The Blood Debt

Chapter 2

Roman

I was 27 that year, entirely too young to be trusted with an underworld empire and the fate of the clan. I was the worst kind of mobster - one that couldn't control his rage; like a bull who'd had a red flag waved in his face, I trampled over anything that so much as looked at me the wrong way. I lived to make Ayla Moore's life a living hell that year, using every opportunity I had to punish her for her father's sins. I wanted her world to come crashing down, and it did.

While my family and my clan spent that year mourning, I was busy establishing myself as the new Head of The Berisha Corporation. I was no longer the spare, I was the boss, and the boss didn't get to mourn. I needed to establish order. Mob business waited for nothing, not even the sanctity of death. The clan needed to have faith in me, to honour my word, entrust their lives to me if needed, and that would only happen when I could show them that I'd protect family and faith above all else; enact justice for wrongdoings swiftly and without mercy against those who dared to cross me, and I made one hell of a start.

I made sure Ayla's extraction from her old life was a day the Moore family would remember for as long as they lived.

I had Rejab pick her up from the Wainscott house, a property I'd visited only a day earlier, when I'd made Bobby Moore sign over the house to me, along with the Central Park penthouse and the Georgian townhouse off Lexington Avenue that had been in the family for four generations.  All up, they were valued at 200 million dollars, well under what Bobby Moore owed me, but I planned on taking something much more valuable than his money. I wanted blood, not his, not yet, but his daughter's in exchange for my brother's.

It took me four days to find the amateur Moore hired to kill Esad. Moore had been dumb enough to think that he wouldn't have to pay the Corporation what he owed if Esad disappeared.

I shot the hitman Moore hired in the head at point blank range, before putting him in the trunk of my car and driving his carcass to the Wainscott house Moore was summering in that year. I dumped his bloody corpse on Moore's desk after dragging it through the house, leaving a trail of blood and brains all over the priceless Persian rugs that decorated the hardwood floors of his mansion. I dragged the fucker up the spiral staircase to Moore's office, as horrified staff and Moore's wife watched like frozen extras on the set of a horror movie; petrified by the asshole's head bouncing on each step with a thud as I continued to climb the stairs, while I threatened to shoot anyone who moved.

---

When Rejab brings her into my office at The Pulp, I'm speaking to Lou on the phone. She's telling me my cousin Nora, our family doctor, has come over to sedate our mother again for what she calls 'detachment from reality as a result of complex grief'. It's doctorspeak for saying she's gone batshit crazy, because she's found out our mother's been saying she's going to make byrek for Esad and call him to dinner that night.

When the door opens and I catch sight of the Moore heiress, the first thing I think is how out of place her prep-school outfit is. I hang up on Lou while she's still talking. It's something she's used to by now, knowing enough to know that my attention is more valuable these days, with everything that's happening. 

I look her up and down, never taking my eyes off her, as I place the phone on my desk.

She's wearing white sneakers, cropped pants, and a fuzzy button up cardigan. A thin gold chain hangs from her slender neck, carrying one half of a pendant that looks like those things kids give to their best friends. It seems an odd thing for a twenty year old to wear. It looks like something Lou had when she was younger, but I haven't seen her wear it in years, and she's  fifteen. This sexy librarian combination is something I've never seen any woman wear at The Pulp - guest or employee. Mine's the kind of establishment that has naked women serving drinks.