The mafia and his lost queen

Chapter 2

ASHTON

After collecting my bottle of alcohol from the office cabinet, I took off the cap and took a large swig from it. Massimo was tying Trevor properly before I went to see him.

I swallowed the drink when my throat burned as the liquid passed, my head aching from the flashbacks of some purely unwanted memories. I tightened my hands into fists, my nails digging into my palm, enough to soon draw blood out of it when pushing one hand inside the pocket of my suit pants, I took another long swig, fury feeding on my brain as the memories came rushing back.

I hated it.

I fucking loathed it.

No matter how many times I tried to stop, they wouldn't. No matter how many times I tried to fucking block them, push them away, never encounter them again...they still seemed to come back at driving force, slamming into me till I was a breathing heaping mess. Till I could feel my insides crushing, my ribcage collapsing, my heart clenching like no other. Till I could physically feel my lungs shut down.

I wanted it all gone.

But they never did.

And that's the worst part about fear. It fed you, grew on you and then latched on you. It never left you.

Life gives you some memories which are haunting till death, no matter how much time has passed. Sometimes...sometimes the memory hurts more than the day on which it happened.

My hands clenched around the bottle of alcohol as I lifted it to my lips and drank almost half of it whole, my insides roaring as blood pulsated within me, reminding me again as to what my goals were, what my ambitions were, what my fucking past was. It taunted me, laughed at me, made fucking fun of me when chugging the rest of the bottle down, I extended my hand and threw it against the wall, the bottle crashing and falling on the floor, the pieces littering around like a beautiful yet helpless damsel in distress.

I wanted to avenge her death.

I fucking wanted to.

But from whom?

My own people?

My own man?

That one fucking man.

When?

How?

What time?

Shaking my head, I clenched my chest muscles, feeling them ripping against the constraints of my shirt when I went towards my table. Adjusting my suit coat around me once again, I reminded myself of what Massimo had informed me about.

Five million dollars' worth of drugs. FIVE MILLION! And he handed it over to the Russians, our biggest enemy, the ones we hated the fucking most. The Bratvas.

The Italians and the Bratvas had a long enmity, something that every mafia group had with each other. But ours? Ours ran fucking deep. And fucking great.

The fucker thought that I wouldn't notice the five million dollar shipment missing amongst the large shipments that were already coming in, but I guess he forgot who he was messing with. Stealing a few bucks is one thing, which again, I would have noticed. But millions? That too, five million? Was he a clown?

It was time to give him another reminding as to on whose path of his loyalties, he lost his brains. Straightening my black button-down shirt to camouflage the blood stains, I checked my black coat again, readjusted the cuff-links and turned around to grab the gloves that I would use to torture him. I hardened my chin bone to add ruthlessness to my facial features, let anger consume me and be available to read on my fucking face as fucking proof of the gift they were about to receive in the form of wrath when I made way to my cabinet again.