Blood for my Rose |• Crimson Rose series✔️

Chapter 5

Switzerland,
Zurich.

From the moment people met him, they couldn't help but notice his mordant sense of humor. As he neared sixty, his jokes began to show their age, pushing him to adopt a sharper, more cutting way of interacting with others. Thus, he developed the habit of always being caustic, leaving those around him feeling as though the air had been sucked out of the room whenever he opened his mouth.

Rocco. No aliases, just a name dripping with darkness.

His cigar was smoked with a deliberate intensity, filling the air with a scent that hinted at danger and intrigue. The atmosphere surrounding him exuded a blend of authority and menace, reminiscent of the underworld he inhabited.

When he addressed his Capone, it was with a mixture of disregard and forthright intimidation, his words bearing the load of someone accustomed to command. Hell, he was.

But perhaps most telling were the moments when he would gaze at inanimate objects, his eyes momentarily distracted from the realities of life by the shadows of his past or the complexities of his present.

Rocco wasn't just an ordinary man; he was a figure of terror, a true racketeer. His trade was in arms, and he was notorious for trafficking girls between the ages of thirteen and twenty-nine. Despite the knowledge of his heinous activities, Rocco remained untouchable, with governors bending to his will and Capones kneeling before him. He even held sway over Godfathers of rival cartels.

In his earlier years, he conquered territories and erected brothels where many of the girls worked against their will, trapped in a life of exploitation and misery. Rocco's name struck fear into the hearts of many, his power extending far beyond the confines of his criminal empire.

Rocco's family, including his late wife, four children, and assorted paramours, failed to quench the insatiable thirst for power that consumed him. As a mob boss, he had risen to the apex of authority, yet found himself adrift, unsure of his purpose and destination. Amidst this uncertainty, one constant remained: his ever-present cigar, a loyal companion in moments of reflection.

Once again, Rocco found himself ensconced in smoke, the tendrils curling around him as he contemplated the empire he had built and the tangled web of familial ties that bound him.

Puffing out a dense cloud of acrid black smoke, Rocco stood near the window, peering down at the chaotic scene unfolding below. There was a hustle and bustle of cars and pedestrians below. Rocco was typically more inclined to take action than to stand idly by as an observer. However, in this instance, he found himself adopting a more contemplative stance, using the chaos outside as a backdrop to quell the rising tide of anger within him.

His usual impulsive nature seemed momentarily subdued, replaced by a calculated restraint. Storm brewed in his chest, but for now, he chose to bide his time, allowing himself a moment of reflection before deciding on his next words.

With a scoff, he shook his head and turned to fix the capo with a menacing glare.

"Bucchiach!" He hollered, the word laced with venom, before exhaling another plume of smoke. "What happened to the girl?" This question was coming two whole minutes after the man had informed him of the girl's escape from his brothel in Zurich.

The man stood across the office was Blanco, a thirty-two-year-old captain. Despite his ascent through the ranks from associate to soldier and finally to Capo, he still found himself bossed around like a green recruit.