𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐞 || A Mafia Love Story

xxv

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Russia

The wind outside howled like a tortured soul, battering the small window with icy gusts that sent shivers through the room. Snow swirled in a wild dance, casting a ghostly, grey light that flickered ominously against the polished wooden panel walls. The room felt oppressive, the air thick with tension as the storm outside seemed to echo the brewing tempest within.

"Mr. Russo." The voice cut through the murmur of discussion like a knife. Mr. Russo, in the midst of a detailed analysis of profit margins, turned his head slowly, his sharp eyes locking onto the speaker. The room fell silent, every eye trained on him. Up until now, the meeting had been a dry recital of numbers, but now... now things were getting interesting.

"As we all know, Anatoly has recently handed leadership down to Viktor Sovetsky." A palpable wave of unease swept through the room. The men shifted uncomfortably in their seats, the tight space feeling even more claustrophobic. The wooden walls seemed to close in, their dark grains stretching infinitely as Mr. Russo adjusted his tie, suddenly feeling the noose tighten.

"Viktor is weak. He is too kind-hearted, and he needs to be put down. We have lost nearly 70 million dollars since he's pulled us out of trafficking." A different man's voice sounded, dripping with venom, the words seething with barely contained rage.

"Yes, that is true," Mr. Novikov interjected, his tone deceptively calm. His eyes, however, burned with a cold fury. "But the next time you interrupt, I'll put a bullet in your fucking skull." The room froze. The man who had spoken swallowed hard, nodding quickly, the threat hanging heavy in the air.

Mr. Russo felt a bead of sweat trickle down his temple. These men were nothing like his Italian counterparts. They were brutal, efficient, and utterly ruthless.

"Mr. Russo has come to us with the offer of a partnership... Mr. Russo?" Mr. Novikov's gesture was an invitation and a challenge. Mr. Russo stood, his gaze steely and unyielding, belying the image of a frail old man that some in the room might have entertained.

"My brother is weak, too old. He's leading our mafia into the dirt. What I propose is we take them both out together... we hit them where they're weak." His voice was steady, each word deliberate. He reached into his briefcase, pulling out an envelope. The tension in the room ratcheted up a notch.

"It has come to my attention that Viktor Sovetsky is currently residing in California." He emptied the envelope onto the table, a cascade of photographs spreading out before the men. Viktor, a girl, a young man, an older woman, an old couple. Each face a potential pawn in his game.

"I have had people watching, and I have placed someone close to them. Viktor has become smitten with a girl, and that girl happens to be my niece." His words were a venomous hiss, the menace in his tone unmistakable.

The men around the table pored over the photos, their eyes narrowing as they scrutinized each image. The room seemed to grow colder, the storm outside raging on, the wind's mournful wail seeping into their bones.

"Beautiful girl, no?" Mr. Russo's voice was almost a purr as he addressed one of the men who lingered over a photo of a young blonde woman. The man nodded, his gaze flicking up to meet Mr. Russo's before sliding the photo back across the table. Mr. Russo's lips curled into a sly, almost predatory smile.

"What do you mean by close to them?" another man demanded, suspicion lacing his tone.

Mr. Russo hummed thoughtfully. "Details you don't yet need to know."

The man growled, about to retort, but Mr. Novikov silenced him with a raised hand. A wry grin spread across his face. "You are a godsend, Mr. Russo."

"We look forward to working with you, but I'll tell you this one time and only one time." Novikov's smile faded, his eyes hard as flint. "Try to betray us, and everything you love will be destroyed."

The wind outside howled louder, as if in agreement, and the grey light from the window seemed to darken, casting long, menacing shadows over the room. Mr. Russo's gaze remained unflinching, his mind already calculating the next move in a deadly game of power and survival.

As the meeting drew to a close, the men filed out, their faces set with determination and unease. Mr. Russo lingered, his mind racing with plans and contingencies. He knew the stakes were high, and one misstep could mean his death or worse—the death of those he held dear.

The drive back was a blur, the storm outside a mere backdrop to the tempest of thoughts whirling in Mr. Russo's mind. As his car pulled into the driveway of his temporary estate, he took a deep breath, steeling himself for the battles to come.

Inside, the house was eerily quiet, the storm's roar muffled by the thick walls. He walked through the dimly lit hallways, the shadows dancing ominously on the walls. His mind was a whirlwind of strategies and potential pitfalls, each step bringing him closer to the war he had declared.

In his study, he poured himself a glass of scotch, the amber liquid catching the light from the flickering fireplace. He took a sip, the warmth spreading through him, momentarily pushing back the chill of the storm and the weight of his decisions.

He picked up the phone, dialing a number he knew by heart. "It's done," he said, his voice steady. "We move forward with the plan. Make sure our people are in place. This has to be flawless."

As he hung up, he stared into the fire, the flames reflecting the determination in his eyes. He knew the path he had chosen was fraught with danger, but he also knew there was no turning back. The storm outside was nothing compared to the storm he was about to unleash.

Thank you for reading! <3