Alexander's Perspective
“They stole your money again, and the drugs,” Rocco said, his voice laced with nervous energy. He’s my second-in-command, my best friend—almost a brother. We came up together, but I’m still the one giving orders. Everyone fears me, even myself, I don’t fully trust my own impulses.
I slammed my fist on the table, the force rattling the glasses. How dare they? To steal from me, *again*? I’m Alexander Knight. No one takes what’s mine, not money, not drugs. Everyone in this city knows my name. I’m the deadliest assassin, and I eliminate anyone who crosses my path. This city is *mine*, and nothing happens without my knowledge.
In the mafia world, they all know my name and clamor for me to join their ranks. But I run my own gang, operate as a businessman, and I've managed to keep it all hidden. They fear me, and the police can't touch me without solid proof.
“Wipe out his gang, Rocco. Just bring me the leader. And where’s the folder I requested?” I demanded, lighting a cigarette. The nicotine did little to calm the rage burning within me. I needed to kill.
“Yes, boss,” Rocco replied, knowing better than to offer more. He handed me the folder. “Where’s Mason?” I asked, flipping through the pages.
“At the school. The one you arranged,” he said before turning to leave and carry out his orders. Mason is his fuck buddy, they’re practically a couple, but neither admits it.
I knew which school he was at. I own this city, remember? I’d sent him to be with… Elliot.
The folder contained his photograph, and a smirk tugged at my lips. He's mine, and only mine. The first time I saw him, I knew it. I was picking up my brother, Wesley—sixteen—and asked if he knew him. My brother said he was new, already popular.
Elliot was standing with his friends, smoking. He grinned at a girl who walked by, their eyes locking for a moment.
I stared at the pictures. He’s six-foot-one, perfect dark brown hair and hazel eyes. He has a tattoo and is built like a tank. Abs, biceps, and a pout on his rosy lips. Fuck, I want him.
His full name is Elliot Wilson. Eighteen years old, an only child. His parents work long hours, leaving him alone.
I closed the folder and called Rocco. “We're going back to school, brother. Finish the paperwork.” I heard Rocco choke, cough, before he could respond. I hung up.
I can’t wait to see you, Elliot. A cruel smile stretched across my face as I stood up, buttoned my coat, and walked out. Someone has to pay for this. Someone will bleed.