Underworld Criminal

||Chapter 1||

New York, the bee hive for the criminal underground. With streets plagued by social disease and corrupt patrons, it was a widely known fact that only the competent and cold hearted survive. Many minuscule mobs and gangs fought turf wars, in an attempt to establish a secure dominance on the city. However none succeeded, thanks to the Ivory Brotherhood, a mafia of Russian origin.

Three names haunted the streets of New York; Soren Ashford, Dalton Warner, and Samuel Lester. The three crime bosses that helped secure the Ivory Brotherhood's political power. Lester was especially a concern due to his, sociopathic tendencies. Nothing went on the streets without either of the three knowing.

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"We're a thousand dollars behind our monthly quota." The conference table shook violently as a rugged man with blonde hair slammed all of his weight forward.

"You need to relax."

"You know, Dal, Soren's right. Smoke a cig or some shit."

The large conference room was dimly lit by mostly just a fireplace, and a few tall lamps scattered around. But in a dark corner of the room, a young man was slouched against the wall with a cigarette wedged between his teeth. A shadow was cast on Samuel's face, but one could still see the scars that littered his pale skin.

They were actually quite grotesque, some seeming to be poorly sutured. One in particular was across his jaw and cut over the corner of his mouth, closed shut by crude staples. As if he had taken a stapler to his face himself. His dark brown hair was shoulder length, tied back in a small ponytail while a few strands fell in his face. His arms were covered in bandages, covering the many cuts and incisions in his skin. Not to mention he was tall, hulking at a freakish height of 6'5.

Samuel's demeanor was cold, and he gave off a care free aura. The aura of someone who had nothing left to lose. Dalton gave him a sour look, his fingers carefully reaching for the gun placed neatly in the holster at his hip. Sam watched him, his scarlet gaze unwavering as the older man silently threatened to put a bullet through his skull.

This was why Sam was feared. He didn't give two shits about anything. He only cared for his own safety, and didn't believe in consequences. He chose not to live by a moral code. This is what made him dangerous. If it meant he would succeed, he'd stoop even as low as slaughtering a baby while its mother watched. His intelligence was his greatest weapon. Sure, he was trained in hand to hand combat, but he much preferred working behind the scenes. Through means such as manipulation and blackmail.

"Lester, don't test my fucking patience." Dalton's hissed between his teeth, venom dripping from every syllable, "Why don't you come up with an idea?"

Samuel inhaled, puffing a smoke cloud from his cigarette, "I'm sorry, I forgot I was supposed to care." He rolled his head back, cracking the tension from his bones, "Besides, you act like we can't kidnap some bitch and ask for a ransom."

Soren was standing by, watching the conflict between the two men unfold. Out of the three, he was the oldest. And often the more levelheaded one. Dalton on the other hand, was prone to aggression. His temper was unrivaled, and always a ticking time bomb waiting to explode. He has zero patience for Sam. And even though the three worked as a unit, it seemed that Dalton was always on top in the end.

"Perhaps we can just ask a third party, one of our allies."

"Allies? We're the biggest reigning mafia in the streets of New York! We don't have any allies!"

"I wonder why," Sam scoffed, moving the cigarette between his teeth. "I find it hard for someone to wanna team up with your pompous ass, let alone aid you financially."