air. I squeeze my eyes shut as the name of his face echoes in my mind.
Tommaso.
Chapter Seven
TOMMASO
Asmall buzz whirs from somewhere and I blink at the faint sound.
I look at my phone. It’s Lorenzo, he is supposed to update me about the new arms shipment which isn’t getting through because of an issue at the warehouse.
Fuck.
“Go faster,” I say through gritted teeth.
The engine revs to its full potential and I lean back, my thoughts stuck in the impeding aftermath of what just happened. My anger increases. The pleas of the restaurant owner echo in my mind. I recall him explaining about handing the protection money to Mauro’s men.
To my rival.
On my fucking territory.
Francesco glares at me, the glow of the passing lights making fleeting patterns on his tensed face.
“What’s the plan?”
I look out the window, “I should’ve never showed leniency. This is my doing.”
“This will upset the balance we have maintained for this past year, signore. Mauro will face the consequences of his visit.” His grip on the wheel tightens.
“He thinks I’m too young to rise to the occasion.” I look at my own reflection in the window. Distorted, dark, riled. How dare he?
“This would have happened anyway. That motherfucker,” Francesco stamps his hand on the wheel. “We should’ve never taken his word for the truce. We should have dealt with him our way.”
I think about what this could mean. For me. For the clan. The alliance that has kept the territories intact now hangs by the thinnest thread.
“We make the move,” I wipe my face. “We assess his capability. Send out men. If he senses our weakness now, he’ll exploit it.”
Francesco gawks at me, “What about the truce–”
“Fuck the truce, Francesco. This is our territory at stake. Our hold will not be weakened,” I growl.
