2

 “What’s up, Fizz?” I replied, standing up on my feet and putting my paperwork to the side.

Fizz was my right-hand man – the brother that I could rely on no matter what, to get me through every situation. He was Pakistani, with pale eyes, a rugged beard, and a strong, well-built frame. We’d known each other since we were kids, and we did everything together. We weren’t related by blood, but he was the only man out of everybody who worked for me who I could call my own family, and would trust with my own life. His name was Faizan, but we all called him Fizz.

“Jamal just rang me and told us to go by a motherfucker’s house who hasn’t paid up his debts yet,” Fizz explained. “We’re gonna take some of the other men too, in case things get nasty.”

“We’re more than capable to deal with him ourselves,” I retorted, rolling my eyes.

“Nah bro, he has a debt of about ninety grand,” Fizz sighed exhaustedly. “He could be armed.”

“Fair enough, bro,” I shrugged. “Let’s go.”

He nodded, and we made our way out of the building. Outside, four of the other men who worked under our belt were standing outside of the truck, waiting for us expectantly. Together, we formed part of the Cosa Nostra, taking care of the Sicilian Mafia’s organized crime syndicate within the United Kingdom, our headquarters being in Manchester. From gun trafficking, to smuggling drugs, to kidnapping, to gambling, to assassinating, bombing, and blackmailing…

We did it all.

I’d never claimed to be a good man, never claimed to have a soul in my body. My life was just making shit-tons of money, taking care of my men, and taking out any motherfucker who dared get on the wrong side of me. The only thing that I was hell-bent on never getting into was human trafficking, and forcing women into prostitution. Despite how much money it made, that was a disgusting side of business that I could never fuck with. I’d tear men’s lives apart with no fuck’s given, but I’d never let innocent women and children get caught in the crossfire.

“Ready to go, Boss?” asked Massimo, one of the men.

“Yeah. Where does this motherfucker live?” I asked, as Fizz folded his arms.

“Near Wilmslow Road. This needs to be a quick warning and we need to get the fuck out of there straight after, the feds have been trailing the place a lot recently.”

“Understood.”

Me and Fizz joined the men in the truck, and began driving to the bastard’s house, ready to teach him a lesson for not paying his debts.

2

luca

We arrived at Wilmslow Road, and began making our way to the motherfucker’s house.

Tariq Iqbal.

That was what the bastard’s name was.

He lived in an apartment block. Me and Fizz took the lead, allowing Massimo and the other men to follow close behind us. I knocked at the door, waiting for the fucker to answer. My patience was wearing too thin.

A debt of ninety fucking grand. I couldn’t let such a huge amount of money slide so easily. Just the sheer thought of this man believing that he could get away with not paying it back… Made my blood boil to the point it almost dried up. He was going to be taught a lesson for getting on the wrong side of me.

Rule one in the Cosa Nostra.

Always repay your debts.

After waiting for several minutes, I couldn’t even hear movement inside of the apartment. He’d had a fair warning. Because now…

Bang.

 I slammed the door wide open with force, grabbing my gun out of my pocket, cocking it and holding it in front of my face, Fizz doing the same.

“Come on out, Tariq,” I soothed. “You sneaky little bastard.”

We searched the rooms, doing our best to locate him. Slamming open door after door, trying to see if there was a face in sight.

But there was nobody here.

“You can run but you can’t hide, Tariq,” Fizz tutted, kicking open the bathroom door so hard that the door fell straight into the sink, hitting a pipe, and caused water to start exploding everywhere.