Chapter 4: The Tamer

An unknown location in Italy.

4:15 am.

Deep beneath the De Rico manor, Stefano unleashed a relentless barrage of punches, his fists pummeling the helpless man like a human punching bag. Sadistic pleasure danced in his eyes as he savored every cry, every whimper.

Interrogation was his twisted game, and he was the master.

The air reeked of sweat, blood, and fear, a noxious odor that clung to the walls like a malignant shadow. The sound of the captured perpetrators' ragged breathing echoed through the damp space. Faint scents of mold, gunpowder, and blood mingled in the air. Dim fluorescent lights cast eerie shadows on the walls. The darkness seemed to close in around them.

Just then, Marco Sanchez, Stefano's right hand and most trusted advisor, burst in, phone in hand, its loud ringing piercing the air like a warning siren.

“Stefano! It’s Leonard. He says it’s urgent.” The highly anticipated call had finally come, but the news on the other end would shatter Stefano's expectations.

A flicker of annoyance crossed Stefano's face, but his expression quickly returned to its usual impassive mask. He despised unnecessary calls, but Leonard's update was overdue. With a detached air, he took out a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his blood soaked hands.

"Be right back," He said, flashing a sadistic grin at the brutalized man. The victim's nose was shattered, blood dripping from his nostrils onto his shirt. One eye was grotesquely swollen, the other... gone. His face was a canvas of agony.

Stefano's gaze shifted to the second man, who sat bound to a hot seat, yet frozen in terror, his eyes wide with fear for his brother's suffering. "You're next," Stefano promised, his voice dripping with malevolence.

He then took the phone from Marco and raised it to his ear. “Speak,” he said curtly, his eyes never leaving Marco's face.

“Sir…” Leonard's voice trembled. He awkwardly adjusted his round glasses at the other end of the line. He swallowed. “I’m afraid, I have some unpleasant news.”

Stefano's tone turned glacial. “You should be here, handing me my package, not sniveling on the phone like a coward.”

Leonard hesitated before dropping the bombshell.

“Sir, it's about the package... it's been stolen.”

Stefano's anger ignited, his chest heaving, fists clenched. He closed his eyes, composing himself with an effort.

Leonard continued, his voice laced with fear. "And... Mr. Xang has been murdered. His body was found mutilated —thumb chopped off, head nearly decapitated."

Stefano's face darkened, his eyes blazing with fury.

In a low, menacing tone, he asked. "Leonard, why haven't you found my package and the person who stole it?"

"There's no trace, Sir. I believe this was done by a pro. The CCTV feed was erased for a two-hour window, precisely when Mr. Xang and the package could have gone missing. No suspects on camera, and all the bodyguards who might've seen something are dead. Nobody witnessed anything suspicious. I'm sorry sir, but this will take some time to investigate."

A cold mirthless laughter erupted from Stefano's vocal cords. "You're sorry?" he repeated, amusement lacing his voice. "Wise of you to deliver this news over the phone, Leonard. Very wise."

The laughter stopped abruptly, replaced by an unnerving silence. "Find. My. Package. And the person who dared to steal from me."

Leonard's voice trembled. "I will, sir."

“Or I'll find you. And end you.” He added in a lethal voice, before abruptly ending the call.

In a calculative manner, he turned to face his captive, his eyes locking onto the man he had been torturing. Seethinly, he spoke, "Alfonso Il Lupo.” He said his name like an accusation, his voice icy and dripping with malice.

"The big… bad… scary… wolf,” He teased wickedly, then laughed. A dark, mirthless sound. "You don't look so intimidating now, do you?"

Alfonso struggled to find his voice. His throat was aching terribly. "Per favore,” He begged in his weary italian. “Ti supplico, perdonami, uccidimi pure, ma lascia andare mio fratello. Per favore..."

Unfortunately, his pleas were like music to Stefano's ears. A sound he was now utterly sick of hearing.

With a swift motion, Stefano drew his gun and delivered two fatal shots to the battered man —one to the groin, the other between the eyes. Rendering an instant death.

He then turned to the second man, a cruel smile twisting his lips. "I'm done asking questions. How would you like to die?"

The man's eyes widened in terror. "Shoot me, please! In the head, please!" he begged.

Stefano's smile grew. "Poor you. I'd rather chop off your body parts every three hours. A slower, more miserable death."

The man's face contorted in horror. "No!"

Stefano replied with a dark smile. "Yes."

He turned his back on him and signaled one of his loyal men, Savage. He was a bizarre looking man with scars and tattoos all over his face. A gay man who enjoyed inflicting gnarly wounds for the fun of it.

Stefano said to him. “Do with him as you please. I have far more important business to attend to.”

The man's pleas grew frantic. "No, no, no, no, no! Please!"

But all Stefano could hear was a jarring, boring, lame song in a croaky voice. The kind of song that would make you want to smash the record player.

Stefano stormed away and into the elevator, Marco Sanchez following closely behind. His rage simmered just below the surface, threatening to shatter his carefully crafted composure.

He never got stolen from. It was an abomination to those who knew him. It was an unforgivable transgression. And yet, it had happened.

With his rage will come chaos. His perpetrators will pay, they always do. It was a promise, a known fact. He is Stefano De Rico. A Mafia kingpin whose name sent shivers down the spine of even the most hardened criminals. He is the master of the underworld. He tames even the wildest beasts that refuse to bend to his will.

Who dared to steal from him? Whose blood will be spilled for this abominable offense?