Ten
Maxim
Without taking my eyes off the tall green prison gates, I flick the burnt-out cigarette butt out the car window.
It’s a cloudy, heavy day, the air thick with the noise of the crowd, honking cars, and a train rumbling right past the prison.
Sure, showing up here is a risk. There’s always a chance someone will recognize me.
But I couldn’t help myself. I had to be here when he walked out.
The last name on my list of seven. The bastard where this whole vendetta started with.
Fifteen years ago, I could’ve killed him clean, silent, and without consequences.
But death was too merciful. I wanted him to suffer.
So when I made sure he was carrying enough dope to get locked up for a long time, I tipped off the cops.
His freedom, his high life, his bullshit bravado—all of it got buried inside a concrete box.
Sure, his ties to Bruni’s family and keeping his mouth shut kept him under Don Fernando’s wing, but I got what I wanted.
I stole fifteen years of his life. Now, like a hunter lying in wait, I’m ready to bag my prey.
Finally, a smaller door in the massive gate creaks open, letting another parasite crawl back into society. My hands clench the steering wheel so hard my knuckles ache. Every nerve in my body focuses on analyzing him.
He’s got a leather jacket over a tight t-shirt, hair neatly trimmed, muscles twice as bulky as the last time I saw him.
His walk, his gaze, his every move still reeks of that same smug arrogance.
An arrogance I’m about to crush real soon.
He scans the street, and his grin splits wide when he spots the guy waiting for him.
Nicola Canali, another sadistic psycho cut from the same cloth.
They hug like long-lost brothers before climbing into a black SUV parked a few feet ahead. As I start my engine, my blood hums with the thrill of what’s coming. I’ve been dreaming of this day for years.
The car weaves through Naples’ grimy, traffic-choked streets, heading straight into one of the most dangerous neighborhoods on the south side.
Their destination’s an old two-story house tucked under a massive bridge linking two highways.
The SUV pulls up in front of it, and they head inside through a crumbling brick facade that screams one thing loud and clear: Criminals live here. Mind your business.
I can’t risk parking here; within an hour, every dealer in the block will be sniffing around, wondering who’s prowling their turf. If my cover’s blown, this whole thing gets complicated. So I memorize the address and pull away.
The bastard is finally mine. I’m damn sure he’s crashing here tonight.
***
I put on rubber gloves, screw the suppressor onto the barrel of my pistol and test the door’s lock.
No surprise, they didn’t bother locking it.
With the kind of reputation they’ve got, no one’s dumb enough to stroll into their territory.
I cross the crumbling landing and head up the stairs.
The thump of music mixes with the roar of traffic outside.
The apartment on the first floor, as expected, is empty.
As I climb toward the second floor, I grip the gun tighter, holding it close to my face, ready to drop any target instantly.
Reaching the half-open door, I catch the sound of loud laughter and women’s whimpers over the music and traffic.
I nudge the door wider and slip inside. A narrow hallway leads me to the living room.
On the couch, Nicola’s sprawled beside a barely dressed girl whose wrists are loosely tied with a silk scarf.
Her mascara’s smeared, fear shining plainly in her eyes while she curls tighter into the corner of the couch every time he touches her.
Either she’s a working girl, or she’s here against her will.
The fear in her eyes makes the second one more likely.
Another guy I don’t recognize lounges naked on a chair, a liquor bottle in hand, leering at the scene with a filthy smirk.
I follow his gaze to my target: Leonardo Scavia. That bastard’s slouched in an armchair, pants around his ankles, one hand tangled in the hair of a girl kneeling before him, while he says something that makes the other men laugh.
I do a quick headcount, pull a second pistol with my free hand, and aim at the lone guy on the chair. One shot, dead center in his forehead, and he’s gone to hell. The liquor bottle slips from his hand, shattering, and the noise snaps the other two scumbags’ attention.
Before they can reach for their guns, I close the distance in two long strides, training both weapons on them. They freeze in place.
“Turn off that fucking music,” I bark at Nicola.
With a furious glare, he slumps down on the couch, reaches for the remote, and kills the sound. When the music cuts off, all that’s left is the muffled crying of the two girls and the hum of cars passing over the bridge.
After fifteen years, I finally hear that disgusting voice again. “Maxim? Is that you?”
The rage I’ve carried for fifteen years explodes inside me. I want to put a bullet in his rotten skull right now, but I’m not done with him yet.
Nicola tries to chime in from the side, “You don’t know who you’re messing with. If you walk out now—”
His threat’s cut short by a bullet I fire straight into his crotch. His blood-curdling screams fill the room.
Leonardo twitches, ready to move, but I swing both guns his way and snarl, “I wouldn’t risk it if I were you.”
I glance at his exposed junk, defenseless in my line of fire.
He swallows hard and tries to play it cool. “Why are you here? What do you want?”
We’ll get to that, but first, I need to shut this other prick up.
The girl on the couch is tied up, so I turn to the one still on the floor. “Go grab that duct tape and bring it here.”
She stares at me, eyes wide with terror. Disgust crashes over me. She’s maybe sixteen, tops.
When she doesn’t move, I snap, “You deaf? Get the damn tape!”
She jumps up, hands trembling, and grabs the duct tape.
I nod toward Nicola. “Tape his mouth shut.”
She does what I said, hands shaking, fear in every move. Nicola doesn’t make it easy, keeps writhing and moaning in pain, but she manages.
“Now go untie her. Sit behind the couch and don’t make a sound, or I’ll put a bullet in your heads,” I say once his groans are silenced.
Leonardo’s been glaring at me the whole time. I grab Nicola’s pistol, eject the clip, and toss it to the floor. Same goes for the dead guy’s gun.
Then, right in front of Leonardo’s stunned eyes, I unload both my own pistols and drop them to the ground.
The message is clear: Come at me, you motherfucker.
And he does. He yanks up his pants in one motion, not bothering to button them, and charges, ramming his head into my gut. I’ll give him this, for his age, he’s got some serious strength. No wonder they called him the Gorilla.
But gorilla or not, he’s got no chance against a guy like me, who’s walked away from at least ten death matches. I land a punch to his neck, dazing him, and he stumbles back. He dodges my next swing aimed at his jaw and counters with a hook to my temple that sends me crashing onto the couch.
He lunges for the clips and guns, but I tackle him, slamming him to the floor. He holds out for maybe two minutes, but in the end, it’s me pummeling his face into a bloody mess.
When his face is dripping red, I snap out of it and pull back. I want to kill him right here, but that’d ruin my plans. It takes everything to peel myself off him. I shake my head to clear the urge to finish him, then haul his limp body up and plant him in the chair.
His pants are still down, his junk hanging out. I bind his wrists and ankles to the chair with duct tape and splash a glass of water in his face.
When he comes to, he spits out a mouthful of blood and saliva and growls, “What the fuck’s wrong with you? What do you want?”
I stare into his dark eyes, my voice thick with hatred. “I want you to pay. For what you did.”
“Don’t be so pathetic, Maxim. I can’t believe my blood runs in your veins and you’re still crying over your mother’s grave.”
The mention of my mother locks my jaw tight. He keeps going, brazen. “She was a slave. A gift from Don Francesco himself. My only mistake was letting her give birth to you. I should’ve killed her then and been rid of you both.”
I can’t help but smirk. “Can’t argue with that. You should’ve killed me. Would’ve spared you a lot of the misery you’ve been through, and what’s coming.”
“Stop playing tough. You’ve got no right to touch me. I’m still a soldier. I did fifteen fucking years for the Bruni family and kept my mouth shut. You know damn well if you lay a hand on me, you’re breaking a code that ends in death.”
I burst out laughing, deep and real. Now we’re getting to the fun part.
I shove the dead guy’s filthy corpse off the chair and sit down, cool as ice. “Guess you haven’t heard. Don Fernando’s dead.”
“So what? Don Carlo’s got my back.”
I stare at his face for a few seconds, my grin stretching ear to ear. It’s like looking into a mirror that ages me twenty years. Weirdly, despite the resemblance, I feel no connection to him, nothing but a thick cord of hatred.
I lean back, cross my legs, and tell him a story he’d never imagine. “Fifteen years ago, I got a call. The guy on the line had details about a drug shipment you were picking up, in a place where the cops weren’t on our payroll. The same shipment that landed you in prison for fifteen years.”
From the fury widening his eyes, I know I’ve hit my mark.
“You broke the code of silence? You ratted me out? If Don Carlo finds out, he’ll kill you,” he says through clenched teeth.
“Wanna know who was on the other end of that call? Who fed me that intel?”
“Whoever the fuck it was, he’s dead too.”
I lean in. There’s pure delight in my voice. “That ‘whoever’ was Carlo Bruni.”
Checkmate. It’s written all over his face.
“No way.”