"I didn't expect the Bratva's tech queen to be quite so... captivating," Lorenzo's voice dripped with irony as he observed Galina, who was absorbed in deciphering a web of encrypted data.
Galina's gaze remained fixed on her screens, her expression a...
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I stood over the blood-soaked carpet, my polished shoes inching closer to the crimson pool that had once been a man. The room was silent except for the distant hum of the city outside, a stark contrast to the chaos that had unfolded here just hours ago. I was the Future Capo of the Marzota Famiglia. I was no stranger to death, but this scene was different. It was personal.
The bodies of our underbosses, Gianni and Marco, lay sprawled across the floor, their eyes wide open, staring into nothingness. Their throats had been slit with surgical precision, their suits now drenched in their own lifeblood. But it wasn't the brutality of their deaths that haunted me; it was the playing cards scattered around them-a macabre message left by the killer.
Aces of hearts, diamonds, clubs, and spades, each one placed meticulously near their respective bodies. I crouched down, my fingers brushing against the cold, smooth surface of the ace of spades, the black ink almost indistinguishable against the darkening bloodstains.
"What do they mean, boss?" asked David, my most trusted lieutenant, his voice barely above a whisper.
I didn't answer immediately, my mind racing through the possibilities. In the world of the mafia, messages were often hidden in plain sight, and these cards were no exception. "They're clues," I finally said, more to myself than to David. "But to what?"
Standing up, I surveyed the room, my eyes pausing on the shattered mirror above the mantelpiece. Reflections of the crime scene warped and fragmented, like pieces of a puzzle waiting to be solved. "We need to find out who did this," I said, my voice hardening. "And why."
David nodded, his expression grim. "I'll gather the men," he said, turning to leave.
Alone again, I knelt beside Gianni's body, careful not to disturb the evidence. The ace of hearts lay close to his hand, its red color stark against the white linen of his shirt. I picked it up, studying the intricate design, trying to decipher its meaning. Hearts, traditionally associated with love or passion, but here, it felt like a mockery. Love had no place in this room tonight.
I don't understand what the killer is trying to imply. First they only left behind Joker. But recently, these spades, hearts, diamonds and clubs are creating some other story. If the killer would've stuck with Joker, I could've concluded that it's their signature mark. But now? With all the cards and deaths, I am in turmoil. All I can do is stare at the two most important underbosses of Marzota Famiglia and Armesco Camorra.
The room was a grisly tableau of violence and decay. Gianni, the underboss of the Marzota Famiglia, lay sprawled grotesquely on the cold marble floor, his throat slit open with brutal precision. Blood pooled around him, staining the white marble like a dark, malevolent halo. The silver dagger embedded between his eyes was a cruel signature of his demise. Surrounding him were spades and hearts, a macabre arrangement that only deepened the enigma of his death.
