Page 1 of Relentless Refuge

1

MARCO

Atmosphere is everything, and darkness is the shroud within which I work best. My office is lit by only one small lamp on my desk. The crystal chandelier dangling from the center of the domed ceiling is off. Nelson sits trembling in the leather wingback armchair between my uncle and brother, who stand with a hand on each of his shoulders. I pace in front of him, furious with his “mistake”.

“Men like you don’t last long in this Family, Nelson.” I can’t even look at him. The loss we’ll suffer because of his stupidity may very well break us. Our enemies now stand in our way, and short of all-out war, which will end too many lives, they have bested us.

“Marco, please,” he snivels, “you know I didn’t do this on purpose. I’ve been loyal to you for five years, ever since you took over for your father. Can we just forget this happened?”

Nelson’s hands shake as he grips the wooden arms of the chair, his knuckles white. He knows what I have to do. This type of problem has to be dealt with swiftly in a way that shows everyone why things like this cannot happen. Loyalty to theFamily is the number-one rule every made man promises when he takes the pledge. He fucked up too badly this time.

“Forget this happened!” I growl, bending over him. My hands grip his wrists, pinning them to the arms of the chair, which I also grab. My face is inches from his, and I know he can see the rage scrawled across it. Beads of sweat pepper his forehead, a light layer of perspiration glistening in the dim light across his nose and cheeks. “Do you understand what your slip-up cost us?”

“Marco, I?—”

“You gave our enemy direct access to our supplier, and now he’s dead. We have no supplier, no way to get our customers their weapons. No, Nelson, I can’t just ‘forget this happened’. You have to pay for your sins now.” I push the chair hard, scooting it backward a foot or so. My uncle and brother move with it, forcing Nelson back into his seat as he tries to stand up.

“Marco, please. It was a mistake. I didn’t know they were Bratva. I swear. I thought they were customers. They set me up. I was trying to make a deal.” His pleading and swearing only enrage me more. He squirms like a coward unable to contain his bladder.

Anyone who can justify such a wretched failure as this one doesn’t deserve the ability to speak at all. My men aren’t weak or cowardly. They take responsibility and own up to their failures, and Nelson is proving to me with every breath he takes that he’s not cut out for this business.

“I make the deals around here.” I reach into my pocket and pull out my pocket knife, flipping the blade open with my thumb.

“Marco, please!” Nelson’s pleading rises three notches in volume and several more in pitch. “Please… I swear… I’ll be more careful.” He squirms, trying to get up again, and my brother shoves him back in his seat. He and my uncle pin Nelson down as I move back toward him with my knife in hand.

“I know you won’t make this mistake again because you won’t be making any deals at all now.”

“No!” he screams, kicking and lashing out. My family holds him in place as I put my knee on his crotch and rest my full weight on it.

I tip his jaw and pry his mouth open, then swiftly insert my knife, coming up with a large chunk of tongue covered in blood. Nelson’s screams are probably heard across town, but they’re quickly muffled by gurgling noises as the blood fills his mouth. I back away, dropping the bloody tongue on the hardwood floor and using my trouser leg to wipe the sticky red fluid from my knife before closing it and putting it back in my pocket.

“Warren!” I shout, and my right-hand man instantly appears in the office doorway. “Take Nelson to see the doc. He’s going to need that cauterized or he’ll bleed out.” I gesture at the man responsible for what I fear may be my financial demise and turn to reach for my glass of brandy sitting on the corner of my mahogany desk.

“Sir, do I take the tongue?” Warren asks, staring at the bloody lump on my carpet, and I scowl at him, then glance at Nelson who is still moaning and now sobbing.

“Loose lips sink ships, Warren. Nelson has enough tongue to survive and not enough to speak. I think that’s a good lesson to learn, don’t you?” I eye him as I sip my brandy. The copperystench of Nelson’s blood on my fingers, combined with the stickiness, makes me satisfied after having been livid for so long this evening. Warren looks afraid, and for good reason. Men who defy me or fail this Family in any way are all treated the same, and this isn’t his first rodeo.

“Understood,” Warren says, then he grabs Nelson by the back of the neck and forces him to stand. They’ll have a five-minute drive to the doctor who is already on standby waiting for their arrival thanks to my brother’s quick thinking. I don’t want Nelson dead. I’m just making an example out of him.

Now if the Family goes under, there will be hell to pay.

After Warren and Nelson are out of the room, I walk across the room to the suede couch and sit down. My glass sticks to my hand, so I hold it rather than setting it on the table in front of me. The day went from bad to worse, and now I have a crisis to solve. Thankfully, Victor and my uncle are here to help.

“Cleaner is on the way,” Victor says, joining me in my repose. He sits across from me in the matching wingback chair situated on the other side of the coffee table as he slides his phone back into his pocket.

Uncle Darnel walks to the liquor cabinet, avoiding the droplets of blood splatter on the floor. His heavy footfall reminds me of my father, God rest his soul. I watch as he pours a drink for himself and one for Victor and then returns to sit at the other end of the sofa, setting Vic’s drink in front of him. Both of them drink deeply and then Darnel leans back in his chair.

“Seems you’ve got yourself quite the situation to manage.” His wiry beard hides the dribble of whiskey that escapes the corner of his mouth as he drinks. Mine would be just as wiry and hardto manage if I didn’t keep it well groomed at all times. Maybe it’s a result of his old age that he cares so little about it now.

“I say we move on it while it’s hot.” Victor takes a swig of his drink and sets the glass on the table. My younger brother, he’s not quite my six-foot-three height, but his broad shoulders stretch wider than mine. We’ve been mistaken for twins at times, though now he remains clean-shaven while allowing his hair to grow out. That pony tail separates us in looks, but my authority over the Family separates us in rank. I’m the leader, and he's proving to me exactly why father left me in charge when he passed.

“You’d run into the lion enclosure at the zoo if you dropped your phone in there too.” I roll my eyes at him. Moving on this situation will have catastrophic effects. The Bratva cut off our supplier the instant they knew who he was. His business is all but a total loss, if there is even someone to keep running it for him. Those types of relationships take years to establish. Years we don’t have.

“I’m just saying, the business is up for grabs. We work with his people well. We have for years now. They won’t trust Bratva.” Victor’s lips wrap around a cigarette he places between them, and he extracts a lighter from his breast pocket.

“They don’t need to trust them. They only need to fear them.” After finishing my drink, I pry the sticky glass from my hand and set it on the table. My fingerprints are sealed in blood on the glass, incriminating me. “And we will not be storming the gates.”

Victor scoffs. “You’re afraid, then?”

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