His Mafia Queen

Always a Gangster

GABRIEL

We pull up to the industrial park on the east side of the city. Tonight I'm in a black SUV with two of my capos, and a driver. We're all armed, and none of us are eager to complete this bitter task.

The driver parks on the side of the warehouse, in the darkness. He kills the engine, and we sit in silence for a moment, the weight of what we're about to do hanging in the air.

"Five minutes," one of my capos says.

Someone in the car pulls back the slider on their pistol, chambering a round. Then another person, and then I do the same, the clicking and sliding sounds echoing inside the vehicle.

"Boss, you don't need to do this. We can handle it, you know. You don't have to get your hands dirty." That's Mauro, one of the capos.

Occasionally, a boss does have to dirty his hands, get them grimy and bloody. To send a message to his crew. To prove himself. To exact vengeance.

None of this ever ends, even when you're at the top.

"I have to do this. Have to make sure this piece of shit's gone for good."

But it brings me no joy.

The three of us exit the car, guns in hand, while the driver stays inside with the engine running.

It's night, and the hum of a high-powered fluorescent light pouring out of a fixture on the side of a warehouse slices through the hush of darkness.

Seconds later, there's a flash of headlights. A car approaches, and the tension in the air ratchets up.

"Be cool, everyone," Mauro warns, sliding his gun into his waistband. The other capo does the same.

It's a blue luxury car, probably cost well over a hundred grand. It stops and the lights extinguish. The driver's side opens slowly, and a man climbs out.

Bruno DiMarco.

He's a thin, wiry guy, about my age, with a hipster mustache, a Hawaiian shirt that's supposed to be ironic, and skinny jeans. He used to be one of my top ecstasy dealers in the region, until he started to steal from me.

"Hey, guys! I didn't think this was going to be a family reunion! I'd-a brought some wine." Bruno grins, and that makes me all the more annoyed. Why the hell doesn't he realize the danger he's in? Is he that arrogant?

His smirk tells me that he is.

This fucker thinks he's putting one over on me. Thinks I don't notice that he's not handing over my take. Doesn't realize I have informants all over the city.

He also doesn't know how bad he's fucked up, and how I'm going to make an example of him because I'm just that pissed.

Bruno looks at Mauro, then at the other two, then me. "Why so fucking stone-faced? Why'd you ask me here, anyway?"

None of us say anything.

"Why, Bruno?"

He steps closer to me. "Why, what? What's wrong, bro?"

We're less than a foot away now, and I can see beads of sweat forming around his mustache. "I gave you an opportunity. I trusted you when you got out of prison. Introduced you around. Fronted you product, all because your old man knew mine. And how do you repay me?"

He holds up his hands. "Bro, come on. This is a misunderstanding."

Almost as if it's choreographed, one of my two men stealthily moves between Bruno and the car, in case he tries to make a run for it. Bruno's eyes skitter from me to Marco. It registers that he can't get a visual on my other guy, and his expression turns to panic.