This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t happening. Oh, but it was. There on the floor was his leader, his mentor, his father. Blood was covering the floor in a gigantic puddle from underneath the man’s corpse. What could he do? His hands instinctively reached for his gun, pulling it out as his feet moved to protect his brothers. They wouldn’t get away with this. He’d find a way to make each and every one of those men sitting in those lounge chairs pay. But for now, his mind had bigger things on its plate. His family. His brothers. By god, what were they going to do now? They were scattered, broken. This is what they really invited them for. He pushed his brothers back with his free hand as he stepped backwards.
❝ Get out of here. ❞ It was a whisper, a plea spoken before he turned to the laughing heads of the five families that owned New York. ❝ If you think this is the end for us, I hope you know that for every drop of his blood that lies on the floor, I will make your deaths ten times as painful. ❞
That was the last thing he was able to say as he gathered the shocked and pained brothers he loved with all of his heart out of the door. He vowed to himself that he would not rest until they owned New York. They would leave their father’s corpse there for now and return for it when they had more time to be safe. He had to make sure no more casualties would be suffered.
❝ I understand that you all feel a certain way. Understand that, I feel the same. I want to blaze this city a flame. I want them in the ground, but be smart. If we go back now, we’ll wind up dead. I need us to gather our strength. We can only strike better as a unit. Do you hear me? ❞
@grailcrest
