Bare for you (French Mafia Romance)

Part 1

"Murder, like talent, seems occasionally to run in families."
- George Henry Lew
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Cash's POV

Death becomes a less freighting thing once you accept its inevitability.

They say everyone fears death. Even those that want to get in the gates of heaven, they don't want to die to get there. For some, death is peaceful. A final end to a happy chapter or a quick end to a long suffering.

For this man in front of me, however, death is not peaceful. It's slow and anguishing. Almost every bone broken and skin slashed with various knives. The only thing echoing in the warehouse are his screams. For the past hour, I've watched my uncle brutally attempt to get answer from this man but to no avail. I turn my head to my father, the underboss, and he is unfazed. My younger sister, Renee, stays in the shadows observing the ordeal. Tough as nails, that one. At 20, she has seen more than those twice her age will ever see. The life of the French mafia is not a light one by any means.

"Nephew." my uncle, Lucien, calls.

"Yes, Don?" I respond, not faltering in my voice.

"How much money did this man steal from us again?" he asks.

"$22 million."

The room fills with mumbles from lower ranking members. My father and sister remain quiet.

"Ah yes. You see, that's stealing food from my people's mouths. That's taking the roofs off their heads and the clothes off their backs. All because you decided to call the authorities." my uncle explains. "How did you know where the shipment would be?"

The man cries and shakes his head. No answers.

"Okay, then. Gaston, bring her in!" he yells.

Gaston, one of my uncle's Capo, brings in a crying woman. He is not gentle with his grasp as he pulls her toward him. Once the man sees the woman he immediately speaks.

"Leave her out of this!" he yells. "She has nothing to do with this!"

  "Oh, so you do speak? Is that a Russian accent, I hear? Is that who's behind this?" Lucien asks.

"Leave her out of this!" the man repeats.

Lucien nods before taking his gun out his holster, cocking it, then aiming it at her head. The woman sobs louder while clutching her stomach.

"She's pregnant! Please!" he yells.

"I will not repeat myself." Lucien grits.

The man closes his eyes before shaking his head regrettably. That was answer enough for my uncle before changing the direction of the gun to the woman's stomach and pulling the trigger. Next, a head shot. One for her then one for the man.

"Putain!" Lucien yells. Fuck! "Nettoyer cette merde." Clean this shit up.

The associates hurry to clean up the bodies and floor as my uncle walks away. Before leaving, he pats me on the shoulder then signals for my father to follow him. My father offers me a nod before him, and my sister, leave as well.

"Well, that was a shit show." Kaïs, my soldier and closest thing to a friend, says to me.

"Very." my other soldier and close friend, Marius, agrees.

I nod. If the Russians did set up for our shipment to be seized, that would mean a war. The last thing any of us need is a damn war. War gets in the way of business and that's all we care about. The French mafia may be smaller in numbers than the rest but that's exactly how we survived this long without our organization being dismantled. It's harder for authorities to find and a hell of a lot easier to do business without worrying about associates fucking up.