Page 54 of A Mafia's Treasure

The loud bang on the container door echoes as Marco enters and looks around at the mess on the floor. He doesn’t seem surprised when he catches sight of Tony’s body lying on the floor behind me.

“Boss, what do you need?” he asks.

“Take these two back to the house. I want you to make sure Francesca is comfortable in the master suite, and Tony, well …” I look over to him on the floor, blood covers his face and body, and the wound from the gun shot earlier has caused a pool of blood to gather beneath him and his skin to pale. “He’ll need to see the Dr., so get them to set up another bed. He’ll live.” I turn away and make my way to O’Connor, who groans.

I pull the rope, dragging him from the sitting position he’s in, and the clicking sound is loud through the container as it gradually brings him to his feet. I decided that it would be too easy for him to balance with his feet flat, so I yank once more to get him to his tiptoes … perfect.

Turning back, I look over and watch as Tommy carries Tony out. Francesca pulls my suit jacket around her, hugging her stomach. She looks so fragile, something that looks unusual on her, but that look on her satisfies me.

Our eyes linger as she leaves. I could watch her all fucking day, but I have one more thing to take care of … and that mother fucker isn’t going to get away with what he’s done.

I look away from her and hear the container door slam shut with a loud bang, making O’Connor flinch.

That sniveling mother fucker probably thought it was a gunshot … he isn’t that fucking lucky.

Smiling, I approach him. “Looks like we meet again … sooner than you thought.” I raise my hand, swiping backward across his cheek.

“You know the thing is, O’Connor, you took something that was valuable from me a long time ago,” I begin, but he cuts me off.

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he stutters.

“You don’t need to lie. My brother is back where he belongs, but my question is why?” My lips pucker in thought, curious as to whether he will give up easily or not.

“If-if I tell you, will you let me out of here?” His head is nodding so fast that at any minute you’d think it would fall off.

“Sure.” I smile. I mean, I’ll let him out, but it’s very unlikely he’ll be alive when he leaves this container. He wasn’t specific when he asked, so I’ll go with it.

“Your father, before he died, he ... he made a deal with ours, but when our father died, he backed out.” He gets angry and starts shouting. “Why did he fucking do that! You know we could have all been powerful. We still can be, we can make this deal, just us.” He looks at me hopefully.

“This deal, what was it?” He’s intrigued me. “And what did you hope to gain from kidnapping my brother?” I am genuinely interested.

“It wasn’t supposed to be him.” His head dips. “My brother grabbed him by mistake.” His eyes look up, but he can’t seem to bring his head up fully.

“Ah, he was supposed to take me, the next in line, but by the time you realized your mistake it was too late.” I move my head from side to side, hearing the crack, easing my tension slightly.

“Yes,” he admits. “We were going to get coke delivered into Ireland and be the biggest supplier in the whole of the UK. I was going to be based here and run the small operation we were just about to sign with Ivan, but that all went to shit the day my father died and yours pulled back,” he spits.

“I see, and then I ruined your plans by outbidding you.” I laugh.

“Fuck you,” he shouts.

“You’ve caught me in a good mood O’Connor,” I tell him and walk over to the cupboards on the far wall. Reaching for the scalpel, I tap it gently on the side and smile knowingly at what lies next for him.

Sighing loudly, I pull my phone from my slacks and text Tommy.

Me: Get the Dr. to the container ASAP.

Tommy: On it.

“You know, you’ve handled this all wrong. In the two years you had my brother you did nothing, but that isn’t all I have you here for today,” I say as I look at him. I stalk over to him slowly as I watch his breathing increase.

“P-please, we can work something out,” he begs.

“Time for talking is over, I have plans,” I tell him as I run the scalpel across his cheek. The cold blade runs smoothly along his cheekbone, and his Adam's apple bobs as he swallows.

“You remember that piece of ass you were pawing over in the bar earlier,” I tell him and watch as his eyes shoot toward me.

“I-I didn’t know. How was I supposed to?” he asks.

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