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"Allow me to introduce myself," he sneers. "I am Mario Alfonso, a sotto capo of the Chicago Outfit."
"So, you are the new Boss? Nikolai Fedorov?" he queries, his tone dripping with derision.
I nod curtly, not in the mood for small talk. My obligations beckon, and this man is an unwelcome hindrance, provoking an ever-growing impatience that festers within me, like a knot in my stomach.
"You were once an enforcer and assassin! You don't look like much," he taunts, his tone laced with mockery.
I don't have the luxury of time to prove whose dick is bigger. I need to take control. Swiftly, I retrieve the small knife discreetly secured to my calf. In one fluid motion, I hurl the knife towards Alfonso. It strikes his hand gripping the switchblade, forcing him to release it. The room falls into an eerie silence as all eyes fixate on the knife embedded in Alfonso's bleeding palm.
"May I?" I inquire, asserting my authority.
He remains transfixed, his gaze fixed upon me. I approach him calmly, extracting my knife from his hand. I wipe the blade clean on my trouser leg before reattaching it to the strap on my calf.
"Now," I assert, my voice unwavering. "Who are you, and what is your purpose? I don’t like repeating myself."
Alfonso steps forward, his voice oozing with arrogance. "I am Mario Alfonso, a soto capo of the Outfit, and these are my associates." One of his henchmen hastily removes his t-shirt, which Carlos promptly wraps around his injured hand to stem the bleeding. "I have personally come here to deliver a message: stay out of our territory, you Bratva scum. The Outfit now controls the Antonovich Brothers' drug territories. Bratva drugs have no place here. Sell them elsewhere," he retorts, venom dripping from his words.
I am aware that the Outfit has seized control of the Bratva territories in the vicinity, but I did not anticipate them daring to confront us directly. My jaw clenches with determination. Who does this fucker think he is? I refuse to tolerate such disrespect. "You've made a grave mistake by coming here, Alfonso. You have no idea who you're dealing with."
He sneers, his gaze darting between me and my men. "Oh, I know precisely who I'm dealing with. A gang of Bratva thugs who believe they can challenge the might of the Outfit. You are nothing compared to us."
I chuckle. "You foolish bastard! I have no fear of you," I declare boldly. "Threats don't intimidate me. I fear nothing. I've taken the lives of countless men, so many that I've lost count. It's you who should be trembling in fear."
Alfonso stares at me, his gaze filled with disbelief. "You're a deranged, crazy bastard!"
Taking a deep breath, I exhale slowly, feeling the surge of adrenaline coursing through my veins.
"You waltz into my city, issuing threats, and have the audacity to call me crazy?" I take a deliberate step closer to Alfonso, my eyes piercing into his. "Listen closely, Alfonso. I've been in this game for a long time. I've witnessed horrors that would freeze your blood. And I've committed acts that would turn your stomach. You think I'm crazy? You haven't witnessed the true depths of my madness. No one, absolutely no one, dares to threaten me!"
Alfonso gazes at me, a mixture of fear and defiance in his eyes, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. I can sense his trepidation. "You believe you can take on the Outfit?" he quavers, his voice trembling.
"You think you're tough, Alfonso? You believe you're a big shot just because you hold the title of soto capo in the Outfit? Well, let me enlighten you. You're nothing more than a insignificant speck in a vast ocean. And should you dare to cross my path again, I'll show you the true extent of my madness."
Alfonso's face contorts in anger. "If you try to reopen this club, I will burn it to the ground." he spits, his voice hoarse.
I laugh, the sound echoing through the empty club. "You can try," I say, my voice low and dangerous. "But you won't succeed."
Suddenly, a construction worker seizes the opportunity to escape. Shit! Before I can react, the sound of gunshots pierces through the air. The worker crumples to the ground, igniting a raging fury within me. I retaliate by firing at one of the men brandishing an AK47, the bullet finding its mark in his chest.
Seizing Alfonso by the throat with an iron grip, I relish the panic in his eyes as I press him forcefully against the wall. The room freezes, held captive by the intensity of the moment. "Alfonso, you've made a grave mistake by coming here," I whisper menacingly.
Releasing my hold on Alfonso's throat, I take a step back, allowing him to catch his breath. He coughs and gasps for air, casting me a gaze filled with both fear and loathing. His henchmen begin to panic, their eyes darting around in search of an escape route.
Alfonso snarls, his eyes seething with fury. "You think you're so tough, Fedorov. You believe you can take on the Outfit? You have no clue what you're getting yourself into."
I simply smile in response. "We'll see about that," I remark, holstering my glock. "Now get out of my club before I change my mind about letting you live."
The henchmen start to retreat cautiously, their hands raised in a gesture of surrender. Alfonso glares at me for a lingering moment before turning on his heel and striding out of the club, his men trailing closely behind.
I turn to Misha with a steely gaze. "Increase the security measures. Get this place cleaned up," I order. "We have work to do."
With those commands given, I pivot and make my way out of the club, my loyal men following behind.
As soon as the Outfit members are out of sight, I turn to Misha, my voice low and tinged with danger. "Enhance the security detail," I assert. "Ensure this club is swiftly cleaned and ready to open its doors. And have our men remain on high alert. We can't predict when the Outfit will retaliate."
Misha nods, his expression grave. "Understood," he affirms, before directing his attention to issue orders to the remaining bodyguards.
As we settle into our SUVs and drive away, a surge of adrenaline electrifies my veins. This is my reality—the thrill of the chase, the rush of power. No one, not even Mario Alfonso, will dare to obstruct my path.
