𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐀𝐋 |𝟏𝟖+|

𝐓 𝐇 𝐈 𝐑 𝐓 𝐘 ~ 𝐅 𝐎 𝐔 𝐑

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

♛ A T L A S ♛

A few hours had passed since I watched the car drive away and it's only been a couple before I went back into the warehouse to go and assess my men because they clearly can't do anything without me. But I don't think I would want them to. 

I can't trust the most powerful Mafia in the world and leave it at the hands of a bunch of dimwits. I can't expect them to do anything more than the bare minimum because it's literally 3 A.M. in the morning and I'm fucking beat.

Half of my men were hauling the dead bodies, putting them into bags, and cleaning up while the other half was cleaning up the mess of all our supplies that was made during the rampage but also making note of what was there and what was missing. 

Whoever had attacked us left no trace of their identity whatsoever and the only hope I had, left in the car with Stella and my men which were the only two guys who survived the attack. I'm pretty sure the attackers didn't know that anyone made it alive and they probably just assumed that everyone was dead. That would mean that the men I had left, might have faked their unconsciousness just to make it out alive. 

Or the attackers left them alive on purpose for them to serve as their eyes inside my Mafia, perhaps even moles so that whatever went on, they would go report it which would evidently leave us a few steps behind when we're normally multiple steps ahead of everyone. 

Whichever one was the answer, I didn't want to jump to conclusions. I realized that staying mutual in situations like this and not even forming an opinion until I know the full answer is what works best. If I was all loud and rowdy and freaking out, nothing would ever get done because who would happily listen to someone who's constantly yelling at you for something you have no control of whatsoever?

I stand up from my crouched position above the ground which I was in to analyze the bloody mess spattered all over the cemented wooden floor of the warehouse. In my many years of being in the Mafia, I've learned quite a few things that I could never comprehend why I would ever need to know them. 

I learned that the bigger pile of residue that is left, it will cause a greater effect on knowing the location at which the shooter shot at. If the blood splatter is increasingly large it could mean that the shooter was at a closer angle, but then it could also mean they were far away and decided to drag the body out more to give it the dramatic effect. 

If I measure the area where the blood spatter was and I try to put it into my perspective, I can determine the exact proximity at which the shooter was to their targets. If I find that I can get someone to examine the residue or the dirt left on their shoe and when they put it into their laboratory. 

It may not tell me who the person is, but what it will tell me is where the person has been. And when I figure that out I can find out the exact locations of the person and know their whereabouts, probably kill a few people, and then fully uncover who the person is. 

I don't get the chance to retrace the shooter's steps because my foot gets caught up in the loose ledges of wood on the floor. In the process of releasing my foot, I open it up that one piece of wood and that's when it came to my attention that, that piece was looser than it was before. And it was indeed because the screws had come completely off. 

Something crumbles at the bottom of my foot, so I reach down to see what it is. A note. Who fucking leaves a note anymore. What is this? The 19th century. If the man wanted me to get the message, he literally could've just texted me. I swear, I would've found it faster than I found this letter. Unless I blocked him.