Page 41 of Scar

“He’s pissed Marone wouldn’t give him his daughter. He has his eyes on the old man’s territories; says he’s as good as dead.”

“Who has his ear?” Brando asks, but the man merely shakes his head, confused. If there were a grand plan, he’s obviously not privy to it. The Scarfones barely trust their own shadows; it’s entirely believable that they wouldn’t let anyone outside their immediate family know their plan.

I nod to the two men that brought him in. “You know what to do.”

The man is dragged out of the chamber, kicking and screaming. I turn to my brothers. “We all heard the same thing. But we all know there’s more to this than just the Scarfones.”

Brando grins, a fierce light in his eyes. The thought of war never fails to entertain him. Anything to take out his frustrations on the poor souls that dare to challenge us.

Lucky cracks his knuckles, a sadistic smile playing on his lips. “Time to remind everyone why the Gatti name is synonymous with fear.”

I nod, agreeing, my expression steely. It may have started out as an attack on Don Marone, but the Scarfones brought the war to our doorstep when they attempted to take out our family. There’s no way they didn’t know we were at that house that night. No way.

The mere thought of someone attempting to take Don Marone's life doesn't sit well with me. It's not just because it interferes with my plans for Marone’s estate, but more importantly, because I know how devastated Allegra would be if anything happened to her father. No matter what transpires between us, I can't forgive anyone for the transgression of making her an orphan.

“We strike hard, and we strike fast,” I tell them. “Leave no room for mercy.”

The moon is our only light in the inky sky, casting an eerie glow over the deserted graveyard. Shadows stretch out before us, dancing like twisted phantoms against the crumbling tombstones. The air is thick with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves, the perfect backdrop for our night out. Mere mortals wouldn’t dare tread this way in the middle of the night as we now do. That’s what sets us apart from the rest; the lack of fear of fear itself.

I stand at the edge of the Gatti burial ground, my face a stony mask threatening to implode. This is the place where our ancestors are buried. The ancestors that forged the crescent of our wealth; those that laid the foundations for generations to come. The hierarchy is buried in the tombs. Those lesser-known evils whose loyalty was in question are buried out here among their ilk. This is probably where we’ll bury our mother one day…unless her family seeks to take control of her body and bury her in their compound.

My brothers flank me, each brother lost in his own thoughts as we move through the graveyard. Thoughts of Allegra consume me. The way we left things niggles at something deep inside my soul. When I think about what could have happened that night at her parents’ house, my heart quakes. I could have lost her. She could have been shot, killed even. The thought causes a sudden fury to flood my veins. I’ve never had to care anyone past my own family. Beyond my father and brothers, there was never anyone else. Until there was. Allegra is the surprise I never saw coming.

The man being dragged in front of us thrashes weakly, his eyes wide with terror. His feet snap obnoxiously at twigs as he’s dragged along to his final resting place. Usually, I don’t attendsuch rituals; that’s what I have an army for. But in this instance, as our enemies close in on us, I feel it’s important that we take a stand together, and who better to offer a united front but the head of the family?

When we reach the clearing, I bend down, my leather-gloved hand gripping the man’s chin, forcing our captive’s eyes up to meet mine.

“You thought it would be easy to dispose of us.” My voice is low and menacing. “You thought wrong.”

The man whimpers, his muffled sobs barely audible through the gag. A lowly, small-time hood. I almost feel insulted that his crew is all the Scarfones thought we were worth. This was retribution for the attempt on our lives at Allegra’s parent’s house. It was an unforgivable act that demanded swift retribution, and it required the whole world to sit up and pay attention. They could try to kill us. They could attempt to stop our operations by stealing our product. They could even flood our markets with illicit drugs. They could, and they would. But anyone attempting any of the above had to know that there would be consequences. Harsh consequences.

Brando hoists the man to his feet, his grip unyielding as he drags him towards the makeshift cross our men had erected earlier. It stands ominously between two ancient oaks, their gnarled branches reaching out like skeletal fingers to drape their shade over the graves of our ancestors. It was a little risky, tagging him here where the finger would point directly to us, but we had to make a point. There had to be no doubt on the streets who was responsible for this attack.

We string him up to the cross made from rough-hewn, splintered wood. Lucky and Rafi, their eyes ruthlessly hard as they step forward, position the man against the cross, his struggles futile against their combined strength.

Brando brings out a set of iron nails and a hammer, the metallic clink echoing in the still night. He hands me the tools, and I glance at the man as he struggles against his human shackles.

I drive the first nail through the man’s wrist with a sickening crunch. His scream pierces the night air, and a twisted thrill surges through me. No-one can hear him but the dead. I move to the other wrist, the second nail embedding itself with brutal precision. Blood oozes from his wounds, dripping down the wooden beams like a macabre sacrament. His body starts to go lax, on the verge of passing out. I slap his face, once then twice, urging him awake.

With methodical efficiency, my brothers secure the man’s feet, driving more nails through his body. His head lolls forward, his cries now reduced to pitiful, semi-conscious moans. I step back, surveying the damage with cold satisfaction. His hands and feet are now bound to the cross, but I feel like this work of art is somehow incomplete.

I hold out my hand and feel the cold, hard metal of the gun as it touches my skin, soothing the burn that flows through my veins. I point it at the man’s head and fire. One shot, because that’s all he’s worth to me.

“Let this be a message.”

I watch as Rafi pulls out a burner burn and shoots off a message to a random number. I never wanted this life for him, but this world has been waiting for him. It beckons him. He knows exactly what to do and when to do it. He sets the wheels in motion with a practiced ease.

He has friends in high places. Friends that owe us a favor. Friends that would go to bat for Rafi, even knowing thatthis would mean their last breath. He’s surrounded by a bevy of loyalists, and I couldn’t be prouder of him. His friends would ensure this grisly tableau made headlines by morning. The heads of families across the country would be reeling at the news as they consumed it with their morning coffee. Fear is a powerful weapon, a weapon we intended to use without mercy.

The first light of dawn begins to creep over the horizon as we leave the graveyard. By the time the world wakes, our reach and ruthlessness would be immortalized in print and on screens, a chilling reminder that defiance against the Gatti family came with a heavy, bloody price.

CHAPTER 37 – ALLEGRA

It feels like an eternity since the last time I saw Scar. Every day without him is a slow, agonizing stretch of time filled with longing and emptiness. The room seems smaller, and the air is staler in his absence, and my heart aches for him.

When he finally enters the room, he stands in the doorway like a dark, conflicted shadow that sucks all the air out of the room. His presence is overpowering yet fills the void that has haunted me for days. My heart skips a beat as our eyes meet, and all sounds from outside fade away.

“Scar,” I whisper, his name carrying all the pain, longing, and confusion I've felt since he left. He steps forward slowly, as if afraid I'll break if he gets too close.

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