Amara

Chapter 5 - Father?

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"I'm not used to being loved. I wouldn't know what to do"

F. Scott Fitzgerald

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Third Person POV:

A young man sits alone at a large wooden desk. He's dressed in a classic dark blue Italian suit. Most suits would be paired with cheap silver buttons and matching cufflinks. The trim would be done by an idiot sitting at a machine, and there would more than likely be a stain on some part of the fabric. His buttons are gold. All covered with intricate detail. The seams are done with clear precision. And there isn't a single remanence of food or drink anywhere on the suit. From the detail of his jacket alone, power shines off him.

He is sitting in a large armchair. His eyes are staring intently at a pile of papers. Men like him don't work on computers. Paper can be burnt, meaning that any evidence can be demolished. But anything electrical. That has a trace. So is only used when completely necessary. And unfortunately for him, this is not one of those occasions.

He stands up from his desk, stretches his legs and back, and takes a stride away from his workplace. At the moment he is trying to fix the mistake of some idiotic people that work for him. This particular problem revolves around a missing large shipment of guns. It's quite obvious to all those involved that the guns weren't lost, but rather stolen. At first, the man suspected another one of the Italian Families, but then the intel came through and he found out it was the Russians.

In this particular line of work, having composure is key. When you are in control of so many people, having a short temper isn't really in the playing cards. But at this particular moment in time, those boundaries are being pushed.

Salvatore's POV:

I have been sitting at my desk for hours now, trying to fix the mistakes of idiotic people. This is where being the leader of the biggest Italian mafia family gets you. I'm trying to keep my head cool, but I have never been as composed as my father was. The last thing I need is for my temper to get the best of me and for one of the Russian families to come back into power.

As I'm pacing around my office, I hear a little buzz coming from the phone. "Salvatore, there is a call for you" Mary, tells me. "Thank you, Mary," I say as politely as I can whilst under this amount of stress.

Mary is my assistant. She is an older lady, with a heart of gold. Her late husband used to be a part of this family, he was a good man. After her husband passed, my father Calorgero, tried to support her but she refused. She never was the type of woman to take handouts. So instead he gave her a job here, and she's been working for us ever since.

I click the button on the machine and answer the phone. Whoever this is better be calling for something important. I don't have time to deal with some idiot calling for no reason. "Yes," I say coldly.

"Mr Andolini?" a high-pitched woman says on the other end of the phone.

"Yes, what can I do for you, Miss?" I ask in question.

"Travis. But please call me Chrissy." No. I always hate doing that. I don't know you. So why would I want to know your first name?

"Miss Travis, I'm a very busy man, what can I do for you?" I snap slightly.

"I'm calling on behalf of Evanston Chicago Child Protective Services" Oh God, I didn't kill a kid did I? Fuck I hope I didn't kill a kid.

In this world there a few laws. You don't kill the innocent if you don't need to is one. You don't take from those who have less than you. There are. Few others. But the biggest. You never hurt a kid. I have been called a monster. The devil. But never, ever, would I hurt or kill a kid. "I don't understand the purpose of your call Miss Travis?" I say.