The Don's Maid [18+]

30

Positivity Corners:

Not everybody can be counted as a friend.

The whole basement shook as the bullet pierced the skull of the traitor hanging to the ceiling by chains infront of me.

Unlike the first time I killed someone, my grip wasn't loose nor did my hand trembled.

It's been a while since they did though.

Putting the gun down on the table I took of my leather gloves throwing them in the table and calling the guard to clean up the mess and burn the body.

The elevator brought me up to the main floor of the office building were a meeting was placed with the iron and steel manufacturing company. Unfortunately the company was limited by doing business only in Italy and some minor parts in the Europe and it has been facing a loss for quite a time now, it was cheep and iron and steel meant a legal way to manufacture weapons. Knives, blades, daggers and what not.

It was a win-win situation. In a matter of week the company would be in possession of The DeMarco family, and I would officially take over as the new CEO.

Inside my office room I wash my hands with soap in the adjoined bathroom and change to a different shirt before shrugging on my blazer. The same-unchanged un-wanted reflection of my face stares back at me.

I had facial hair now covering my jaws and chin, like a thick layer of bush, as if trying hard to cover my face that I was so tired of seeing. My hair was a bit longer then I would have liked it, at some point and a small almost invisible scar rested under my right eye that I received recently in a fight with one of the rival families.

Absolutely horrible was the only way to describe how I looked and how I felt these days.

Horrible, devastated, depressed and sad. Definitely sad.

And the looks of pity my family kept giving me since she left only added to the silent flame of self loathing burning inside me. If anything Rosaline proved by leaving was my hatred toward myself.

I sigh dragging my wet hand through my hair in an attempt to push them back but they never stay. Frustrated I leave it at that and walk out of the bathroom only to find my PA standing with a couple of files in her arm Infront of my desk.

Wordlessly she hands them to me when I take a seat.

After the meeting and a quite lunch of chicken-rice later I was on my way to the dock to collect shipments. Though Diego was incharge of the cartels but I had better looked into the crates myself, for certain reason I started to believe that Diego was no longer fit for a job like that, especially after he just woke up from a month long coma that was the result of getting shot in the chest which had raptured his cardiac artery or something of that sort.

He was tired and didn't bother to look inside the crated separately which resulted in a great loss last time when thirteen crates of cocaine was supposed to arrive and five of the crates contained white flour instead of cocaine.