Chapter Two: Mr Mafia

ONE WEEK EARLIER

“Do you know how many hours an average gambler spends on the casino floor or placing bets online in a year, Mr Smith?” Alexander kept his gaze on the already glinting blade in his hand as he polished it, not at all bothered by the chubby man sweating bullets onto the ceramic tiles. 

“N- No.” The man responded breathlessly, he sounded a lot like he’d run a marathon before he got here, but that was hardly true. The wild beating of his heart was a result of the adrenalin chasing down the fear in his veins. 

Alexander halted his actions and looked at the man with a cool smile, “Too many.” 

Mr Smith’s eyes widened in fear and gulped hard when he glanced at the blade in Xander’s hand. Alexander Moretti was a popular man to those who cared to know the key players in the world of organised crime, more specifically, he was well known for his carving skills.  

“Do you know how long it takes to repay a loan of a hundred thousand dollars on an Accountant’s salary in New York?” Xander continued polishing the knife as he paced from end to end of the room. 

He enjoyed this, probably more than he should. It was like a mind game of cat and mouse, his unnerving sense of humour acted as a paralytic to his prey. Unable to move, barely able to breathe as it anticipated his next move. 

“No, Sir.” Mr Smith responded shakily. 

Xander smirked once more, “Too long, Mr Smith. Too long.” Xander’s smirk morphed into a grin and his movements halted before the man tied to the wooden chair. It was old and stained with the blood of many that came before Mr Smith, but Xander quite liked the piece of furniture, despite all the tribulations it faced, it remained strong. 

“Mr Smith, you must realise that I’m quite a busy man. You must be wondering ‘Doesn’t this man have something better to do with his time than polish his knife?’” Xander’s eyes widened from dramatic flair. 

Xander straightened out and shrugged, “While, yes, that is true. I thought you, Mr Smith.” He leaned down with a look of concern masking his features, 

“You deserve so much more than a random man torturing you. You want to know why that is, Mr Smith?” Alexander asked and when the man gave no response other than to stare in shock, Alexander’s hands gripped the arms of the chair, the knife denting the wood as he did. “Do you!” 

“Y- Y- Yes, Sir.” The man was shaking, seconds away from wetting his pants as he stared into the ashy eyes of his captor. 

“Because you, Mr Smith.” Alexander’s tone returned to the level- if not smug, the tone he used before. “Thought it would be a good idea to borrow a hundred thousand dollars from the mafia and flee the country.” Alexander shook his head incredulously at the man, “I would have been impressed by your bravado, only- you flee America to escape the Italian Mafia and you come to Italy.” Alexander tutted. 

“You’ve forced yourself to become my problem, Mr Smith. Now I’m obliged to inform you that you’ve stepped into hell and I’m the Devil.” Alexander sneered, bringing the knife down into the man’s thigh. 

A scream ripped through the room, and the man’s cries only amplified the harder Alexander pushed, his favourite part was bringing them so close to death that they begged for it. 

Alexander pushed on, even when his white shirt had splashes of blood seeping deep into its fibres and the metallic scent of blood permeated the air like a bad perfume. From every corner of the room, men watched with cold, distant eyes as he tore into his unwilling opponent. 

Lessons weren’t meant to be easily learnt. They knew the price, the price of defiance, the price of non-compliance, but still they came back for more. 

He didn’t understand it, they had a choice and yet they kept coming back.

“Take him to a hospital and clean up this mess. When he wakes up, tell him if I don’t get my money by Friday, I’ll be paying a visit to his pretty little wife in Manhattan.” Alexander dropped the bloodied blade onto a table at the entrance of the room and pulled open the door, uncaring about the crimson fingerprints he left behind. 

Alexander stared in the mirror above the sink, he’d escaped the gory affair without getting blood on his face and he silently praised himself. The blood on his hands and arms swirled in the sink till it disappeared down the drain and only when the water finally ran clear did he shut off the tap.

There was a certain art to torturing a man, one he’d been taught at a young age and as time went on Alexander had grown interested in the creativity of it. Each time he challenged himself, how many ways could he hurt a man before he begged for his death, how long could he hurt a man before the blood loss became too great for him to hold onto consciousness- it became a game.

Wiping off his hands, Xander replaced his shirt with a fresh one and moved to the dresser to pick up the ring he left there earlier that day. 

A simple silver signet ring with a black emerald-shaped stone set at the top. The only reminder he had left was that he was more than a man who enjoyed torturing others for a living. 

The shrill ring of his cell phone broke through his thoughts and without looking at the name on the screen, he brought it to his ear. 

“Moretti.” 

“Alessia Lombardi is alive. She was spotted at a hotel in Milan yesterday afternoon.” The man on the other side stated.

“Do the Lombardi’s know?” Xander held his breath.

“They’re on a flight back to LA as we speak.” His answer caused Alexander to deflate.

“Why are you just finding out about this now yet you claim to be the best in the business!” Xander demanded, growing angry by the man’s incompetence.

“Sir-“

“Save it!” Xander spat and hung up to make a call of his own. 

“Hello?” 

“Ready the jet, we’re flying to The States tonight.” Xander ordered, not bothering with pleasantries.