His Stripper, Their Obsession

The black SUV growled as it came to a halt outside a run down warehouse, its tires crunching over gravel and broken glass. The night hung heavy, thick with mist and menace. The driver's door swung open, and Adriano Greco stepped out-the last-born son of Don Raffaele Greco, leader of the mafia empire, Il Serpente Dorato (The Golden Serpents).

He adjusted the cuffs of his tailored black shirt, the sleeve sliding up just enough to reveal the coiling, golden serpent tattoo wrapped around his forearm-a mark of legacy and death.

The American soil beneath his Italian leather shoes wasn't home, not yet. He'd come to this lawless stretch of the United States to forge his own kingdom. His crew-I Cobra Re, (The King Cobras)-already whispered his name in the streets. They feared him. They respected him.

Soon, they'd worship him.

The passenger doors opened almost in unison behind him. First came Marco 'Maverick' Varela, broad-shouldered and stocky, his face carved in a permanent scowl. His tattoos peeked from under his sleeves, telling stories of violence. Marco was Adriano's hammer-blunt, brutal, and effective.

Next was Luca Romano, the sarcastic right-hand man with sharp eyes and a sharper tongue. Born in Naples and raised on vendettas, Luca had a mind for logistics and a mouth that often got him punched-or got them paid.

Finally, Enzo 'The Snake' Ricci stepped out, adjusting his cufflinks, a smirk curling his lips. Enzo looked more at home in a boardroom than a battlefield, but beneath the slick suits and the silver tongue was a mind as cold and venomous as any killer.

Together, they approached the warehouse doors. Inside, a small army of Adriano's soldiers awaited, standing guard with grim faces. In the center of the room, three men knelt on the cracked concrete floor-gagged, bound hand and foot, trembling under the muzzles of gleaming pistols.

A chair sat at the center, positioned under a lone, swinging bulb that bathed the scene in harsh, shifting light.

Adriano strolled forward with casual menace, took his seat, and crossed one leg over the other, his green eyes gleaming with dark amusement. He slid the golden ring around his finger idly, a king surveying his soon-to-be conquered subjects.

A lazy flick of his hand, and two soldiers moved forward, yanking the gags from the men's mouths.

Whimpering, sobbing, but too terrified to speak, the three captives shivered like leaves in a storm.

Adriano tilted his head, studying them like a bored predator.

He smiled-slow and chilling.

"Where's my fucking money?"

The men began to stammer - desperate, pitiful words tumbling from their cracked lips. "P-please... Signore Greco... j-just a little more time-"

Adriano leaned back, exhaling a long, theatrical sigh. He rolled his eyes at Luca, who smirked behind him.

"More time?" Adriano echoed, voice dripping with disbelief. "I gave you three extra months. Three! And now here you are... empty-handed?!"

He uncrossed his legs and stood, smoothing the front of his shirt with precise, almost obsessive movements.

Then-without warning-he delivered a savage kick to the first man's gut.

The man crumpled instantly, gagging and writhing on the floor, the ropes cutting into his flesh as he tried uselessly to shield himself.

Adriano followed up with two more kicks, each more vicious than the last, until the man's moans were little more than wet gasps.

Adriano dusted off his hands and turned to Marco, who already had a briefcase in hand. Marco popped it open with a knowing grin, revealing an arsenal of nasty tools gleaming under the dim light.

Adriano's smile widened. "Let's play a game, shall we?"

He hovered his hand above the tools, fingers dancing dramatically. "Eenie, meenie, miney, mo..."

His hand landed on the spiked brass knuckles. He slid them onto his right hand, flexing his fingers as if savoring the weight of violence.

Then he crouched beside the first man.

The man whimpered, tears streaming down his battered face.

Adriano drew back his arm and punched him square in the face-the brutal metal spikes tearing flesh from bone with a sickening crack.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Blood sprayed the concrete, the man's face quickly transforming into a grotesque, swollen mask. He screamed, sobbed, and finally slumped unconscious, blood oozing from his shattered mouth and nose.

Adriano stood and glanced down at his shirt. A small splatter of blood stained the clean black fabric. He snarled under his breath.

"Fucking great. My favorite shirt."

Luca snickered behind him.

"That's what you get for wearing your Sunday best to a murder party, boss."

Adriano shot him a murderous glare, then turned back to Marco.He dropped the brass knuckles back into the case with a casual clink.

"Again," he said. "Eenie, meenie, miney, mo..."

This time, his hand landed on a plier. He whistled lowly in approval.

Approaching the second man, Adriano twirled the pliers like a toy.

The man's eyes widened in terror. He shuffled backward on his knees, babbling incoherently.

"No, no, please-no! PLEASE! I'll get you the money! I swear! I SWEAR!"

Adriano didn't even blink. "Hold him."

Two soldiers grabbed the man roughly.

A third pried open his mouth, fingers digging into his cheeks.

Adriano sat down, leveled his gaze with the man's panicked, pleading eyes...and latched the pliers onto a tooth.

Tug. Twist. Pull.

The man's shrieks echoed through the warehouse, raw and primal. Blood and spit splattered the floor.

Adriano removed one tooth. Then another.

Then a third, taking his time, humming a nameless tune under his breath.

When the man sagged in his captors' grip, Adriano stood, wiping a fleck of blood off his cheek with a handkerchief.

He returned to Marco and played the game once more. "Eenie, meenie, miney, mo."

His hand landed on a hammer.

He grinned, flipping it from hand to hand like a boy with a new toy.

"Oh, this is gonna be fun."

He stalked toward the third man.

But something caught his eye-a movement too subtle for the others to notice.

The third man had been cutting through his bindings. A small knife, slick with sweat, flashed in the dim light.

Adriano's eyes widened-

But before he could react, it was already too late.

The third man sprang up, drove his elbow into a soldier's nose with a sickening crack, snatched the fallen gun, and shot the soldier point-blank in the head.

The warehouse exploded into chaos.

Gunfire echoed off the concrete walls.

Adriano and his men ducked for cover, bullets zipping past like angry hornets.

The third man sprinted through the haze of gunpowder smoke, weaving wildly.

Adriano roared above the noise. "Don't let him get away!"

But he was already gone-swallowed by the night outside.

Adriano stormed out. Marco, Luca, Enzo, and the rest of his men, on his heels.

The night was thick and black, the distant city lights barely reaching the broken asphalt and weed-choked alleys surrounding the warehouse compound.

Adriano barked rapid orders.

"Half stay back. Guard the other two. Everyone else-spread out! Find that son of a bitch!"

Guns drawn, they fanned out through the maze of crumbling buildings.

Adriano moved like a ghost, his eyes sharp, ears straining for the slightest sound. The cool metal of his pistol was a familiar comfort in his hand.

He crept forward, his heart pounding, his breath low.

A distant crunch of gravel then-

A whisper of movement came from behind him but before he could turn.

CLICK.

The cold barrel of a gun pressed against the back of Adriano's skull.