Mr Mafias Perfect Bride

Rylan's POV 

'May your blood paint winter snow. Merry Christmas, Don.' 

I could feel the hint of ridicule in the tone as I read the cryptic text on my phone, getting mixed reactions.

First, this was sent to my private number, which meant that danger was imminent. 

"Rylan, are you okay?" 

Thane's voice took me off my phone. 

Slipping it back into my pocket so that he wouldn't get a clue about what seemed to bother me, I flashed a fake smile at him. 

"What?" 

"We have the traitor."

He tilted down and whispered. 

"Bring him here."

My cold voice echoed in the night sky. 

"Si." 

He nodded and vanished. 

We were in a car park beside the casino. The deemed headlamps of my car were almost the only source of light. 

Thane returned with the company of two guards, as they dragged a man with tape over his lips. They pressed down on his shoulders, causing him to kneel before me. 

"Hmm." 

He murmured inaudibly and rubbed his hands in a desperate plea. Terror gripped him like a vice. 

"You know what happens when you steal from me." 

A guard peeled the tape off his lips and he cried in agonizing pain. 

"Don. I'm sor-"

He choked on his words, getting a glimpse of my stern face. The heck, I hate those words. 

"My babies."

The guards left to bring them to me, while Thane remained by my side. 

"They're complete, Don."

One of them informed me after counting the bags of coke in a crate. He opened a wrap for me. I took a pinch and tasted. 

"Good."

Smack! 

I bashed his face with my balled fist, having hefty gold rings on each knuckle. 

"This is for messing with me."

He groaned, his lips busted, and his nose broken. 

"Don-"

A bullet to his head left him with an open skull, causing a fine mix of his brains and blood to seep out of the broken bones. 

Taking out a white handkerchief from the pocket of my pants, I brushed off the stains of blood on my knuckles and dumped it on his body where it formed a nasty heap. 

"Clean it up." 

Leaving Thane to fix the mess, I strolled down to 'De Russo's Casino'. My father handed it over to me once he retired. 

Neo-blue light, well-erected bar with expensive liquors of limited editions, game area. It's exquisite, to say the least, built for the elites in New York. 

The air reeked of stale cigarette smoke, expensive perfume, and desperation. It pulsed with the rhythmic din of clinking glasses, muted laughter, and the incessant beep of slot machines. 

"Here." 

A guard opened the case of my mint-scented cigar. I stuck the edge at the corner of my mouth and clamped down with my lips. 

He flicked the lighter and lit the end of it. 

"The VIPs, are they-" 

My tongue was glued to the roof of my mouth when I caught sight of a petite red-haired by the bar, innocent, I must say. She didn't reek of wildness, like the ladies found in the casino. 

"Don?" 

He called out to me and stopped when he trailed my gaze, pinning it on the lady. 

"Who's she?" 

"A stray." He mumbled. 

She had to be. This was no place for her kind. 

"Don Russo!" 

Mr. Vincente hailed from the poker room. 

Carefree, his short frame was in a too-tight black garment that made his big stomach poke out. 

He had bundles of clean bills stacked in one hand, and a thick glass of liquor and ice in the other. 

"How's the night going?" 

A creepy smirk creased my lips. 

"About to whoop these jerks." 

He chuckled, a dry laughter void of hope.

Stake millions and lose in a minute. That was his routine. It was a good thing he was stinkyly rich. 

The dealers cared less, as they hunched over the tables and shuffled their cards with speed and stealth. 

"When am I getting my goods?" 

He adjusted closer to me even though every damn man in the room was diabolical. 

"I'll text you the address for delivery." 

He sniffed. "None of the bags should be tampered with."

On and on, he bluffed. 

"And my ladies, just how I like them." 

Slim. Blonde. Wild. 

"Covered." 

He grinned, too rotten for his age. 

"I have a feeling that Santa has got plans this Christmas."

"Hmm." I just mumbled, preying on the red-haired petite at the bar. 

"A tempting snack, huh?" 

He scoffed, following past the thick cloud of smoke from my cigar, and landed his eyes on the lady. 

"Every man here thinks so too."

Oddly, I felt a gut-wrenching blow in my chest, with my heart twisting against itself. 

I can't tell if it's the irritation of this old man going beyond his limit, or that I want a taste of her too. 

"I like her." 

He slurped from his glass. 

My fists clenched beside me, in the desperate need to jump on him. 

"Your ladies, they'd be more than glad to have you." 

Thane surfaced, strolling towards me. He knew the game like the back of his palm, and he was like a son to my father. 

Getting my eye signal, he came to my rescue and kept Vicente engaged. 

Free, I walked past the crew clustered on a roulette wheel, as they spun it, immersed in the game. 

"You should leave." 

She turned to look at me, her pair of deep blue eyes... too damn seductive. 

Suddenly, she giggled and swept my features at a glance. 

I let her have a second glance at my charm; tall, sexy, and firmly built in a bodycum shirt and tight pants. 

"You're too cocky for your face."

I scoffed, my ego dashed in pieces. 

"Tell a better lie." 

Instead, she signaled the waitress for another shot. In front of her, she had about five, six, or even more. 

"Fuck off, mister."

Clenched jaws, I walked closer, encroaching into her personal space. 

A strong wave of her alluring perfume wafted into my nostrils, and my eyes closed on their own accord, with me taking deep breaths. 

Her hair curled around my fingers, with her gasping for air as I screwed her brains out. 

Damn it! I snapped out of my vivid imaginations. 

She smelled of class and luxury. Definitely from the old money class.

"So you know, you're just as bland."