Page 10 of Bossy Ex's Brother

I leaned against the seat, shutting my eyes. There was a headache in my temple now, but that was pretty normal at this point. I got them pretty much every day, and it was usually due to bullshit like this.

After a few more minutes, the car pulled to a stop.

“We’re here,” Brandon suddenly said, pulling me out of my thoughts. I nodded.

We got out of the car. The alley was deserted, but I could already hear the sound of a scuffle—the low thumps of bodies being hit, the swearing, and the whimpering.

It seemed we were too late to stop the fight.

As we strode toward the alley, I kept an eye out in case this was a set-up. The cops had been trying to catch us for years, and this might be a sting they planned. I didn’t see any signs that they were lurking, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there.

So we had to settle this quickly and get out of dodge.

When we finally happened upon the struggle, I could only sigh in disappointment.

The two newbie morons were on the floor, getting the shit beat out of them by not two but five of the other Moretti members. I knew who they were because of the dragon tattoo that swirled around their necks, a sign of the mafia. Tacky as fuck, but who was I to judge? Our sign was a simple figure 8 tattoo, and you were allowed to get it on any part of your body.

Mine was at my lower back, almost a tramp stamp. It was an act of defiance, a fuck you to this entire thing because I didn’t believe in any of the brotherhood bullshit. I knew that any of the men who followed me now would just as easily cut my throat out if I ever let my guard down or if they ever smelled any weakness and felt I wasn’t a good leader anymore.

I watched the two morons on the ground for some time before walking forward, clapping my hands.

Everything stopped, and the assailants looked up at me.

“That’s enough,” I stated firmly.

They backed up, fear flashing through their eyes. They knew who I was. Probably every semi-competent mafioso knew who I was at this point.

I might be approaching them in a mild-mannered fashion, but they knew better than to mess with me, even if there were five of them and only one of me.

“You know who I am, don’t you?” I questioned them, and they glared back. One of them reached behind him and pulled out a switchblade.

“Put that fucking toy away,” I warned, feeling insulted at the fact that he really thought that tiny knife could stop me if I wanted to rip his head off his neck right now. “Before you really piss me off.”

He swallowed, and his hand shook, but he maintained his position. Brave kid. Brave but very stupid. Fortunately, his partner was smarter and put his hand over his wrist, pushing the knife down.

“What do you want?” the other man asked, glaring at us.

“Them,” I said. “They’re one of us.”As much as it embarrassed me to say so.

The other guy looked surprised. “But they’re….” He glanced at the two on the floor. “They said they were Coppolas, but we didn’t believe it. They didn’t have the tattoos and weren’t….”Competent. That was the word he was looking for, even though he didn’t say it.

“Yeah,” I said. “They’re new.”

His jaw clenched. “We didn’t know.”

“I know,” I said. “And that’s why I’ve decided to show you mercy today. As a sign of my good faith. So you have five seconds to get the fuck out of here before my men show you what a real beatdown looks like.”

The Moretti men were frozen in indecision for a few more seconds, and then I held up one hand, counting with my fingers.

“Four, three, two….”

They didn’t let me finish the last word before they took off running, their dust the only thing that remained. Only then did I turn to my men.

“Go take care of those idiots on the ground. Make sure they’re not dead, and then we’re going to teach them what happens when they go against my orders.”

“They provoked us,” one of them coughed out, rolling over. “They came and were talking shit about the Coppolas….”

“And you, of course, thought that you were doing us a favor by getting your ass kicked, is that it?”

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