His Mafia Queen

Always a Gangster

"I can get you the money—"

"Shut the fuck up," I say. "You sold my shit and then turned around and bought from one of the Cubans in Miami?"

He hangs his head. Bastard thought I wouldn't find out.

"I thought I could make a little extra, you know. Times are tough." He starts to shove his hands into his pants.

"Keep your hands where we can see them, asshole," Mauro calls out.

Bruno licks his lips nervously and nods.

"You know what I don't like?" I ask.

Bruno shakes his head.

"People who aren't loyal. I thought I made that clear last time." Last time he did this, six months ago, when he bought crack some fucking two-bit motorcycle club in Lakeland, knowing I despise that shit and ban my dealers from selling it.

"You did, but, hey, I was trying to be entrepreneurial and shit. I'm a hustler." He splays his hands against his chest.

"You're a hustler." I inhale. This is getting tiresome. "So why didn't you hustle to get my money? A million and a half is a lot of money, bro."

"Fuck, man, I dunno." He sniffles, and seems like he's on the verge of crying. As he should be.

I reach out and cup his face with my left hand. I've known Bruno for years, since I was a kid. He looks exactly like his father, all skin and bones and nerves.

Took a chance on the guy after he served six years in prison for fraud.

"I trusted you. When others said I shouldn't. They were right." I raise my pistol and point it at his chest. Part of me, the good side that Riley adores, thinks I should let him go. Give him the opportunity to make it right.

But a mafia boss can't be defiled more than once. It shows weakness, and I'm anything but weak.

His nose and mouth begin to leak snot and tears. "Please. I'll get you the money, I promise."

"You promised that last time. And as I explained back then, there's only one second chance, Bruno."

I pull the trigger. The bullet soars squarely into the chest, tearing his hipster shirt and his flesh and penetrating his heart.

The silencer on my gun muffles the sound. It never ceases to shock me how soft and innocuous a silenced gunshot is when it snuffs out a man's life.

Bruno crumples to the ground like a pile of bones and old clothes, and I pump several more rounds into his body while my men stand and watch.

Each bullet is a message to those who find him, and to those who might consider crossing me in the future.

# # #

We're silent on the ride back, and once I'm safely within the confines of my compound, I can breathe again. I nod at the men and walk in alone, leaving them to their own business. The trio are the ones I trust the most, the guys who have been with me the longest, the people who would lay down their lives for me.

I am a lucky man to have them.

When I open the door, the smell of vanilla and cinnamon hits my nose. I'm about to head into the kitchen when Andre comes out.

"Sir...oh, God."

He's squeamish about blood, which is why he's my assistant and office manager, and not a capo.

I look down to see blood splatter on my white, button down shirt. Must've happened because I was so close to Bruno when I shot him. All part of a night's work.