Page 3 of One Twisted Christmas

“That is exactly what I will do if he causes this deal to tank. There is a hundred million on the line –”

“You would dare put money before family?” he roars, slamming his fist down on the table and sending papers flying off it, but I don’t blink at the display of anger. I lock my arms in front of my chest and meet his glare. The same glare that used to scare mewhen I was a boy, but I am no longer just a child. I haven’t been a boy in decades. This family tramples on innocence, leaving behind an empty shell full of resentment. My old man should be proud of the unfeeling bastard he has created.

There are few things that move me and while I may not turn to violence to deal with matters, hardly anyone would call me good-natured. I get the job done. I am the heir to the business. The cold, unapproachable one that deals with numbers and not people. I don’t listen to sob stories or woe-is-to-me tales. I look at the numbers and if they don’t add up, then and only then do I show the extent of my personality.

“I will take care of the deal myself!” I decide, choosing to put an end to this standoff, but my father is never one to back down from a fight and it seems that today, he’s out to draw as much blood from this as he can.

“Alright, if you think you know this business better than me, then let’s see how you handle a little challenge!” he says with a sneer, walking around to his desk. He drops down to his chair with a heavy grunt before reaching into the safe he keeps by his desk. There is a self-assured smirk on his mouth as he opens the black box and reaches inside for something before tossing it my way. I barely have time to see what it is before I instinctively grab it.

A log book.

“What is this for?”

“All the debts owed to us by the residents of Moth Hill. That includes five million dollars in total plus interest,” he says, leaning back in his chair and fixing those cold eyes on me. “In the old days, we would go around breaking legs and shooting one person after the other until the money was paid in full. Let’s see how you get the money back!”

I flip through the book to confirm that he has the number right and I push back a sigh. Another mess for me to clean up. It's actually a little over five million dollars, but close enough. "Why would you loan people this much money? They are all low-income and cannot pay it back!"

“That may be true, but by owing us money, we run this city. We don’t always need them to pay back in money...”

I don’t even want to ask. I’ve seen enough over the years of how my father and his minions collected “favors” and I have no intention of following their route.

“…Get me half of that money boy, and maybe I will consider replacing Russo with someone else on the business deal.”

I want to fight my old man some more. but I have too much shit to do to keep going at it with him. We’ve been doing that my entire life. A part of me wants to toss the log book on the table and walk away. Let him and Russo ruin everything I have been doing these past few years. but I push it down, bottling it up, right along with all the other things I despise about this family.

Numbers are easy. I can find a way to make sure everyone in this book pays at least a percentage of their loan to make up for half the money they owe us. I don't have to resort to breaking legs like my father. No, I can easily calculate their property and sell it to make up for the money.

"Fine," I grit, not one bit pleased with myself but it seems that yet again, I have to prove to my father that I am more effective at running things than he ever was. By treating it for what it is. A business.

“Fabian!” I’m already on my way out when he stops me. “Make sure you show up tomorrow for the Christmas dinner. The entire family will be there.”

Fuck the Christmas dinneris what I want to tell my old man, but family is important to him in ways it’s not to me. As much as I would like to skip it, I know it’ll only lead to another fight between us, so I nod.

Without another word, I stalk out of his office, my phone in hand, and text my men to bring the van around and meet me outside. My steps are quick and I can't wait to get the fuck out of this mansion. Despite the cozy looking and clearly expensive furniture, there was always something that felt empty about this place, and the second I turned eighteen, I was ready to leave. My penthouse feels equally as empty as this place, but has one thing that this house does not. Peace.

The weather is chilly when I step out of the door. I curse out at the cold December air, strutting towards the men tugging hard at their coats. They straighten up when they see me and my right-hand man, Luka, walks up to me, his brown hair blowing in the chill wind.

“Where to boss?”

“We are going to collect money.”

“I can do that,” Luka offers and normally, it would be his job to make these runs, but my father challenged me, and I will do what it takes to prove him wrong.

“No, I’ll do it myself. I just need you and the boys to follow behind in case our debtors need a little convincing.”

He nods firmly before rushing to the four other men standing by a van. I walk to my car and climb into the driver’s seat, looking in the rearview mirror to make sure all the men have climbed into the van before pulling out.

The first visit is to a Smith Jerkins. From the little perusing I did in the office, the man is a school teacher, and he owes us overa hundred grand. No fucking idea why a school teacher would need that kind of money if he wasn’t hooked on something. Maybe he is a gambler. Most of the people who gamble at the family casino typically have normal jobs. I’ve watched countless men lose themselves in drugs or in a stupid game they didn't know to quit. It's pathetic really, and I carry little sympathy for them. What use will sympathy do? To me, people are numbers and all I care about is the value they bring to my business. It's that simple.

The drive to Mr. Jerkins’ house takes a little over fifteen minutes before we pull into a modest little house nestled among tall trees. I step out of the car and am immediately taken back by the home. Its weathered wooden exterior, painted a soft shade of blue, gives it a charming homey feel. A white picket fence surrounds the front yard where colorful flowers bloom in neat little patches.

It's hard to not compare this clearly lived-in home to the cold museum of a mansion I grew up in. Everything about this place looks lived in. From the chair on the front porch to the freshly painted picket fence.

“Boss?”

I nod, snapping my focus to the present. Numbers! That is all I need to focus on. I study the entire house with new eyes and run a quick estimate, figuring it would fetch me somewhere between $150,000 to $300,000. With this amount, the man can pay all his debt and still have some of it left.

With that thought, I push open the gate and walk in, heading straight to the front door. I knock once and then I hear voices coming from inside. There is a long pause before someone opens the door. My eyes quickly shift to a middle-aged man in a wheelchair with white streaks in his hair and a smile on hisface that quickly drops when his eyes lock on mine. I am quickly taken aback.

---