The Mob Boss's Retribution [18+]

02

I stood on the bar corner.

A glass of iced whisky in hand and the other shoved into the pockets of my suit pants.

Hearing the businessman rumble my ears out and to be candid, I felt like shooting each and every one of bragging bastards between the eye and finally finish my drink in peace.

But I was begged to be nice and to keep my cool. It was important for my mother and I wouldn't besmirch it up. Ever.

Her request was far to important to me then feeling of these good for nothing, assholes with  beer belly's blood of my fingers.

"And then I bought the whole salvage yard." The guy across from me laughed waving a porky hand as if he had made the greatest joke of the year.

I took a sip from the whisky glass and nodded politely to acknowledge that I heard him.

"And so very sorry about your engagement breaking off, man." The same guy said thumping a hand in my shoulder like he was my friend.

Let me rephrase that. He wasn't my friend. He was a guy who was ten years older then me and a size ten big from me horizontally, who owned a chain of salvage yards across the country.

He basically deals with junk, I throw away.

And I'd very much like for him to move this hand away from my shoulder.

This suit better not get any sweaty handprints because I still have to dance with my mother.

"Get your hands off " I said looking at the hand placed on my shoulder.

"Damn, bro." He chuckled mockingly. "Sore topic, eh?"

Frankly, I have no idea what's so sore about the girl I chucked out from the pent house window after I found she was transferring my family inside news to the journalist group for money.

And not to mention the racket of true rumor it caused through out the national and international media.

Bastards were on our throats at all the time.

My mother couldn't leave the house on her own without being followed by a bunch of cunts.

And his meaty, sweaty hand was still there.

"I know how it feels to loose a good well pussy, man." He sighed. "Been there, done that-"

It wasn't my entire fault for what happened next because first of all, I had asked him to remove his hands from me.

And secondly, I killed that damn good pussy myself, and my father was still mad at me for being a pussy and letting a bitch walk into my life who fucked the whole family up in about just months.

I twisted, the man's meaty hand and spined him so the front if his body was pressed against the bar area and his hand was still on my grip, twisting.

"Told you to get your hands off me, didn't I?" I asked. "When I say something, Miller, I demand for it to happen."