Beneath The Mask
If he wants a war, he’ll get one.
“Get them dropped off,” I say, motioning to the gruesome boxes waiting to be sent out.
One of the guards hesitates, his eyes flickering with uncertainty. “All of them?”
“Yes,” I snap, my voice sharp. My lips curl into a smirk as I glance at the smallest box—the one containing Marcello’s most personal piece. “And make sure Ghost gets his cousin’s cock.”
The men exchange uneasy glances, but no one dares to question me.
I grab a piece of paper, quickly scrawling out a message in bold, deliberate strokes:
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