Written in Ink

Forty-two | Alonzo

 "No, that's too much of a stretch." I explain to my group of businessmen in front of me who are trying to explain to me their opinion on who the rat is.

"But boss, it makes sense. He has a motive." He explains to me.

I sigh, pinching my nose. "I killed his son, I've killed plenty of heirs, you'll have to come up with something better than that."

"I don't see you coming in with any ideas." He mumbles underneath his breath. I pull my gun out and shoot his hand.

"What was that?" I question as he whimpers in pain. "Go clean yourself up, you're making a mess." I spit out the order and he quickly leaves.

I just have no interest in fixing this. I don't care if someone is stealing all the empire's money. I've become weak in this marriage, vulnerable and I don't even care. Not. One. Bit. Take the money. If you do I could be done.

I've piggy backed off my father's success, bringing all my own along with it, but it's not the success I want. This is dirty money. Everyone fears me. Rightfully so. No matter how much I hate this life, it's brought me power. Control. People fear me and bow down to me, whether they like it or not. Even with all that confidence I've had on the field, it doesn't mean I've ever let my guard down.

How can I? I've made so many enemies that anywhere I turn could be a mole.

"Boss, I need to speak with you." Matteo pokes his head through the door.

Thank god.

"Dismissed." I order all the men in front of me to leave without question. "What?" Matteo walks in and takes a seat at the large table.

"I heard the shot. Thought you could use a break." He states. "That's the third time you've shot someone this week. Out of pure frustration and impatience."

He is right.

"You're being more of an asshole than usual. I'd be careful if I were you." He warns.

I scoff. Even though he is my only friend. I still can't take criticism from anyone. "But you're not. Dismissed." I urge him to leave.

"Come one man. Where have you been? Coming in late, disappearing between meetings... what is going on?" He pushes. "Is it the wife? Why is she taking up so much of your time? Since when do you care about her?"

I want to rip his head off. I feel my fists clench. "Dismissed." I command again.

He looks at me with pity and confusion. I just turn away, focusing back onto my laptop to look over banking records again.

Over three hundred thousand American dollars are taken across our accounts per month. It's only been three months and it's not really putting much of a dent into our fortune, but it still could get out and we'd be seen as weak— which, whether I like it or not, is not an option. Being the toughest Mafia ever coming into reign cannot be seen as weak.

This gala coming up could be a good opening to find out who is behind this. Nonchalantly ask around. It's encouraged to leave the violent business out of the event, but it's my gala. I throw it. Well, not really by choice. It's best if there is one night during the year where everyone can get together and communicate over overpriced food and liquor. Spoiled brats.

If it was really my way, I'd make it a blood bath.

It is my way, but I don't want Reagan to be present in a situation like that. Especially when I would be participating. Reagan doesn't need to see me like that. I know she already sees me as a monster enough as it is. I don't want her to see me that way.