??BAD BOYS
DON’T HAVE
HEARTS??
《 Monsters aren’t born, they’re Made 》
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[# SEASON THREE
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By, ✿ฺ Author Indigo Raine ✿ฺ
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©Copyright 2023 [?? ℕ?? ℂ?ℙ? ?ℝ ℝ?ℙ???]
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Genre(s): Dark Romance, Forbidden, Mafia.
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Theme: Friends Are Never Your Family.
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[# Chapter Forty-Seven
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“Father?” a pleasant voice broke their budding romance. “Father! What are you doing out here with this strange woman? Flirting again?” the young-looking woman waltzed into the pale light casting on the pair amidst rows of cars.
“My darling, this lovely lady dropped her towel and being the gentleman I am I returned it,” he slowly dropped Missy’s hand and winked. “Yulia my sweet child, meet Mystique. Mystique, meet my pride and joy. My beautiful, brilliant, and benevolent daughter, Yulia.”
Missy stared at the much younger female. She felt as though her breath had been knocked out of her lungs. There were no adjectives in existence that could properly describe her – she was too breathtakingly stunning for words. The way she walked, the air around her, the soft pout of her full lips, and her stormy gray eyes with silver flecks adorning her vivid irises. Mystique had never met a young woman so beautiful as this one.
She felt inferior to her in almost every way.
“I know,” Wolfgang put an arm around Yulia’s shoulders. “Beautiful, is she not?”
“Oh, she is alright,” Mystique ran her eyes over her body. She was petite with a nice shape to her hips and a small waist. The thigh-length glittery silver dress she wore with a matching hand bag and gray stilettos ensured that all eyes would be on her for the rest of the night. “Your daughter is one very gorgeous person. You must be so proud.”
“Father, when are we going to have dinner? A slice of wagyu beef fried in garlic, butter and thyme ’til medium rare is calling my name,” Yulia huffed. “Nice to meet you miss. Would you like to have dinner with us? We wouldn’t mind an extra,” she sported a warm and welcoming smile.
“Yulia?” he eas taken aback by his daughter’s behavior. “This is a rather nice of you to ask her to join us.”
“I like her taste in fashion,” she smiled.
Really, and truly, Yulia admired the woman’s broad hips and perfectly round backside that seemed to jiggle with every single movement she made. The skin-tight forest green dress did her no justice.
“Well then, Mystique, do you accept my daughter’s invitation?” his smile was all she needed to agree.
“Yes! I would love to,” Missy’s joy was beyond the universe.
Yulia lead the way into the restaurant while Wolfgang stayed behind. He bent one arm behind his back then bowed and held out his free hand, waiting for Missy to take it, which she did. The man kissed each and every one of her knuckles before leading her into the establishment like a proud husband showing off his wife. The occupants saw them and were in awe by their taste in fashion and unique appearances.
“Wasn’t that the woman who was just awkwardly eating alone in here? Who are those people she’s with?” one person said.
“That must be her husband and daughter! Boy, she is so blessed,” another stated.
“I don’t think any A-list celebrity or model is comparable to that young lady. She is the very definition of drop-d**d gorgeous!”
“My, my. What I’d do to have a husband like that.”
“What a perfect and happy family they are! I’m so envious!”
“They must be a filthy rich family. Look at the brand of the daughter’s bag and dress! Not even with a one year worth of salary I could afford those!”
Mystique basked in the attention she received and blushed heavily as Wolfgang pulled out a chair for her to sit on. This was the best night ever for her.
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?? ?? ??????? ???????? – [Two days later]
Marcello wakes up in a white room naked under white sheets with stitches all over his body and face. Pain throbs throughout his being and he groans from the unbearable agony. He tries to get off the bed but discovers that his right wrist had been handcuffed and his ankle chained to the bed post. Instantly he recalled the previous incidents that led to this moment – he remembered being carried away by someone wearing white. Only did the realization click in his mind.
He was in the lair of a Paloma Cartel Sicario. The person who carried him wore a white suit, only the high-ranked members – the Sicarios – wear suits. This was bad news, and his heart plummeted to the other side of the earth. He might as well consider himself a dead man. There is no way those goons would let him live.
Just as he contemplated a way to commit suicide the door across to his left swung open and a doctor walked in along with a tall blonde-haired man. They were speaking in Spanish, therefore he couldn’t understand what they were saying, but he did notice the stranger glance at him several times.
“Doc, he’s awake,” the man said with his attention narrowed to Marcello.
The doctor came to sit beside Marcello and inspect him but he instinctively kicked the sheets off and grabbed the man’s neck with one leg. He brought him to the bed and wrapped around his neck, attempting to stifle him while ripping the multiple wires off his cuffed arm. Suddenly, a cold metal was pressed to the side of his head making him cease all moment and glare from the corner of his eyes.
“Listen up Wildcat, I could’ve killed you two days ago but because I’m still human with a stupid disease known as ‘Feelings’ I saved your @ so watch it. If el médico wanted you dead you’d be a rotting carcass without organs already. Calm the Füçk down,” Zorro lowered the gun and tucked it inside his jacket. “Now be a good captive, and lay down.”
Seeing that he was at the enemy’s mercy he laid down calmly and let the doctor who – after coughing and gasping for air – did necessary checkups and deemed him okay before leaving.
“You’re the enemy. A scvmbag. You should kill me right now,” MC swallowed, hus Adams bobbing up and down with Zorro drinking in the movement.
“There’s use for you somewhere. A lot of people need a heart, or liver, or kidney, perhaps even an eyeball. But for now, you’re useless to me,” he walks around the bed and opens a drawing, he brought out an orange bottle colorful pills.
“Get it over with then. Just Fuçking kill me. Torture me!”
“Begging for death? Look into my eyes, querida,” he chuckled and stashed the bottle in his jacket. “I don’t want you want death, I want you afraid of it. So when its eventually at your doorstep you’re screaming as well as asking for your sins to be forgiven. Would love to chat more, but I don’t want to be caught dead with a mongrel.”
“You killed the Don’s grandmother, didn’t you?” he gritted his teeth angrily.
“Perhaps I did, perhaps I did not. I don’t remember, I guess we’ll never know,” he winked devilishly. “You should be happy I saved you, if I didn’t that skank would’ve had your head hanging as a chandelier.”
“I didn’t want to be saved. I h@të my life. Do I look like someone who wants to Füçking live?” MC eyed Zorion whose brows arched in surprise. “You wasted your time. I could’ve been in hell riding Satan’s ÇOçk. Everyone thinks I’m gay anyway,” he laughed humourlessly. “It hurts to live. Physically. Emotionally. Mentally. Everything, Füçking aches.”
“…You need help.”
“Will you help me?” he turned his head on the pillow to face Zorion. Teal-blue eyes with anguish and hopelessness swirling in their breathtaking depths slicing through his like razor blades. “Will you save me from the Demons that want to drag me to Hell? Will you save me…from myself?”
He felt his heart slowly sinking.
Marcello smiles and looks away with a chuckle, tears filling his eyes. “What’s your name, Mister?”
‘He has alluring eyes,’ Zorion said inwardly, feeling strangely compelled. Thus beginning to take slow strides to him. “No. What is your name? Who I am is of no importance.”
Marcello blinks up at him. “Marcello, but, they call me Marcy. Now will you tell me your name?”
Zorion sits down on a chair next to the best and leans backing, crossing one leg over the other. “I’ll make you a promise. If you heal mentally, emotionally, and physically, and you stop feeling s**cidal, I’ll tell your more than my name. You’re at the brink of insanity. I can ses it in your eyes.”
“Sei pazzo?” he said in his mother tongue, voice instantly becoming more attractive. And the chuckle that follows deserve a Chefs kiss. “Why are you helping me? Why do you care? You’re from the Paloma Cartel, I’m from Ravenhood. You are Mexican. I am Italian. We are supposed to h@të each other. Then there’s you who wants me to value my life. Mister, I think you’re the one who needs help.”
“Maybe I need something else.”
“What is that?”
“You…” ?? ???? ???? ????. Was what he was supposed to say to end the sentence, but he lost his voice. Unable to keep talking.
Marcello’s eyes widened.
His eyes widened.
The loud silence was painfully awkward.
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????? ????? – ?????????.
Ryat was on a luxurious yacht cruising across the Ocean. At night, the water sparkles and glistens as microscopic organisms in it produce an eerie cyan-blue glow. He flexed his wrist and stirred Bourbon in a glass before emptying every drop in his mouth and swallowing. Afterward throwing it into the water. Currently, Lord Lucifer was leaving his private Island, Bluestone Island. There were was disdain and heavy grief weighing his heart down. Tomorrow a funeral will be held for Maria.
He still can’t believe she took her own life, just after telling the most complicated story he’s ever heard before. Not only that, his favorite Capo is missing, MC, which stood for Mr. Cutthroat, and he has a meeting with the Don of the third most dangerous gang known worldwide – The Wolvez.
And they wear gray. Exclusively.
Feeling stressed to the point of confusion, Ryat massages his temples while bringing out his phone. He holds onto the cold iron railing and looks behind him for anyone as he makes a call.
“Hola. Como puedo ayudarte?” a thick Spanish accented voice answered. Irritating every nerve-ending, vein and cell in Ryan’s body. “Hola?”
“Cut the crap Neon,” he cursed, angry all of a sudden. “Where are you?”
“Yo keep your voice down. I’m at a Hotel where their celebrating one of the female Sicario’s birthday,” Neon sighs. “What do you want? You sound stressed out.”
Ryat sighed, calming down slightly by the familiarity of his close friend’s voice. “Can you meet me at the Sinner Zone Beach?” he whispered so low he was afraid Neon might not have heard him. “Did you hear what I said, Z?”
“Uhh,” he went silent for a while, “Sure. I’ll meet you there as soon as possible.”
“Thanks, see you soon,” he lowered the phone and hung up.
An hour later he was on shore and made up an excuse to his Uncle in order to slip away on a black Harley motorcycle and ride to the meeting spot. Now there, as he glanced at the sparkling water surface that reflected the moon near perfectly except for the waves in the water, he smiled. This was here he and Meira had their first kiss. It was also the last place he and his boys took a group photo before Lucifer and Satan died the following day.
He parked the bike under some trees where no one can see you unless they’re present and walked around some bushes. There he met Neon sitting on some boulders smoking with a bottle of Hennessey next to him. Of course, the Kingpin was dressed in his signature white attire and looked irrefutably handsome. One thing Ryat’s will never understand about Neon; he always looks like he has not a single problem in the world.
That’s admirable.
“Missed me, padre?” he causally glances at him and smiles.
“Stop being gay,” Ryat rolled his eyes and went over to him. Taking a seat beside him and removing a cigarette from the box beside the bottle of alcohol. “How have you been, psycho?”
“Well excuse the irritation out of me. Who are you calling psycho?” Neon playfully glared at him. “Man, these people be on crack cocaine. My superior, El Diablo, introduced me to a beautiful Mexican chick. He said I should get to know her. I think they’ve already chosen a wife for me.”
“What?” Ryat poured himself a drink in one of the two shot glasses on the boulder. “Nah. No way.”
“Bro I’m telling you. See, they believe in marriage before the age of twenty-five. My father, however, being the unruly bastard he was evaded that rule and never got married. I walked past a room yesterday and I heard them discussing what fabric the wedding dress for the girl should be made of,” Neon shook his head as if it was the most ridiculous thing ever. “Ain’t no way I’m about to marry some chick I don’t know. I’ll marry Meira someday, but, not sure when. Eh, wh@tëver.”
“It’s a good thing we Italians don’t believe in that, I’d be screwed. No, they’d be, cause I ain’t marrying no one but our baby girl,” Ryat rolled his eyes at the stupidity of Arranged Marriage.
“Cheers to that,” they touched the tips of their glasses and drank the liquid inside.
“Anyway, Ryat I’ve been thinking,” Neon sat up. “I’m leaving.”
Ryat looked at him quizzically. “Leave? What do you mean?”
“I’m gonna leave the Cartel life behind. I’m not sure how, yet, but I will. I was thinking we both could find a way to leave this life behind and move to the mountainous parts of a Country and live our life. We can still keep in contact with the boys and they’d visit, heck, maybe they can join us. Or, we could go to a dense area in Cali,” Neon raised his head and release clouds of smoke into the sky through his nostrils. “I miss us. I miss being a dumb teenager. The Mafia is ripping us apart. We gotta fight for our friendship, bro.”
Ryat went silent, briefly glancing at the side of Neon’s face. ????? ??? ?????. The thought made him feel funny on the inside.
Not getting an answer Neon looks at Ryat. “What? Don’t you wanna leave and be with Meira and the boys? To start a family? Didn’t you say you wanted to be Police Officer when you grew up because you look hot in a Police suit? Don’t tell me you let those h**s change you,” Neon looked him up and down.
“Füçk outta here with that bull cr@p,” Ryat forced a chuckle – to please Neon.
“Good. ‘Cause you can’t possibly want to stay with the Mafia. Not after everything they’ve done to you and your family. Your psycho aunt k!lled your parents and forced you into the Mafia, she wants me d**d too. Why would you even want to stay? That’s ridiculous. Some ludicrous Sh|t right there. I mean it’s kinda fun, to be honest, being feared and above the law, but this life only leads to one end – being k!lled by a friend, family, or the law. The life of a Gangster ain’t long, bro,” Neon looked at the lizard-shaped ring on his finger. “This was my dad’s ring. Beautiful, isn’t it?”
The more Ryat stared, the more his thoughts changed – and at the mention of Neon’s dad, who k!lled the closest person in his life, that made him unsettled. Not to mention his words. ?? ???? ???? ????? ??? ??????? ?????? He wonders if Neon is trying to poison his mind from his family.
?????? ????? ?????????? is the motto they have carved into his brain. They said friends will only stab you in the back on the long run.
“The Mafia is full of fake people. Family or not, they’re all fake. If you find someone real ya better keep ’em close,” Neon yawned. “Hey Ryat, can we spend some time with Meira? All three of us?” he turned to look at Ryat. He noticed he wasn’t staring, but his mood was off. “Ryat, are you okay man?”
“Everything is fine, Neon.” he said coldly.
The Kingpin furrowed his brows. “Nah, this ain’t you. What’s going on?”
“I said everything is. Just wondering when and where can we meet Meira. We can’t go back to the mansion and you know that,” he rolled his eyes.
“True,” he smiled. “But don’t worry, I got somewhere. We can go right now. Told Zam I’d go on a date with that chick if he gave me the night off.”
Ryat’s phone began ringing.
“Give me a sec,” he said and Neon nodded and shewed him. He left the scene, out of earshot of Neon, and answered the call. “What is it?”
“Boss. We have some news. Your Grandmother did not k!ll herself, she was k!lled.”
Ryat’s heart dropped, he peered through the bushes at Neon lounging and drinking Hennessey.
“Lord Lucifer, sir, we have an image that shows the member of the Paloma Cartel pushing her off the building. I will forward it to you now,” he sent the image and Ryat viewed it.
He felt a knife as hot the sun’s core forcing through the center of his heart and soul. In the blurred image was indeed a man in a white suit with arms outstretched and Maria already off the building, flailing in the air. The thing is, the man had unique dirty blonde hair with black roots that could be spotted from miles away.
Ryat only knew one man with such iconic hair and an infamous trademark grin on his face.
‘Zayde Matís Ramón García,’ he said in his mind, eyes glued to his friend just a few feet away.
“Boss–” he hung up the call.
Neon, a person who has been there for him at his lowest. Who got beat up multiple up times when he was caught stealing in order to get money to afford a lawyer to free Ryat from jail. For the first time in his life he found himself feeling something he’s never felt before towards Zayde.
??????.
?? ?!???? ??? ??????? ???? ? ????? ?? ??? ????.
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