Chapter 9 - THE PATRIARCH
I kicked the doors open.
Marcus Thorne was standing behind his desk, holding a silver revolver. His expensive suit was wrinkled, his face pale and glistening with sweat. The arrogant mafia boss who had told me to "go back to my base" was entirely gone.
He raised the gun, his hands shaking violently.
"Stay back!" Marcus screamed. "I'll shoot! I'll kill you!"
I didn't stop walking. I walked straight toward the barrel of the gun.
"Do it, Marcus," I said, my voice dead and cold. "Pull the trigger."
He couldn't. His finger trembled against the trigger, but the sheer, paralyzing terror in his eyes betrayed him. He realized that even if he shot me, I wouldn't stop until I tore his heart out.
I reached out, snatched the revolver from his hand, and ejected the bullets onto the floor.
Marcus fell to his knees, sobbing. "Please... please. Take the money. Take the houses. I’ll give you everything. Just let me live."
I looked down at the pathetic old man.
"You don't have any money left, Marcus. The FBI seized your accounts an hour ago. Your sons are either going to prison for the rest of their lives, or they are drinking from a straw."
May you like
I reached into my vest and pulled out a cell phone, tossing it onto his desk.
"The feds are waiting at the bottom of the hill," I said, turning my back on him. "I suggest you call them. Because if I ever see your face again, I won't be this polite."
