3 hours before shit went South

V I K T O R M A K A R O V I C H — T H E B U T C H E R

Being a new Don is never easy especially when your predecessor was one of the most feared men in the world.

My underboss did not think I was worthy to be the Don. I understood. My father had his ways of doing business and so did I. Seated across from me devouring a seasoned stake, the man in question, Markov Makarovich, my uncle blabbered on about what had happened in the mafia this past week, all events that I knew of because unlike my father, I wasn't leaving the affairs of the Bratva entirely to him. If his stocky frame and pot belly did not prove him to be greedy then the thousand dollar suit, shoes and gold rings he bore spoke volumes. He earned enough money to get him these things but some expenses exceeded his wage. He could have a side job, he could be using my resources for other reasons but, I needed proof before I decided to shoot him.

I really wanted to but I was at a point where no decisions could be made on a whim. I needed the men of my Bratva to both fear and respect me despite the fact that I was no older than most of their sons. I was their Don and they wold accept it peacefully or by means of force. The latter method proved to be more effective and I quite enjoyed it. Unfortunately, I couldn't resort to it yet.

"..... managed to get everything across the boarder and are in the process of selling as much as they can before the required deadline," Markov was saying.

"The drugs have moved, weapons are coming in, half my debts are paid and new recruits have joined the Capos of the Eastern boarder," I listed down what I'd picked from his incoherent explanations. The urge to shove the steak he ate down his throat so he could address me properly was overwhelming but I needed in his good graces. I wonder why my father picked this man out of everyone in the family.

"There's nothing else of course," I pressed on, knowing there had been some difficulty in one of the headquarters not far from here. It had caused enough of an uproar to bring Markov back from two states over. I didn't know what had happened because I wanted to trust Markov would tell me.

"Nothing," he said easily running a hand down his round belly. He didn't even look at me when he answered and that annoyed me enough to sit up in my booth.

We were at a restaurant called la Lanterne Bouillante. It was a beautiful place with an ebony theme, round tables covered by white cloth and even the booths reserved for business like where Markov and I sat had beautiful centre pieces. This place reminded me of everything my father despised in men.

"They think just because they have the most expensive seats and can afford each and every course, they can dictate who you are and what you need to know," he used to say. "Don't let them pull you down Viktor. Show them that knowledge is power and you don't need them to have it."

I decided to take my father's advice.

"The little crisis at the headquarters South of here was then nothing I'm guessing," I inquired smoothly, reaching for my wine glass. I took a long sip of Madeaux. The wine was one of the best in the world and quite expensive. I turned the glass, looking at how the seemingly delicate object fit in my large calloused hands.

"You see Markov, when I ask to know everything in the Bratva, I expect you to tell me everything," I stated seriously and for the first time in the night, the old man paid attention to me.

Markov spitefully apologised in Russian. "But there was nothing there. One of our hackers believed our systems had been infiltrated and was searching for who had done it."

"Have they been caught and dealt with?" I asked.

"No," Markov revealed. "We have a few people on it though."

"This event happened two weeks ago. You're telling me for a fortnight, no one has been able to track whoever it is might be obtaining information on our Bratva with the hopes of taking it down?" I asked him angrily and leaned forward. "Do not forget that our systems have information on you too Markov. Every deed you do is tracked, they know the houses you stay in, the meetings you must go to. Do you not worry how this with affect my Bratva, the one my father worked so hard to keep running?"

The idiot was silent and by the way his cheeks turned red, ashamed. He run a hand through his dirty blonde locks that were scarce on his scalp and sighed. "I know how this could affect the Bratva Viktor—"

"Do you really Uncle Markov?!" I interrupted. "At the moment my Bratva might be a little delicate due to change in power. A lot of things have to change and I don't want anyone screwing up my plans."

Including you. I added in my head.

"I understand," he said as you would tell a child undergoing a tantrum that they would get what they fought so hard for. My jaw ticked and my blue eyes narrowed at Markov. I could just pull my gun out and shoot him now. The only thing that held me back was the paperwork that would pile on top of all of this. "I will get my team to double their efforts in finding out who this culprit is—"

"No," I interrupted him and he seemed surprised.

"No?"

"I'll find whoever it is on my own," I stated seriously.

Markov laughed, placing his hand on his belly as it bounced with his mirth. I could tell that eyes had turned on us with Markov's boisterous laughter. It took him a minute to realise I wasn't laughing. He gulped.

"You're serious?"

"I will take these kinds of matters into my own hands. Unlike my father, I do not fear to have blood spilled," I told him. I enjoyed a hunt and I needed a break from everything to clear my mind and figure out how to proceed. "We will still meet here every after a week for you to tell me what has occurred in the mafia for the time I'm gone. Should my search continue on for much longer, come here every Thursday evening for a meal. Am I understood?"

Markov sneered. "You expect to just run off and leave the mafia to fend for itself? Your father did not think much of you as a Don. All you want to do is kill until your soul is stained with the blood of thousands. Your brother was a much better candidate."

Markov's words did not hurt me. I'd been called and told worse. A devil's advocate, Lucifer himself, a demon born straight from the fiery pits of hell. Useless, broken, insane, unjust. These titles bothered me once before. I was much too young when they did but the truth was I did have a bit of bloodlust in me. I could not deny it. I was addicted to the high of a hunt and kill.

"My father sat on his ass in our mansion whilst you run everything. He met you only once a month. I try to leave for a few weeks to set a mistake that you made right and protect my mafia from external threats and all you want to do is berate me like a child. Your insolence towards me is only excused by the fact that you were one of my father's most trusted friends but my tolerance is wearing thin with each word you speak so choose them carefully," I stated casually, taking another sip from my wine glass.

Markov picked up a napkin to wipe his lips. I could tell he wanted to say more, the words were at the tip of his tongue but one thing I shared with my father was his temper. My uncle knew not to test me.

"Give me the number of the man you've been working with," I demanded.

Markov waved forward one of his burly bodyguards. He was handed a sleek black phone and he typed on it. A few seconds later, a buzz came from my pocket. Markov held out his phone and it was taken from his grasp. I didn't bother acknowledge my uncle, standing up and pulling on my black coat over the white dress shirt held by suspenders with gun holsters. I covered my ammo and walked out of the restaurant. Out front, my car had already been brought up by my driver, probably called over by Markov. I opened the door and slipped in.

"To my penthouse," I said as I got my phone out of my pocket. The car begun to move and I messaged the number Markov had given me, asking for all the information they had on our new hacker.

The hunt had begun.