Five years after a night of forbidden passion, a powerful mafia Don's violent pursuit of a debt leads him back to the enigmatic dancer unaware that she holds a secret that could shatter his empire: his heir.
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Tristian
I had some business to attend to about my company and I was glad to have some kind of distraction since dealing with Lyric's distance and attitude all while trying to get closer to Trevor has been a new hobby of mines these past couple of stressful days.
Being a Don is stressful, especially when I have to deal with shit like enemies trying to steal from me or workers who I'd have on the streets using all the product for themselves-and yes,that was shade towards Allen.
Now, I have to go to the warehouse and deal with the mess.
The air in the warehouse hung thick and heavy, a cocktail of stale cigarette smoke, diesel fumes, and the metallic tang of fear. It clung to the back of my throat, a familiar discomfort. Stepping inside, the low hum of the generator was the only sound that dared to break the silence, a silence that was about to be shattered.
"Sir," Tj, another guard of mines, greeted from the shadows, his voice a low rumble. He was the kind of guy who knew how to make problems disappear. Literally. And I appreciate him and Tj for being my most loyal. His bald head shun under the dim lights and the dark clothes he wore was stained by the blood of the our victims.
The guy was far from nice and he barely talked but when he did it was to be rude or violent.
" They're all inside. Sweating bullets, I hope." He says to me.
"Let's not keep them waiting," I replied, my voice flat, devoid of any emotion.
I adjusted the weight of the Beretta tucked into my waistband, a comforting presence against my skin. Tonight, I was Tristian Perry, the Don, the bringer of justice - or rather, punishment.
Something I take great pleasure in giving out.
The warehouse was dirty and bland, filled with stacks of crates shrouded in tarpaulins. My merchandise. My lifeline. And tonight, the stage for a bloody lesson.
The air grew colder the deeper we walked, a cold that seeped into the bones.
In the center of the warehouse, under the harsh glare of a single bare bulb, they were huddled. Four figures, their faces pale and etched with terror. They were young, barely more than kids, their bravado from whatever misguided plan they cooked up long dissolved in the face of reality.
"So," I began, my voice cutting through the silence like a shard of glass. "You thought you could just waltz in here and take what's mine?"
None of them dared to meet my gaze. They stared at the dirty concrete floor, their silence a pathetic offering.
"Giovanni," I gestured towards one of them, a skinny kid with trembling hands. "You were one of my runners. I gave you a job, a chance to make something of yourself. And this is how you repay me?"
