PERFECT HEIR
After less than an hour of driving, Mort arrives at the well-known CION brothel. His strides were big as he sauntered towards the exclusive black elevator. He boarded inside and it takes him to the Underground Zero of the brothel.
When the elevator ting open, the dim place where numbers of men in black lined up in the hallway opened up to him. Heads respectfully bowed to him as he walked the red-carpeted marble floor.
Scarlet lights lit the place. Magnificent abstract, dark and disturbing art could be seen hanging on the wall. The long hallway covered in red carpet denotes stratospheric status, style, and opulence. The place was frozen cold like it was the first gate of Hell, abode of the lost souls. The strange silence was also deafening and echoing around.
Mort headed straight to the VIP room where his men is waiting for his command. Klauss greeted him at the entrance and slightly bowed. The green-eyed hunk sat in a kingly posture in a throne-like chair next to the secretary standing on his side. Legs were crossed while coldly eyeing the person who was blindfolded with black cloth, pinned against the star-wooden standing in the middle, both hands and feet chained. Behind him stood a buffed and masked man who was the ground's torturer.
In front of him was a big table of different nasty torture devices. Some of the tools were used way back thousand years ago for the extremely brutal torture and execution. Mort had successfully possessed such terrifying tools that will surely haunt anyone in their nightmares.
"Talk." Mort coldly commands the captured man and is currently chained on the wooden David's star.
"How many times do I have to tell you that I know nothing!" Vladimir's personal assistant said as he tried to resist against the clutch of the iron chain.
"I am Lord Vladimir's personal assistant! And I know nothing about robbing off the weapon that will be sent to Fergus. All I know is that my Lord was the acted middleman of the negotiations you made with Fergus at the Port." He added that his voice was trembling with terror and fear.
Suddenly, Mort's head was tilted to the right side once he gently scratched the side of his eyebrow with his index finger signaling the executioner to start.
The executioner immediately went in front of the personal assistant. No words were uttered, he removed the assistant’s nail that made him scream in excruciating pain and anguish.
"Fuck! Even if you remove all of my fingernails and toenails you won't get anything from me as I have no information to spill off!"
The personal assistant cried out loud, body trembling involuntarily with trepidation. Mort motions to the executioner, eyes devoid of emotions.
"Peel off all his fingernails." Mort heartlessly commanded. The torturer nodded. Each finger is locked in a metal ring. He began ripping easily the nails off the assistant's flesh one by one using the plier.
The resounding scream of intense pain and agony flooded and echoed in the place. Orb of tears flowed soaked on the black clothes. Mort feels completely nothing watching over the exquisite art of madness in front of him. He felt no pleasure in inflicting pain on the unfortunate man. The pair of emerald eyes were dead and empty.
"Why-y don't you believe me? And why would I lied to y-you?" Stammered and sniffed, the assistant said almost in a whisper. Bleeding fingers quivering in stinging pain. He even peed on his pants!
"Do you know what kind of weapon your Boss ran away."
It wasn't a question. His emerald eyes gleamed devilishly inside the dim-lit room. Cold and detached, Mort stares indifferently at the captured man, his ominous tone was so deep that whoever could hear it would certainly break out in a cold sweat.
"Like I said I know nothing." Soak in sweat despite the coldness around, the assistant sweating profusely.
"Tsk."
Mort scoffs and motions to Klauss to come closer. The secretary immediately opened the attache case he was carrying. Numbers of black and white pills neatly lined up inside the case. Mort would have ordered the secretary when Klauss preceded him.
"My hands are full."
Klauss said, looking down at the Boss, sitting. Mort gave him a long blank stare.
"I can see that,"
Mort then eyed the executioner. The masked man quickly obeys and approaches their place to execute what the Boss wants. "Black pill." Mort's cold order.
The executioner was about to take one of the Black pills from the attache case when Klauss suddenly diverted the box to the side. Squinted eyes drawn to the man's gloves in disgust.
"Could you change that filthy gloves of yours,"
Klauss's face awfully twitches at the sight of stinky blood. The torturer nodded to him and quickly replaced the pair of bloody gloves with new ones. After he changed, he took a black pill and returned to the chained traitor's assistant place.
Without a word, the executioner ruthlessly made Vladimir's assistant swallow the pill forcibly. When he tried to spit out the pill, the torturer immediately covered the Personal Assistant's mouth and was forced to swallow the pill.
He was choked and coughs when he gulped the given pill. The captured man was weakened and dithering made Klauss flashes a vile smirk next to Mort.
"You won't die unless you lie, " eyes glint cruelly, two pitiless pools of death, Mort meaningfully said and stood up. He addressed the secretary. "I'll be back in an hour." He added and Klauss gave way to him and the Boss leave the place.
Mort headed to the parking lot of CION Brothel and immediately boarded his phantom car. He turns the car's engine on when suddenly his little sister, Mischa called.
"Brother, you need to return to the MDA building. Grandpa Zag and the heiress of the Forbes Clan were here." Mischa's annoying tone greeted him.
"How did they know that place?" Mort asked with a frown. His little sister knows how to mess with him.
"How did they know? Dude, I'm literally with them," Mischa sarcastically said and looked in her Grandpa's direction and the heiress sitting on the sofa, waiting patiently on her older brother to arrive at his office.
"Didn't I pay you to zip your mouth?" Mort's lips firmly closed. 'This little one...'
"They paid me higher than yours." Brazen-faced, Mischa bluntly replied. She really manages to make out of business just by selling a piece of information about his brother's company to her grandfather, whom did not seen each other for a decade for some known reason.
Mischa takes advantage of the family feud to gain money for herself. 'I'm really damn brilliant!' She naughtily smiled on the other line.
Mort drops his little sister's call and starts driving back to the MDA building. While he was hitting down the city's road, he dialed Narco's number.
"You shall meet the shareholders today in my place," Mort ordered the young man who was now scratching his head with what he heard.
"I guess you haven't read Klauss's new report yet," Narco replied, now brewing his coffee.
"I did," Mort said. His eyes were serious and darted on the road back to the MDA building.
"Really? Then why send me there?" Eyebrows deeply knitted, Narco asked while sipping the black coffee.
"Are you defying your father's order."
That was a statement. Mort's voice was cold with a tinge of warning and threat that made Narco sit properly. When this was the tone of Mort's speech, he knew that someone had triggered his old man's bomb. 'Who's dimwit made him mad this time?'
"No, I'm just kidding."
Narco turned off the call and forcibly consumed the hot coffee and hurriedly prepared himself for the meeting Mort commanded him to do.
When Mort arrived at the MDA building, he boarded the elevator and brings him to the top floor. He went directly to his office. The sight of his grandfather and the heiress of the Forbes Clan sitting on the visitor's sofa greeted him.
Even before he could enter the office, Mort was greeted by a big grin from his little sister at the door.
"Brother, I terribly apologize that I revealed this place to them. I guess money is stronger than the bond, huh." Mischa grinned mischievously from ear to ear once clinging to Mort's right arm.
Mischa Aslanov. 15-year-old, a naughty sister of Mort. She was a fine young lady wearing regal apparel, and just like her older brother, she has a pair of ocean-green eyes that scintillate like the sun. Her hair was midnight-black and it flowed over her shoulders. When she broke into a beguiling smile, she could literally light up the darkened room.
"Thank you for proving me that," Mort said with a streak of sarcasm yet his face still stoic. He appeared in the place with an indifferent and cold demeanor.
The gorgeous hunk sauntered mightily the place toward his swivel chair and sat in there, legs crossed beneath the table. Mischa was about to leave the place when Mort suddenly spoke.
"If you still want an escape zone, serve them a water."
Mischa standing like a statue near the office door slowly turned and faced her brother. Stupefied and astonishment painted on her beautiful face.
"With your unimaginable opulence and tons of money, water is the only thing you can afford for them?" Mischa asked, one eyebrow raised at her brother sitting comfortably, wearing a serious expression.
"I guess, it's a wrong way to say that blood is thicker than water," Mort said coldly and Mischa went silent. She then bowed after him like royalty and left the office.
Silence prevailed for a few seconds in the elegant office suite. Mort then confronted his two unwanted and uninvited visitors sitting on the sofa. His mood was as dark as the grim sky outside. But his eyes darted only to the silver-haired old man in his 70s.
"How many times do I have to tell you that I will never return to your organization." Mort directly said, headed straight to the business with his Grandfather.
Don Zagreus. 70 years heartless old man. His eyes shone a bright, cerulean-green. He has a silver beard that suits his face. He had a rogue physique despite of his age. He exerts an enormous power and influence making their clan powerful during his time. In his old age, he still rules the Aslanov clan tyrannically and lives its reputation to this day.
"But you are the perfect heir to succeed the throne." Don Zagreus said in a serious tone. His domineering and intimidating nature prevailed but Mort did not budge over the Don's tyrannic behavior. Detached, he gave the old man an indifferent look.
Mort was never a fan of his old man.
"You can give that throne of yours to my brother. Dieu deserves it." Mort apathetically said.
"Your brother isn't competent enough, not like you," Don Zagreus said once rose on the sofa and stridden closer to Mort's table. The woman behind quickly followed his old man.
"You just said that because I'm still alive," crossed legs, Mort rested his face on his palm while head slightly tilted to the side.
"Even if you don't exist, I will never give that throne to Dieu," the old man firmly said and just like his grandson, he met Mort's eyes as cold as ice. "There's something in him I couldn't fathom." The old man added.
"What do you mean?" Straight-faced, Mort asked as his eyebrows furrowed deeply.
"I can't trust your brother." Plain and straightforward, Don Zagreus said.
Mort sighs heavily. "That's not my problem anymore. The moment I step out of our organization, I vowed to myself to never go back to that place. I created my own organization from scratch and there's no fucking way I'm going to leave it for something I didn't even want. "
Don Zagreus clenched his hand at what he heard. "Our clan is one of the first Mafia Group that ever existed. And it is the only group that still stands up to this day and remained strong no matter how many generations have passed. I can't just let it disappear from someone whom I never trust. You need to come back. "
"I told you, I won't." Mort coldly defied.
"You will." Said the grandfather emphatically in a finality tone, with an underlying threat.
The heiress of the Forbes Clan suddenly stepped in. Laurel Forbes, stood six-four feet, has foxy cut blonde hair. She had a pair of dark-red deep hawk eyes. Flat-chested, she had the height and a body of a model yet exudes tomboyish nature. The lady wears a formal black suit and an expensive hat.
"You're pathetic," Laurel said, a hint of irritation can be heard in her tone. Her face twitched with extreme annoyance. The Don and his grandson looked at her place at the same time, frowned.
"Who?" Mort and Don Zagreus asked in unison.
"You both can guess." Laurel's uninteresting response once rolled her eyes at the two men.
"Why is she here?"
Mort asked the old man. Don Zagreus faced him. "I thought she can help me convince you." The Don immediately answered his question.
"Her?" Mort unbelievably utters while hand pointing at the lady dressed in black.
"She's your childhood friend." Don Zagreus, replied that he was uncertain about what he was saying as he looked Mort and Laurel back and forth, exchanging hostile glares to one another.
"You gotta be kidding me."
Mort uttered when he had a flash in mind how annoying bastard Laurel was.
"I don't remember being friends with her kind," Mort said, frowning at his grandfather.
"Well, I remember different. Every time you're together, you two always ended up having many bruises. I guess you both protected each other from your enemies."
Don Zagreus's serious remark made Mort's eyebrows almost meet. He knows the truth lies behind those bruises. The fact that he and Laurel had countless bruises before was the mark of their aggressive, brute fight. It was a fierce duel.
"You tell him."
Mort orders the lady but Laurel just raised an eyebrow at him.
"Why don't we settle through twisting wrists?"
Appeared pugnacious, Laurel arrogantly challenged Mort. She started rolling up her two sleeves on her elbows and sit on the table. Mort eyed her cold and blank. But before the Don could intervene them, the door burst open, and Mischa barged inside with a tray and yelled.
"Water break!"
