Killing men I don’t like is one I enjoy.
I consider it a release—like what some find from a morning workout.
Tonight, I’m in our industrial warehouse. It sits in an alley near a waste management site outside of the city.
Royal, a low-ranking soldier, sits tied up in the chair across from me. His right eye is swollen shut, his lip bleeding onto his white T-shirt. The light above him flickers—a reminder that I need to rip Klide, our maintenance man, a new one for not changing it.
That shit gives me a goddamn headache.
Now, back to Royal.
We added him to our roster six months ago. Unless men were born into the family via the Lombardi bloodline or brought in young from their father, it takes at least a decade to even move up the ladder in the Lombardi family. We trust very few.
Which is why we kept Royal on security detail, giving him side hustles here and there, and we also wanted his connection to a well-known cyber hacker, Hack-Bob.
Lame-as-fuck name, I know.
Hack-Bob firmware attacked our slot machines, programming them to win at certain times when he and his friends were gambling. They didn’t win much before we caught on and were easy to find on camera. We put a million-dollar bounty on his head with the stipulation that we wanted him alive.
Royal came to us, saying Hack-Bob was his cousin. He didn’t want the money. Instead, he wanted us to give him a job, a role within the family.
We agreed so long as he brought Hack-Bob to us and took every piece of hardware from his home. Royal followed through. We murdered his cousin and, as promised, gave Royal a job.
While he always remained an errand boy, we’d have let him live if he hadn’t gone bragging about his new job and how he helped us murder his cousin.
Talking like that is a death sentence in our world.
And that’s what he shall receive.
I told Antonio from the beginning not to trust a fucker named Royal.
When he was hired, he referred to himself as Royal Flush before slapping his hand on the table and saying, “Get it?”
I wanted to shoot him in the head just for that comment.
I’ll add an extra bullet tonight now that I remember how annoying it was.
“Emilio, come on, man,” Royal begs, trying to press his restrained hands together in a pleading gesture. “You know I ain’t no snitch.”
I roll my neck until it pops.
“I only told my nana and friends about my new job!” His voice hitches, the fear rising with each word. “That’s it! None of them are cops! No feds! I swear!”
I pull my gun from my pocket and turn off the safety. “Loose lips sink ships, Royal.”
He spits blood at my feet. “Fuck you! You kill me, that shows you have no loyalty to anyone.”
I raise my gun. “Not to you.”
The bullet flies from the gun barrel, zipping through the air, and glides straight through Royal’s forehead. Blood immediately starts squirting through his skin, little dribbles at first before growing thicker.
His eyes are wide open, his tongue half out of his mouth.
The idiot is as good as dead.
I flick my finger against the trigger again, firing off another bullet. “This is for that stupidRoyal Flushname.”
And for shits and giggles, I walk closer, careful not to get blood on my shoe, and place my gun beneath his chin. With one swift jerk, I push his head forward and put another hole in his throat.
