Cesare Fierri [Book #4]

Chapter 13

Cesare's POV
"Look what the cat dragged in," Niccolo said with a smirk. "Long night, huh?"

I was about to curse his ass out, but was interrupted by the pissed, authoritative tone of my other brother. "Sit down," he barked.

I immediately plopped down into the leather chair, a chill running down my spine. Sometimes it frightens me how similar in voice and looks Marcellius is to our father.

"Mi dispiace sono in ritardo(I'm sorry I'm late)," I apologized in Italian, before switching back to English. "It won't happen again."

"That's what you say everytime," Niccolo commented, resting his hands on his head and leaning back in his chair.

I flipped him off, resulting in Marcellius glaring at the both of us. I apologized once more and shifted in my seat.

"Now that you two are done acting like children, we need to discuss an issue within our Mafia."

I straightened up. "What kind of an issue?"

Marcellius leaned down and opened the drawer beside him, pulling out his gun and setting it down on the desk before him. "The deadline is up and I want my money."

"Who's the lucky guy?" Niccolo asked, his hazel eyes glinting at the idea of being able to bring back someone to torture, the sick fuck.

Marcellius reached back into the drawer, this time grabbing a folder. We knew that as soon as we saw that dark blue folder that someone was on our hitlist.

He pushed the folder in my direction. Picking it up, I flipped it open, staring at the picture of our victim.

Frank Mitchell.

He's a middle aged man, who's attended many of our gambling sessions at Fallen. Unforutnely for him, and fortunately for me, he's a terrible player.

Now that I think about it, he's lost every game he's ever played and is almost a hundred grand in debt. And from the pissed off look on Marcellius' face, he's done waiting.

It's not like we actually need the money. We have more than enough money for our large family, but to him, it's the principle of it all.

My brother's big on morals and shit. He was even generous enough to give Frank an extension, three months to be exact.

But now his time has run out and he won't allow anymore time to pass without getting his money. It's one of the reasons why we don't partake in drugs anymore. There's just too many disloyal thieves in the mix. That, and my mother hated having it around. It's how Niccolo got attached to cocaine in the first place.

Now we've settled on gambling, auctions, hit requests, and the occasional business deals whether that be owning a business, giving out loans, or playing witness protection.

We aren't as involved as we used to be. Not since our father died. But I think it's for the best. We don't want any of the kids growing up and having to deal with what we had to as kids, especially after what happened with Dante, Selene and... Luciano.

I guess you could say we've been playing it safe.

"What kind of message are you looking for us to send to dear Frankie?" I asked, handing the folder back.

"If he doesn't have my money, then do what you must to let him know that he has until seven tonight to get me my shit."

"And if he doesn't have it by then?" Niccolo chimed in.

"Kill him."

"Why seven? Why not midnight?" I don't normally question Marcellius, but I found it strange that he chose a time so early in the evening.