𝐓𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒 |𝟏𝟖+ (#𝟏)

𝙵𝙾𝚄𝚁 |

04
ALESSANDRO VITALE
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In my old fashioned glass passed down through generations of Vitale's, I spun the ice in my once-room-temperature bourbon. The silence in the room was comparable to that of a graveyard. In a few minutes, the man tied up in front of me would be in the same grave. Liars, cheats, and thieves and rapists were all things I despised. All of these things were embodied in the man seated in front of me, knocked out with blood seeping into the threads of his garments. Even though time stopped still for him in his unconsciousness, my work was never done - I'd been sitting here for more than two hours sorting shipments for my clubs and restaurants while he was oblivious to the world's movement around him.

I could be patient, but only to a degree. I looked at my watch to see what time it was, and the second hand was counting the seconds of my patience running out, almost patronizingly. The first sound I've heard in hours is the clink of ice against the surface as I take one last sip of my drink. My men were stationed outside the office door, waiting for orders. With a frustrated groan, I raise my palms to my eyes, thinking about how this man had the arrogance to steal from me despite all of my threats to anyone and everyone I come into contact with.

Some people didn't seem to take my threats seriously enough, so he'd be a perfect example for them. People had forgotten what I was capable of since I had been quiet and calm for much too long. Forgetting just how harsh I could get was not good for me, my family, or the mafia.

Pulling open a draw, I grab my gold dipped brass knuckles that lay perfectly in the third draw to my right. I wanted to provoke a response from him waking up by slamming the drawer to my wooden executive desk shut, but to no avail he sat still. My leather shoes took slow, deliberate strides toward him. His hands were bound behind the chair, and his feet were roped to the chair's foot. His head sagged to the top of his chest, drool dripping from his mouth in droplets. I perched on the edge of my desk, lifting a leg to rest between his thighs to keep the chair from tipping over.

The brass knuckles were chilly to the touch, and I felt a shiver run down my spine as I put them on my fingers. I haven't had to beat a man in a long time; I normally delegate the task to others. But, truth be told, I was bored. My usual excitement might have been to have a boxing match with my best friend or go to Italy to visit my grandparents - but neither of these were feasible due to my best friend's wedding to my brother coming up in a few months or so, and us boxing typically results in broken bones, and my grandparents were in Dubai for their anniversary. So I settled on beating the shit out of a man that's been on the shit list for months.

I rose up and delivered a powerful punch to Alberto Nuzzolo's nose, which I'm sure was shattered by the crunch that rang throughout the room. A scream from his lips, and blood began to trickle over the carpeted ground of my office. Once I was done with him, the cleaning crew would have to pull this room apart. His eyes were wide and frantic as he looked around the room until he came to a halt on me, and his impression was veiled by recognition.

The men I did business with were never in my own office; instead, they used the conference room as a quick route in and out of my house. I never needed them to know more about me than was absolutely required, and anything was a dead giveaway for the link to vulnerabilities. But he was going to die today anyhow, so who would he tell? "Alberto, finalmente sveglio vedo. (Alberto, finally awake I see.)" I said in a drawl to show my boredom.

He couldn't breathe through his nose, so he opened his mouth wide and took long breaths to relieve the anguish I had just inflicted. "Don Vitale, cosa sta succedendo? (Don Vitale, what is going on?)" he asked in exasperated breaths. In response, I clenched my fingers. I muttered under my breath, "Now isn't the time to act oblivious." before raining another punch to his nose. "Fai domande stupide, vinci premi stupidi (Asking stupid questions, wins stupid prizes.)" A vengeful smirk forms on my face as a groan of dread escapes his throat.