Stella

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫

ZALE BURNS

I studied the pool of blood near my formal shoes. My eyes followed the red trickle leading to the vessel. A man lay there with his eyes open, his foggy grey eyes stared up at me. His mouth parted and his skin was unnaturally pale and taut that came from death. 

"How long he's been here?" I questioned no one in particular, as I fixed my cuffs on my suit and smoothed out any signs of a crease. "And why hadn't anyone noticed him until now?"

My head lifted, ripping my attention away from the dead man lying on the floor in a ruined warehouse.

The men with tattoos on their necks, signaling they worked under my mafia, kept their heads zoned on their filthy and bloodily shoes. They trembled underneath my deathly stare, their lips quivering.

My gaze turned stone-hard, more than ever. These men call themselves mafia men when they couldn't face their boss in the eyes. I might have spared them any of my judgments if they had bowed out of respect but they were cowards. They had none of my respect.

In my mafia, there is no weakness.

Neither there are any mistakes or second chances.

In the cruel world that my father and I'd built, you either win or die.

That man lying on the floor with his throat silt was our next lead to finding our father. Hours ago, I've received a call informing me that a man, not one of our enemies, was found dead. It was intriguing that he had been dead since yesterday night - surrounded by our men walking around.

What was more fascinating and bewildering was that he was murdered by one of our prisoners who had escaped. I sent my best men over him to capture him and he was caught mere minutes later. He shot himself.

The deceased man who had a lead on the case - earning it from his former gang he'd been part of - had been informed by one of our lower workers in one of the small gangs to come in here. In a tragic twist, one of the prisoners realized him and escaped to kill him before he could say anything. To hide whatever secret they were protecting, he killed himself.

Granted, this warehouse was run by our lowest of the lower soldiers and I rarely came here, but when it came to lost vital information relating to my missing father or any threats to the mafia I spared no one. I had no pity even though these mafia men standing before me was mostly untrained and of a lower status.

"I'm sorry, Boss." One of them spoke, his voice trembling. "We tried to stop him but he was too fast."

I tilted my head to the side slightly. The man who spoke was in the middle of the line - of five men.

"It is not what I asked of you, Daryl Keeney," I said in a monotone voice.

A sharp intake of breath came from him when he heard his full name. He, as a lower solider, thought he would get away from he would hide in the shadows, unseen as always. Unfortunately for him, I ensure I'm always ten steps ahead.

"What I asked..." I paused to allow the fear and the anticipation of what I would say to sink into them - their stomach rebelling as terror stuck them under my piercing gaze. "How it is possible that you missed a dead body lying for hours?"

Silence.

I stepped closer and clicked my tongue in a mocking disappointed manner. I stepped to this Daryl who was in the charge of guarding the spot where the dead body was found. He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down. His sweat and body odor flooded my senses but I pushed them away. I've smelt worst in torture chambers where hygiene was the last thing they worried about.