(BlackHeart2) BLACKSOUL

Prologue (Dom)

        I still have the tint of pink flesh across my knuckles for how raw they'd gotten during that altercation a few weeks back. There was a street gang called DDP, a group of bold Dominicans who started messing with establishments owned by crime families of the New York Italian mob. It'd been low level shit until they joined forces with the fucking Irish. Word got out that we had problems with the O' Riley clan after the son, Conry, wanted to marry into the Rizzo crime family. I put a stop to it after Conry disrespected me. That happened a year ago, and somehow since then they've only become more of a nuisance to me.

        When those two groups joined forces they started a small war with us that's been nothing but violence and bullshit. I hadda secure my gun running operations because they wanted to take it. They wanted my distributors and buyers, but I have loyal allies who haven't given them what they wanted. What they wanted was to be the leading organized crime group to run guns on all of the east coast.

It split some lines down the middle of a lot of territories when it became known who was loyal to who. The Jewish mob had always been neutral with both the Italians and the Irish. They caused no problems for me. But, when the Irish called upon them to become allies if this mob war turned ugly they did favor the group, which means they're now my enemy.

Trust me when I tell you, you don't wanna be the enemy of Domani De Luca.

        I'm not the kind of mob boss that only sits behind a desk, or in his mansion somewhere. I get my hands dirty. Often. That altercation the other week may have truly become the start of an all out war. Nobody's made a move since, but I have my warehouses and trucks heavily guarded. We've warned everyone within the syndicate to stay alert and well loaded. Anything can pop up suddenly. I know how to run my damn businesses. If they think they can fuck those up without being caught, they'll have a tough lesson to learn, and soon.

I have soldiers, capos, and goons everywhere. I have very high officials in my pocket that can make anything go away or appear should I need something. I myself am military trained special forces. I know snipers, spies, and war heros. I know even more criminals and crooks.

        My knuckles are still tinted pink because I beat a man to death the other week. And I didn't lose a fucking second of sleep over it. People call Domani De Luca vicious, dangerous, and insane too. They whisper about me. Good. The more afraid they are, the more powerful I get. Nobody wants to ally against the man they think is fucking nuts. They wanna be on that man's good side.

Chicago for example. They're smart and run all their business through me. The amount of guns that go to Chicago is a disgrace for its people, but fantastic business for myself.

When I'm angry I channel my rage into violence, work, and sex. I've had so much sex for the past 9 months that I don't even remember who is who anymore. I call them all dollface, because I don't wanna get the names mixed up.

        When it comes to Paris and how I left there 9 months ago, I don't speak about it. The thing with someone like me is I have a switch. Maybe it was instilled in me when I grew up within the most powerful crime family, witnessing a lot of fucked up shit during my prime growing years. Maybe it's the military training that makes you a machine more than a person. I have this switch, and when I click it off I become numb to just about anything.

My best buddy Elio once accused me of being emotionless. He told me I don't care about anyone, and I'm loyal to no one but myself. Maybe he's right. I know I made an oath with this man. A man who I fought in combat with, who saved my life as often as I've saved his.

The thing is, I didn't keep it. He gave me one request. To stay away from his baby sister, and what did I do? I fucked her. I threw that oath away and lied to my best friend for months. I fist fought him twice just to fly out to Paris in the first place. That's done now. I asked Mia to come home, and she said no.

And the switch is off.

-

        I was sitting on the sectional sofa in my office at the Velvet Lounge, the club I own and frequent. I'd just finished bending some girl over the back of this very sectional, railing her until she screamed with orgasm. Until I could cum hard enough to burn the fire out. I leaned back on the sectional with my legs wide and my arm outstretched. I had my pants on and my button down top was on, but open.

        When there was a knock at the door, I called for them to come in as I smoked my roll up. I didn't used to smoke, but I guess I do now. The stress of looming war I suppose. Of being a control freak and running an empire that I want to operate all by myself. Of course that isn't possible, but I do have a hand in much of it. I oversee everything.

The girl was mostly dressed, but kind of scoffed when I called for the person to come in. She adjusted her large breasts inside that small top and bent to grab her shoes. Riccardo, my goon for all things, quickly averted his eyes and came around the seating to face me.

He didn't speak yet. He waited for the woman to buckle her heel and give me an awkward wave when I motioned for her to get out. I brought the cigarette to my mouth and pulled a drag while looking up at Riccardo. "Did you get the information I asked for?" I released the smoke.

Riccardo's heavy bellied and stands like a bulldog would. His hair's been slicked back since the day I met him, all those years ago. He's a loyal goon, which is why I keep him close to me to run my errands and tasks. Especially ones I don't want anyone else knowing about.

He waved the smoke out of his face and cleared his throat. "Yes sir, it's all right here," he tapped the folder in his hand. I took it and flipped through. I might be done with her, but as I said before I keep up with my enemies.

        I have friends in France, and one of them's been more than happy to trail Miss Mia Fiore. I know her every move. I know the friends she's made, the job opportunities she's accomplished, and the man she's fucking. I know his date of birthday, his social security, he has double citizenship from America and France...I can probably tell you the color of nail polish on his mothers hands. I know that much.

I flipped through a few printed out pictures that've been blown up and cleared. I have professional grade surveillance here in front of me. When I said nothing Riccardo fidgeted. Light skinned black man with a white toothed grin and an athletic build. He enjoys futbol mostly, and exercises in his local gym regularly. He's a PR guy, so his job is to be a smooth talker. He turns on the charm when he wants to.

       "And?" I asked Riccardo with a little more aggravation in my tone. I don't like when people make me ask questions when they already know I wanna know something. "Oh, uh, her return flight is next week," he watched me lean forward and ash-out the cigarette.

I could tell Riccardo couldn't decide whether I just dismissed him or if he should stay put until I gave orders. I make him nervous even after all these years of practically growing up together. I've only knocked his head a couple times. Nothing in comparison to some of the other guys who disappoint me, or disrespect me. Riccardo's very respectful.

"Do you need anything else sir? I told your contact to still keep on with the surveillance until she reaches American soil," the man tipped his dark eyes up from my boots to my face. He studied my expression to see if he'd done the right thing. 

        When I gave him a small nod he seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. I waved him off after that. Once the quiet finally came, I pulled the folder back onto my lap and flipped through it again. Her and the guy outside of some Parisian bistro with their noses touching. I'm sure I know where that led. There were other photos of little interest to me, so I just stood and brought the pictures to my shredder. I watched as the face of the man started to tear and disappear inside, and I continued to watch when her face did the same. I took the shredded pictures and tossed them to the bottom of my waste basket.

Where they belong.