The King Killer | Mafia dark romance | ✔️

32. Moth to the Flame

Antonio

"They are still delaying it," Agustin said, walking into the room, holding stacks of papers in his hand. Shoving it on my desk, he groaned. "I can't believe you allowed them to take first commission."

"Its business Agustin, you need to understand that." I pulled up the stacks and reviewed them. He wasn't raising a concern which Valentina or Alejandro previously hadn't. The Italians weren't treating our deal with sincerity. Their promise of labor for our shipment hadn't arrived even after two whole weeks. "Tell me when their men arrive." I waved my hand for Agustin's dismissal.

"Are you sure you would be able to handle the Castro boy without killing him?" his voice dropped as he placed his hands on the tabletop. "I can ask him nicely."

I laughed at Agustin's words. "The last time you asked someone nice, he ended up jumping off a cliff."

With a lower hummed grunt, he resigned. The room was engulfed in silence once the doors were shut. With Agustin's men, we were able to track the mole who worked for Santos. He had been a loyal member of ours till he decided that money mattered more to change sides. Agustin poured over security videos and phone calls to finally locate him.

James Hinoloas, our ground security for seven years decided one fine day to take Santos side. He sold his soul in exchange for house renovation and his family to be taken up in Spain. What he didn't consider was the fact about whom be played against. We didn't tame snakes. We slivered their head off and send a message out to anyone who ever decided to try again.

Agustin's name appeared on my screen with a message.

'James has been brought down. Come.'

When James came to know he was on the hunt, he made the classic mistake. Run and hide. What he didn't fathom was every person who hid him was scared of the Moralez to eventually rat him immediately. It was within hours that Agustin captured him and played some entertaining games for himself before bringing him in.

The room in the dungeon was different whenever it was a traitor we dealt with. Another long standing tradition for the forefathers. Never mix a loyal blood with a traitors.

James was tied up the same way like others. Duct taped mouth, hands behind his back and legs tied up front. His right ear bleed profusely onto his blue shirt, leaving a dark patch. One black eye flinched when the lights entered through the door upon my arrival.

I looked at Agustin who shrugged his shoulders. His answer to my unasked question would always be the same. Let me have some fun too. I agreed. It wasn't every day that we received a fresh meat to pound onto. The punching bags were only a stress buster, real work was when upon punching a man, the cracking of his ribs echoed. It was cathartic, almost worth the effort.

That sound was music to my ears.

Once I sat inside the room, general procedures followed. James duct tape was ripped off. His lips and chin flinched in its wake before emitting a soft groan. Agustin moved back, hands tucked behind him as he stood witness to me sitting in front of James's handing head.

"How long has it been?" I looked over my shoulders. Agustin took a step forward.

"An hour."

Another hour of torture before he would be laid six feet beneath the ground, resting peacefully till the end of times. But that one hour from now would be his visit to Dante's Inferno. Every way, we could torture him, we would.

Al was missing the action. His head between his legs ruled him more than the one above. That Italian girl, Damiela was his match, ready to spread for him anytime.