Heal or Kill the Mafia Boss

Jenkins

I'm covering Beni’s wound with a clean gauze when I hear gunshots again, pausing for a second before continuing.

"Relax, they’re just practicing."

"I am," I say, beginning to wrap the bandage around his abdomen.

For the past two days, I haven’t stopped hearing gunfire, and I’ve deduced that there’s a nearby area where they practice shooting. I just hope their targets aren’t living beings. The shots don’t bother me. I’ve lived with that sound my whole life—it’s like music to my ears. It’s comforting.

"So, can I get up now? I feel much better."

I help him lie back down and administer the antibiotic and painkillers before disposing of my latex gloves.

"You got shot just two days ago, kid. Take it easy for at least another week."

"Can you stop calling me 'kid' or 'boy'? I’m not a child."

I suppress a smile at the way his lips purse in frustration. He pouts like a little kid but tries to act like a fearless man. Very typical of young guys, especially in environments like this.

A memory flashes in my mind of an even younger boy pointing a gun at me, and I shake my head, forcing myself to focus on the present and leave the past behind.

"Alright, Beni, but you still can’t move from this bed for now."

I start gathering the used medical supplies while he watches me in silence.

Suddenly, he clears his throat, and I arch a brow in his direction.

"I never thanked you for saving me."

"Your brother already took care of that," I mutter sarcastically.

"Zeldric? I hope he’s treating you well. He’s not as bad as he seems. He just tries to take care of his own."

"Right, sure. He’s just someone egotistical and arrogant enough to force 'his own' to tattoo a Z on their bodies." I gesture toward his bare chest and roll my eyes. I also noticed Oscar has one on the inside of his wrist, though much smaller, and Gambo has one on his neck.

"You think he forces us to get it?" He smiles and shakes his head. "It’s our choice. A symbol of respect and loyalty to our leader. It has nothing to do with egocentrism, Jenkins."

I shrug. Honestly, I couldn’t care less. The only thing I care about is getting out of this damn place before I lose my mind.

I’ve found a potential escape route. From my room, I can access the balcony I saw from outside the night they brought me here. Yesterday, I stepped out and realized that if I push myself hard enough, I might land on the floor below—right where the pool is. There’s also a very real chance I’ll miscalculate and end up with my brains splattered all over the concrete, or worse, land wrong and have the pool’s glass edge slice me in half. I suppose it’s a risk I’ll have to take because once I make it down there, it’s just a couple of meters to the ground.

I say goodbye to Beni, and just as I’m about to step out of the bedroom, the door opens, revealing a man I don’t recognize.

I frown at his appearance. Blond hair, short beard, thick-framed glasses, a beige polo buttoned all the way up, and khaki chinos. He looks like an elementary school teacher. The only thing that gives him away as one of Zeldric’s men is the ink covering his arms down to his wrists.

"I was asked to come get you," he informs me with a timid smile. He nods toward Beni in greeting before turning his attention back to me. "How’s he recovering?"

"Good. The wound isn’t infected and is healing properly. In a week, he’ll be able to start resuming normal activities, though he should avoid excessive exertion."

"That’s great."

He walks with me into the hallway, closing the door behind him, then extends his arm toward me.

"We haven’t been introduced. I’m Lagos."

"What kind of names…?" I mutter under my breath, rolling my eyes.

Noticing that I’m not going to shake his hand, he lowers it with a shrug.

"Most of them are nicknames or last names. My name is Arturo Lagos, but everyone calls me Lagos. Gambo is Felipe Gamboa, and Oscar… well, he’s just Oscar."

"And Zeldric?" I ask with a sly smile.

Lagos studies me for a few seconds before shaking his head.

"If you want to know anything about our boss, you’ll have to ask him yourself. Take advantage of tonight’s dinner for that. You’re invited to share the table with us."

I frown and shake my head.

"I think I’ll pass. I’d rather stay in my cell."

"It’s not a suggestion, Jenkins. Zeldric wants you to join us. I’ve arranged for clothes to be left in your room. You need to be ready in an hour."

"And if I refuse?"

He sighs, removes his glasses, cleans them, and puts them back on.

I notice his eyes—they’re a striking shade of blue. Is there not a single ugly, bald, or overweight man in this organization? I wonder if they recruit them from modeling agencies.

"I’ll give you some advice you didn’t ask for—don’t push Zeldric to the limit of his patience. He tends to lose his temper easily, and you don’t want to be the target of his frustration when that happens."

"Thanks, but I think I can handle myself. What’s he going to do, kill me? Trust me, plenty have tried before, and it didn’t end well for them."

He watches me silently for a moment before sighing.

"Come on, I’ll walk you to your room."

Zeldric

I can't stop glancing at her from the corner of my eye. She looks stunning in the dress I ordered for her. It's black, with thin straps and a slit that runs from the floor up past the middle of her thigh. The brief glimpse I caught of her leg before she sat down left me with an ache in my groin that I still haven't shaken off.

The atmosphere during dinner is tense. The usual jokes and insults among my men are nowhere to be found. Everyone remains cautious, eating in silence. They feel uncomfortable with Jenkins' presence.

This dining room, in my private wing of the house, is only accessible to my most trusted men—the ones I consider family: Lagos, Oscar, Gambo, Luna, and, of course, Beni, who is still recovering from the gunshot wound.

The only woman in the group is the most animated. Luna keeps touching my arm and whispering in my ear. I know she’s trying to stake her claim in front of Jenkins, but her plan doesn’t seem to be working, as my new obsession barely lifts her head from her plate.

She has an appetite—that’s a good sign. But she remains completely apathetic, like a robot. She eats, takes a couple of sips of water now and then, and continues eating. I wonder if she’s always like this, or if, like the others, she also feels uncomfortable with the situation.

She straightens her back and fixes her gaze on a spot on the wall directly in front of her.

"May I leave?" she asks.

I focus my attention on her face. No emotion, nothing.

"Don’t you want dessert?"

Her honey-colored eyes lock onto mine, and she presses her lips together.

"I'm fine," she hisses.

I hold her gaze. She’s challenging me, daring me, and God knows I never back down from a challenge. She will be mine—she has to be.

"Alright. As you—" Before I can even finish the sentence, she’s already up and walking down the hallway toward the rooms.

Gambo makes a move to get up and follow her to keep an eye on her, but I stop him. We're on the third floor. There’s no way she’s getting out of here without being seen.

Maybe it's not a bad idea to give her a little trust and see what happens.