The Secret Mafia

Chapter 3

Please read and VOTE, that's all I need from you my sweet peaches.

NARRATOR'S POV

Ivan Smith raced like the devil himself was on his tail.

It's not like he was jobless and had luxury of time to spend. On the contrary, he had his plate full. With work, family and yes, his vengeance plan at heart, he barely had room to spare for any dessert.

Ivan was a man of valor, always giving what belonged to Ceaser onto the man.

He was honest to a great extent except for when it was an unequivocally irrefutable decision to spew a lie. He was clean, no bad press or publicity with the kind of standard his family had been able to build over the years.

An eligible bachelor that every big businessmen in the States and out, wanted for their daughter. If not for the handsomeness, his status as the heir to succeed the multimillionaire business venture of Iron Smith Corp, was enough reason to pitch an interest in the man.

Yes, he was that decent a catch and they were that desperate.

He stepped out from his Cardillac which was perfectly parked in the five meter wide parking lot just below the modest urban apartments.

He was visiting a friend— his only friend, and he needed to do it as soon as possible.

With the kind of call he received from his friend while sorting through a pile of files left for him as the COO of Iron Smith Corp, he knew he was up for something earth-shatteringly big.

He was a diligent man and spent quite a good number of his hours dedicated work and his foster father— more like adopted but he didn't want to come to terms with that yet.

As his lithe six-feet-two healthy two-fifty pounds GQ model physique bounced through the lobby into the velvety metallic elevator, his heart raced.

Finally, he had a lead!

Before this happened, he'd been having doubts. Almost fifteen years since he's been in the black market trying to get any useful information on the side about the Aquille D'ombra mafia and now his best friend since diapers had something traceable.

He thanked the lucky stars while staring at his own reflection and the elevator slid up, eating the distance between him and Eric's condo swiftly.

He glanced at the Rolex gingerly wrapped around his wrist.

11:32AM

He still had time after all.

As the elevator dinged on floor 8, he all but dashed out, almost knocking into a weary old lady who spared him the judgemental gaze.

Not that he noticed.

He had too much on his mind.

He didn't bother knocking, he knew the code to the room 38.

Heck, he visited there often enough and the place was owned by his best buddy, Eric.

He took giant steps into the cool interior which reeked of class.

Eric had a way with things. If you didn't know him, you'd think he was a patient in the OCD section. He worked with order and you can tell from the meticulous way he had his apartment arranged.

Everything had a permanent home and nothing was ever out of place.

"Eric, man where are you?" Ivan found himself calling out while taking turns through the deliciously convoluted interior of the perfect place.