Man at Arms

Chapter Three: Motherf*ckers

CHAPTER THREE

  
A dark, ugly bruise glared back at me in the mirror. The size of a bullet hole stood proudly on my forehead, blood had long dried and matted my skin like a bitch.

"Sire, please allow me to aid that."

I snapped the compartment mirror closed and narrowed my eyes on Nazi. I pointed to my bloody forehead.

"This is not a stain you can remove, Nazi. It is a gift from Bambina! Look at her incredible artwork!"

Ngumiwi siya, ewan kung ngiwi o ngiti. He had one cheek pulled upward as his face was in neutral.

"It was beautiful artwork, Sire," he admitted finally.

I grinned, shooting him with my index finger in a gun-like motion, then my face turned back into a scowl.

"Now Nazi, bring me the bastard who blew up his one damn mission."

Nazi's cheeks twitched this time, indicating he was finally smiling. He bowed his head gently and raised his armpit to signal with his hand.

The room in the far side corner of the dank and abandoned parking area opened, and two Viking-like motherfuckers dragged in a man half their size. They forced him to sit in a lonely chair, and they stood by his side with a bitch faces.

Bumaba ako sa sasakyan na nakabukas na ang pintuan at nagtungo dito. Nangunguna si Nazi na tila hindi ko alam kung saan ang daan ko.

Pinalibot ko ang tingin sa tinatawag kong 'torture chamber'. It was my old parking lot, but when I saw young and stupid gangsters loitering around to smoke crack and sell cocaine, I got it locked down and gave these bloody teens something they would regret wasting their mama's money and their lives on.

My men stood rigidly everywhere, their hands clasped in front of their cocks and guns tucked safely in their pants, guarding the dimly lit area. Their eyes are alert and sharp. Their terrible faces could scare away a rat who comes strolling in like a celebrity. The majority of them are ex-convicts, kids I found stealing food and money off the streets, and random douchebags who think Mafia life is cool.

It's ironic, in a way. My job is to keep everyone in the Famiglía alive for as long as necessary, but here I was, protected by my men like a bloody princess with long bloody hair and pink glittering nails. I couldn't even sit in a toilet bowl without them checking for a stupid trap inside.

But I couldn't blame them; they had sworn their Omertà to me. I may not be their bloody Don, but they are loyal to me. They will die for me, just as I will die for them. That's our brotherhood. Couples can be jealous of our trust in one another, and my donkey ass of a brother despises me because I have men who would wage a war for me. Not that he didn't have his own army, but Callus was just a bloody donkey.

Nazi handed me a steel chair, which I straddled backward, one elbow propelled on its rim. Sinubuan ako ng sigarilyo ni Nazi bago ito sinindihan. I inhaled, savoring the comforting flavors in my mouth, and tucked the cigarette between my index and middle fingers.

The man in front of me, bulky but not as much as the fuckers by his sides, and Caucasian, lowered his eyes. His lips trembled as I blew smoke in his face.

"When was the last time you jerked yourself, Bambam?"

"L-last night, Sire."

"And when was the last time you ate pizza?"

Out of the corner of my eye, Nazi held a silver tray containing various types of knives. Their sharp edges sparked from the dim bulb light. Bambam caught it and did a full body shiver.