"Mafia's African Rose

Alexio Russo:POV

     I stood near the window, hands clasped behind my back, staring out over the sprawling estate. The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting long shadows that mirrored the darkness within me. My mind kept drifting back to Angel—the maid who had the audacity to challenge me. I kill anyone who dares to disrespect me without blinking. But the thought of doing the same to her? It felt different.

Her defiance had sparked something within me that I couldn't quite name. She stood there, bruised yet unbroken, a fire in her dark eyes that should have angered me, yet instead, it intrigued me. I scoffed at the absurdity of it. Since my so-called mother abandoned my father and me for a Russian mafia leader, I'd learned to view women as nothing but objects. She had left without a backward glance, leaving behind a one-year-old child who would grow up without her. That betrayal had forged my worldview—women were worthless, no more than a means to an end.

Yet here I was, consumed by thoughts of this girl. I should have been indifferent, should have easily dismissed her. But I couldn't ignore the way she spoke back to me, her voice steady despite her pain. I'll break her, I vowed, the familiar coldness settling in my chest like steel. I'll crush that feistiness she thinks gives her power.

I'm Alexio Russo. I don't tolerate disrespect, and I don't hesitate to enforce my will. But as I stared out at the fading light, a question nagged at the back of my mind. Why couldn't I bring myself to put a bullet in her skull? She deserved punishment for her insolence, but the thought of taking that final step felt... wrong. I wasn't in the habit of hesitating. I was a predator, and she was prey, but something about her made me hesitate.

I turned away from the window, shaking off the unease that threatened to cloud my judgment. No, I thought, pushing those doubts aside. She'd learn soon enough who I was. I'd strip away her bravado piece by piece until she understood that in my world, defiance was a dangerous game. Whatever strange hold she had on my thoughts would be shattered, and I would reclaim my control.

The darkness within me stirred, reminding me of my purpose. I would teach her the harsh realities of this life. She would either submit or break. Either way, I wouldn't let her escape my grasp.

     

     All my life, I had despised one thing more than anything else: my half-brother, Viktor Galava, leader of the Russian mafia. He was a constant reminder of my mother's betrayal, born two years after me, a product of her affair with that wretched man.

The phone buzzed, cutting through my thoughts. It was my father. "Son, we need this alliance for the mafia's sake. Don't let your emotions cloud your judgment," he warned from the other end.

I clenched my jaw, a surge of anger rising within me. "Don't tell me what the hell to do," I shot back coldly. "This is my mafia now, not yours." I hung up, frustration boiling over. I hated it when my father meddled in my decisions regarding my empire.

"Leon," I called to my second-in-command, my voice steady as I rifled through a stack of papers. "Prepare the bar. Organize everything we need for the meeting."

"Sir," he hesitated, the tension in the air palpable. "Viktor... he wants the meeting to be held here."

"What?" I snapped, my anger flaring. "That bastard thinks he can just waltz in here?" My grip tightened around the papers in my hand, and I fought to maintain control. He clearly wanted a glimpse of my estate, to play his little games.

I smirked, the darkness inside me eager for the challenge. I'll show him how this game is played. "Leon, set the meeting close to the poolside," I commanded, a plan already forming in my mind. "I'm not allowing him inside my house. Not now, not ever."

As I continued preparing for the impending confrontation, a sense of anticipation coursed through me. Viktor had no idea what he was walking into.