Page 115 of The Tattoo Artist

Not knowing.

Not knowing where my wife is.

I continue walking through the alleyway, opening the back door to a club. As I descend the stairs, the air grew heavy with the scent of stale cigarette smoke and aged whiskey, enveloping me in a familiar embrace.

The dimly lit corridor stretched out before me, lined with doors leading to private rooms where deals were made, and alliances forged in the shadows. I navigate the maze of corridors with practiced ease, my footsteps echoing softly against the cold concrete floor. Passing by a bunch of drunk women who were unable to stand on their own two feet.

Finally, I reached the door marked with a small brass plaque. With a bodyguard standing beside it. He looks at me once before nodding his head and opening the door, revealing the secret club for every rich man in the city. Booths filled with strippers, men, and drinks.

At the bar, I lean casually against the counter as the bartender approaches, her gaze flickering with curiosity as she took in my presence. “What can I get you, handsome?” She inquired, her voice a sultry invitation.

“Whiskey. Neat,” I reply tersely, my eyes scanning the room for a familiar face amidst the sea of indulgence.

As she prepared my drink, she leaned in, her tone conspiratorial. “Who are you looking for?” She pressed, a knowing glint in her eye.

I lift the glass to my lips, taking a sip of the amber liquid. “Why would you assume I’m looking for anyone?” I deflect, unwilling to reveal my true intentions.

But she persists, undeterred by my evasion. “Because I know.”

Ignoring her, I turn my attention elsewhere, scanning the room until, at last, I found my target.

Bingo.

There he is, stumbling into the VIP room accompanied by two strippers and four men. I leave the bar with my glass of whiskey after throwing a fifty dollar note onto the counter, I head over and follow them. I give it a couple of moments, settling my drink onto the waiters trays as he walks past. I slide my gun out from the back of my belt, removing the safety lock and double checking to see its fully loaded.

I breathe in, and push the door open, “what the hell-” my gun raises, and I pull the trigger, shooting each and every man in that fucking room before they shoot me. The strippers rushing past me, screaming as they leave the room.

Leaving only one man alive.

Luca Gonzales brother.

“What the hell man!” He raises his hands in the air as an act of surrender, “do you know who I fucking am?” I smirk, slamming the door shut behind me.

“I know very well, Anthony.” I walk over to the drink table, grabbing the new bottle of whiskey as I unscrew the lid. I watch him from the corner of my eye, I see him shuffling towards one of his dead friends who has a gun in their pocket. “Don’t do that.” I warn him.

“What do you want?”

“I want to know where your brother is.” I turn around, settling my gun onto the table. “Where is Luca?”

“Luca? I don’t fucking know where he is!”

“You know your brother did a very bad thing,” I take a much need sip for what I am about to do. “He took something from me and disappeared. But was stupid enough to leave his last living brother alone.”

“What the fuck do you want from him!” He raises his voice.

“I want my fucking wife!” I grab my gun walking over to him, wrapping my hands around his throat before pushing the barrel of the gun against his head. “He took my fucking wife from me.”

“What do you want me to do!” He screams out, choking on his tears.

“Give me your phone.” He slides his phone out from his pocket and unlocks it for me. I go through his contacts and find his brother. I press onto his name and call him, the phone rings into my ears. I know he will answer, he has no choice but too. This is his little brother; one he loves very much but was too fucking stupid not to take him with him. I don’t stoop this low for anyone.

But for her?

I will fucking go to the end of earth to get her.

And he answers.

“What do you want Anthony?” His voice echoes, like music to my ears.

---