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“LEARN TO STAY THE FUCK AWAY. SHE BELONGS TO ME.” I growl even louder as I smash his fingers with my feet.
“Fuck! Oh, fuck!” he cries.
Taking his left arm and breaking his other fingers leaves him wailing in more pain.
Without hesitation, I pick him up from the ground, landing a few more punches on his face until I’m sure his nose is broken and bleeding.
I toss his body violently toward a trash can. The impact knocks over the can, spilling the waste, and a couple of dirt piles on his body.
“Notte (Night),” the word leaves my mouth in a grunt, as I kick him hard for the last time on his head, leaving him unconscious on the ground.
“Fuck all of you!” I say, trying to calm myself.
I pull out a cigar and lighter from my pocket. My knuckles are bruised and stained with blood. I clean the stains by rubbing them on my black shirt.
I’m holding myself back from making a scene by entering the club Adriana ran into. I’d fucking fish her out of that fucking place. Even if it means tearing the whole damn place apart.
Adriana's mine. That I know for sure now. I’m one selfish bastard and although I hate to admit it, I don't want to see her with anyone else.
Taking a long drag, I walk back to my car but stop for a few glances at the entrance of the club. I don’t see Adriana walk out.
I slide into my car, releasing a cloud of smoke from my mouth and nostrils, still fucking pissed.
I came here to meet someone named Cruz on this street to help solve the shipment problem. But instead, I found him dead in his home.
His body was dangling from the rope strapped to his neck, hanging from the ceiling. The knife cuts on his body tell me he was tortured first.
It’s almost as if someone keeps beating me in this little game we have going on. It infuriates me.
I’m stuck with no possible means of getting a coke shipment in the quickest way. And Adriana... I’m fucking mad she is here.
I take another drag, sitting patiently in the car, waiting to see her again. I need to. Now, she’s my only hope to save Father’s business. Father would hate me if I let anything happen to it.
He still hasn’t fully recovered and Mother and I are still going back and forth over the deal. I find myself considering the option right now, considering there are no alternatives left.
Daniel hasn’t been of any help lately. He’s always out or busy, not picking up his calls. I could have died at the warehouse last night.
My eyes fix on the front door of the club. A couple of guys stroll inside. It’s a few minutes to three a.m., and the sky is getting clearer with the full moon up.
The street lights blink simultaneously for a few moments before getting stable. The man I beat up is still laying by the dumpster in the dark.
My phone rings with my private investigator, Kristev’s name, popping on the screen. I hope this is good.
“What did you find?” I ask as I answer the call.
“Someone named Brielle Dankworth,” he answers. It makes more sense now. I kept seeing the initials B.D. on my father’s transaction documents. And, in the letter I found.
“What about her?”
“Nothing much. Just that she was adopted by French parents and lived in France for some years before moving to New York City.”
People start to exit the club. I watch closely to look out for Adriana.
“Where is she now?” I ask.
“Dead.”
“Shit.” A moment of silence passes between us. My eyes are still fixed on the door.
