The Mafia’s Obsession

Alessio

“You should make Gonzalez pay,” Sal says darkly. “It’s fucked up, the way he’s jerking you around.”

Grandpa Nazio ‘s face twitches. “It isn’t Gonzalez that’s the problem, it’s the daughter. He and his wife want to get married. They just can’t control their kid.”

He glances at me, and I can’t help but feel a dual meaning to his words. After my father died, I was the kid he couldn’t control.

Until now. Now I’m doing everything he wants.

“It won’t be an issue going forward,” I declare firmly. “She’s my woman. I can keep her in line.”

Uncle Sal chuckles. “Hold your horses there, slick. She’s not your woman until you marry her. Gonzalez needs to get his brat in check.”

My grandfather shakes his head. “Alessio is right. If Gonzalez can’t do it, we will. No more dragging this out. We’ll push for the wedding next week.”

Sal nudges me. “Better get your tuxedo ready, kid.”

***

I stare out the window as we drive to the Gonzalez estate. It feels like I’m heading to my doom and my salvation at the same time.

The thought of getting married disgusts me.

The thought of Ayla being anything but mine disgusts me even more.

God, I’m so fucked up.

Every time I think about the wedding and the commitment it entails, I feel a sense of dread.

Every time I think about Ayla being my wife, I want to pin her down and leave my cum inside her.

“I’m proud of you, you know,” says Grandpa Nazio from the seat next to me. “The way you’ve been handling all of this. You’ve got character. You’ll lead this family well.”Exclusive © content by N(ô)ve/l/Drama.Org.

Lead the family. Another thing I didn’t want to do.

Another thing I’m doing regardless of what I want.

As we drive under an overpass, the truck in front of us stops.

“Come on, what the fuck,” our driver mutters from the front seat. “The light is green, keep it moving.”

But then two black SUVs pull up on either side of us, boxing us in, and I realize what is about to happen a split second before it does.

“Down!” I roar, pulling my grandfather lower in his seat as armed men jump out of both SUVs. “Get us out of here!”

Our driver throws the car into reverse. Gunfire rings out, glass shattering all around us. We squeal backwards, then we crash into something hard. Possibly another car.

I draw the pistol from my belt, adrenaline spiking through me. “Pull us out of here and I’ll cover.”

“Fuck!” growls my grandfather, drawing his own weapon. “Gonzalez set us up!”

And then red blood splatters across the dashboard as our driver takes a bullet to the face.

I can barely hear anything over the constant gunfire. Our car is getting shot to pieces and pretty soon, we’ll be the same. “Come on!” I yell, keeping my head low as I open my passenger side door. “Stay down, it’s our only chance.”

But when I look back over, I realize it’s too late. The gun slips from my grandfather’s hand, blood oozing from three different holes in his neck and chest.

I’m in a car with two dead men.

I want to stay, to hold his hand, to stroke his face. But I can’t. I slip out of the car, crouch-running down the street, trying to keep the destroyed vehicle in the line of sight between me and my attackers. More bullets thunk into it. I’m not sure if they realize I’m out of the car yet, but I’m dead if I don’t move fast.

My eyes land on a white hatchback that’s crashed into a barrier. The windshield is full of bullet holes and spiderweb cracks. In the driver’s seat is some poor dead woman, an unintended casualty of Gonzalez’s attack. I open the door and dump her out onto the street. The key is still in the ignition.

“He’s in the white car!” comes a scream from behind me, and the back windshield shatters as they open fire. Flooring the gas pedal, I peel out, hearing sirens in the distance.

When I’m sure that I haven’t been followed, I wipe my fingerprints off the steering wheel and leave the car in an alley.

Gonzalez is going to pay.