SEBASTIAN
As the sun began its descent on the horizon, casting hues of orange and pink across the cityscape, my headset crackled to life with Leonardo’s urgent voice. It was a call I hadn’t expected, coming from him, Leonardo, the unacknowledged son of Gio’s and my cousin, Amadeo.
I responded with a hint of tension in my voice, “What is it?”
Days had passed in relentless pursuit, yet there was no sign of Gio. In this desperate quest, I knew better than to involve anyone beyond Dario. Exposing the truth of what had transpired would only cast shadows upon the Famiglia, breeding unease and chaos.
The words that followed from Leonardo’s lips sent a chill down my spine. “Someone slaughtered every member of the Jersey MC.”
My grip on the gas pedal eased instinctively, a mixture of shock and dread settling within me. “Where?”
“Their clubhouse. I’m there. Massimo and I were supposed to meet their president to give them a warning, but someone got to them before us.”
A curse slipped from my lips, the gravity of the situation weighing heavily. “I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”
With a fierce determination, I pressed the gas pedal to the floor, my Kawasaki becoming an extension of my being. The wind howled around me as I navigated through traffic with reckless abandon, my surroundings blurring into streaks of color.
As the scene unfolded before me, my heart sank further. The faces of Massimo and Leonardo bore witness to a horror that transcended even their seasoned resolve. For five years, they had stood as Made Men, weathering storms of violence and chaos. Yet, the sight that now greeted them was a league beyond anything they could have prepared for.
Entering the clubhouse, the pungent scent of blood and terror invaded my senses. It was a visceral assault, a cocktail of humanity’s most primal responses-fear, suffering, and death.
My eyes swept across the grisly tableau before me, absorbing the brutality that had unfolded. Limbs lay disjointed, skin torn, and blood painted every surface. In the midst of this gruesome tapestry, an undercurrent of something more insidious pulsed-fear, an emotion more potent than any physical violence.
“How do you know these are all the members?” I asked, my voice heavy with a mix of apprehension and grim determination.
“We counted the bodies,” Massimo replied, his face etched with a blend of sorrow and disgust.
My gaze scanned the grotesque aftermath. “I don’t see any bodies,” I muttered, as realization dawned. The savagery had left no body intact, each one reduced to a nightmarish mosaic of violence. Among the carnage, a bloody axe lay discarded, a weapon that had carved this grotesque symphony.
“We counted the heads,” Leonardo chimed in, a sardonic grin betraying his dark amusement, exchanging a knowing glance with Massimo.
Though the heads bore the signs of the onslaught, they retained a semblance of their former identities. The air hung heavy with an eerie aura, a testament to the malevolence that had transpired within these walls.
“Burn down everything. Don’t leave any traces behind,” I commanded, my voice firm and unyielding.
Massimo’s voice quivered with uncertainty, “Don’t you want to find out who did this?”
“No,” I hissed, the fire of vengeance igniting within me. “Burn everything down.”
In the pit of my gut, I knew the architect of this atrocity. I bore the weight of a truth I dared not share, aware that the revelation would only deepen the turmoil that threatened to engulf us all.
A curse broke from Leonardo’s lips, his eyes wide with realization. Massimo and he shared a bond of brotherhood forged in the crucible of life’s hardships. “It was Gio, right?”
I weighed my words carefully, the path ahead treacherous and fraught with consequences. Gio’s image needed to remain untarnished, his authority unassailable. I shrugged, feigning a detachment I did not feel. “He thought it would send the other MCs a clear message. Capture photographs before the flames consume it all. Send those images to every MC in our territory. Let them know the price of defiance.”
Massimo’s laughter emerged as a disbelieving mixture of revulsion and respect. “He did this alone? Damn, he’s a monster.”
With a heavy heart, I turned away, leaving them to their grim task. Yet, as the flames began to consume the remnants of the clubhouse, one thought consumed me: where was my brother in all this chaos?
GIO
before me. The young woman’s body moved with a practiced grace, her every movement an invitation to a world of tantalizing allure. As she wrapped herself around the polished pole, her bare skin glistened in the soft illumination, and her eyes, deep and enigmatic, held mine in a locked gaze. A playful smile, painted in a seductive shade of red, curled upon her lips, as she swayed and twirled.
With a sensuous motion, she descended to the floor, her revealing attire drooping to expose exaggerated curves that garnered attention. Amidst this provocative spectacle, Sebastian’s voice pierced the air, accompanying his descent into an adjacent armchair. Dismissing his intrusion, I remained lost in the dancer’s performance as she arched her back and offered herself in an unabashed crawl toward me, a trail of desire in her wake.
In the midst of this spectacle, Sebastian’s presence tugged at my attention once again. He leaned in, his voice edged with a sense of urgency that marked the gravity of his words. My focus remained fixated on the woman before me, her movements a bewitching dance of temptation. Her top, now revealingly displaced, exposed more than just skin; it bared a boldness that matched the audacity of her performance.
While the dancer continued to spin around the pole, her unabashed allure heightened by her unveiled form, Sebastian’s words melded with the surroundings, becoming mere background noise. The spectacle continued to unfold as her body contorted and revealed, each motion a brushstroke on the canvas of desire.
Sebastian persisted, his insistence drawing me from the spectacle, his words painting a grim picture of violence and chaos. New Jersey’s brutal events, painted in vivid detail, formed a stark contrast to the scene before me. The woman’s movements held a sensual rhythm, a stark juxtaposition to the gruesome imagery described.
As Sebastian leaned in, his eyes sought mine with a fervor that suggested an unspoken treasure hunt. His observation of my apparent calmness, a characteristic seldom attributed to me, carried the weight of understanding the tempest that usually churned within me.
With composure I asserted, “I am calm.”
Sebastian’s account of the New Jersey bloodbath painted a scene of carnage, limbs and skin adorning the landscape in a morbid tapestry. His gaze shifted to the knife strapped to my chest, a chilling reminder of the violence that coursed through our world.
My focus briefly left the narrative of destruction as the dancer, her topless form now wrapped around the pole, continued her captivating routine. Yet, Sebastian’s presence was unrelenting, and his abrupt dismissal of the performer displayed an uncharacteristic agitation.
The woman fled, her exit directing my attention to the changing room door, though my mind carried me to memories of a different intimacy, one of years past. Sebastian’s voice cut through, laden with both jest and concern, his words penetrating the haze of memory.
Millie-her name reverberated within me, a symphony of complex emotions. As Sebastian revealed her recent presence, my heart clenched in response. With practiced restraint, I maintained a facade of calmness, the external visage belying the turmoil within.
Sebastian’s assertion about Millie’s faithfulness pulled my focus away from the dancer and into the depths of his gaze. His scrutiny, a mirror to my inner turmoil, sparked a defensive response. “She will stay there. Have Gabriele watch her.”
Sebastian’s frustration mounted, his hand colliding with my chest in a gesture of exasperation. The intensity in his eyes echoed my own internal struggle. The specter of a memory-an act of profound brutality-loomed between us, a reminder of my capacity for darkness.
Sebastian’s revelations continued, unraveling a tale that contradicted my doubts. His assertion that Millie had not betrayed me clashed with the weight of my suspicions. My facade remained intact, yet beneath the surface, my emotions swirled like a tempest.
With the dancer’s departure, Sebastian’s request for assistance in interrogating the photographer marked a moment of unity. A thin smirk graced my lips, a testament to our shared purpose. Sebastian’s uncertainty lingered, his plea for comprehension a mere echo in the air.
My voice, a calm whisper, resonated with finality. “Millie went to Chicago behind my back. That is fact. She didn’t cheat, who gives a fuck?” The words, a facade to mask vulnerability, burned like a lie on my tongue. The admission of weakness-a sentiment foreign to my being-gnawed at the edges of my consciousness.
The truth and the lies danced a complicated waltz within me, a silent struggle that threatened to consume. Millie, a name synonymous with both strength and vulnerability, became an emblem of my own internal turmoil. Sebastian’s frustration and disbelief met my facade of detachment, a collision of emotions that echoed in the silence between us.
Sebastian’s dismissal carried an undercurrent of exasperation, his hopes for clarity seemingly dashed. As the room’s dim light cast shadows upon the walls, the echoes of this conversation resonated within, a reminder of the fragility of human emotion, even in the depths of a world ruled by power and brutality.
In the dimly lit ambiance of the Pergola, I found myself captivated by the mesmerizing display