All eyes were drawn to him, like magnets to iron. His presence like a catalyst, sparking a mix of emotions: fear, respect, curiosity. Some people nodded in deference, while others avoided eye contact. The screech of chairs on the marble floor echoed through the room as every single person stood up in respect to the Don's arrival at the table, everyone except his baby sister, who majestically sat with a glass of wine in hand and a soft smile dancing on her lips.
"I'm sorry my Don."
Riccardo quickly apologized, fear stricken, to his muddle, he was only met with the insistent death glare of the Don of the Miller Mafia. Under the large mahogany, Marcello irately stepped on the foot of his dumb 27 year-old, son, nodding towards the Don's sister. It took a few seconds before Riccardo understood, and with big green eyes and immediate effect, he turned toward the young beautiful woman sitting on the seat closest to the head, on his right. She's his right-hand man?
"My sincerest apologies for my thoughtless actions". She nodded in acknowledgement.
Jordan Miller meandered towards the head of the table, his confident stride commands attention, and his piercing gaze sweeps the room, as if seizing up a potential threat. As he moves through the room, the tension builds, like a slow burning fire. People are drawn to him, yet keep their distance, aware of the volatile energy he embodies. The moment he sat, the sigh of relief from everyone wasn't veiled as they all took their respective seats and wasted no time in digging into the mouthwatering medley of gastronomic pleasures that was neatly patterned before them.
"You'll be moved to Brentwood, a place has been prepared for you to stay however, no more than 30 days."
Jordan broke the silence, staring straight at Marcello who nodded in acknowledgement,
"Fine. Fine that's… that's fine."
The young don was about to dive into the main reason as to why they were in his abode in the first place before his 2nd in command, brought an iPhone to his view, whispering something in his ear. Well, whatever Pierce had shown and told him, successfully soured his already foul mood. His anger was coming in waves, and could be felt.
With such lethal calmness, he looked towards the bald Italian man, sat not too far from his left hand side, every impulse was telling him to shoot him right there and then, for thinking he could ever bypass him, or lie to him.
"Marcello, remind me once more, how did Francesco Luiz die. A drive by shooting was it?"
Fear's icy grip clenched Marcello's heart. He knows, the Don knows he had lied. Too stunned to speak, the Don sought to give him a little incentive to help find his tongue, in a blink of an eye, one of the Bianchi's men laid lifeless in his own pool of blood on the floor. Marcello's breath quickened, he was furious at the blatant disrespect but, his fear overwhelmed any anger he felt.
"Waste one more second of my time, and your son will swiftly follow" Jordan calmly stated as he lowered his gun back down.
What had he gotten himself into? Marcello almost cried, then and there. "I am deeply sorry, so sorry I had lied. It wasn't a drive by shooting Don. He was... he was assassinated." Marcello stuttered out.
Jordan's mother, Grace Miller, gasped, she used to be an assassin herself, so her ears always perked up when it came to the topic. Jordan did a coke sniff, in a futile attempt to water down his rage.
"So why the fuck are you here?, you couldn't track down an assassin by yourself? You put my business on hold, because of an assassination!?"
Voice still calm and collected, he picked back up his gun that was placed on the table. Although he didn't raise his voice, everyone still felt it like the prick of a needle on tender skin. Marcello visibly shivered.
"D… Don, the assassin, it wasn't just some random, it was… it was The Hollow"
Everybody sat up straight upon hearing that last part. The room was plunged into an unsettling stillness. Gulps and gasps soon follow as Jordan, abruptly stood up. His seat screeched loudly against the polished marble floor. With long strides he stood in front of the floor to ceiling windows, the flowing silk curtains that framed the room's west-facing wall, bathing the space in LA's warm, golden light. Back turned toward everyone, left hand tucked inside the pocket of his silk grey pants, right hand brought up to make several coke sniff gestures, revealing the superb tattoos poking out from the sleeve of his snow white shirt. His right hand was adorned in gold rings, and a tiny gold chain attached to a pendent "A" rested elegantly around his tattooed neck, while gold studs pierced his ears.
Jordan was beyond furious now, but yet he wondered. Who would have hired the Hollow? Was it one of his enemies trying to make him crumble piece by piece, or one of Marcello's, perhaps the beef was only between Francesco Luiz and whoever hired the Hollow, he hated this. The feeling of cluelessness. He didn't even know where to begin looking, who to attack, who to trust.
"Dammit!" He growled.
He had hired the hollow in the past too a few times, he was good, or maybe he is a she, nobody even knew the psycho's gender, he thought, not to talk of putting a face to the name. He didn't need this right now, the LAPD and FBI are hot on his trail, yet, he had no choice. His networks in Italy have been one of his most productive stretches in the world, he was glad he took up that deal Marcello offered him a year ago.
The De Rossi were the rulers, because they were the producers of almost all the foods, if they had succeeded in launching "the P" then they would have been absolutely untouchable. He had no beef with them, hell, they were even part of his suppliers then. To him it was just business, as it is every day in their world, a constant strife for more power. He saw an opportunity to become the top dog, and he took it, with the right link, and proper plan, he got to become the sole producer, and distributer of the most in-demand food right now the Eclaircissant, nicknamed the "P".
Marcello had wanted to kill the whole family, talked about some long-term grudge and what not, so he came to him, the Don of the only other mafia that could battle the De Rosssis', Marcello wanted to be free, and he, he just wanted to get the fucking key of the warehouse from Alessandro De Rossi. He had to give it to the man, he was relentless, and agile for such age, but he was no match for him. He had anger issues, he's well aware of that, especially when he doesn't get what he wants. So, in his fit of rage he dented Alessandro's head with his fist, stabbed him repeatedly before blowing his brains out with his glock.
The thought that one of them could have escaped that night, and is now back for revenge crossed his mind, but was dismissed just as quickly as it came. Francesco Luiz and Marcello Bianchi utterly insured such grave mistake wasn't made; they all knew the penalties of such incompetence.
He knows what to do, he decided as he turned to face everyone again, conversations died down, at that moment. All eyes on the Don, eagerly anticipating his decision. Most of them already concluded in their mind that he was going to kill the Bianchis' right then and there, even The Bianchis' thought so too, with fast beating hearts, and watery pleading eyes, they looked up to the decider of their fate, praying fervently for mercy.
Jordan took a step forward, "You will remain here in LA, in Brentwood as planned. Send somebody you trust back to Italy to kickstart things again, he would be checked on at intervals."
He spoke with intense authority. Marcello couldn't believe it, he wasn't dead yet! Before he could start expressing his heartfelt gratitude, he was cut off by Jordan's ever calm voice.
"This is not the best time to go to war as you all know, but war has come knocking on our door! They have spilled the blood of one of our own, and we must answer in kind!"
Nods and roars of agreement sounded in unison in the room as he continued, "Now we don't know where exactly this attack came from, and we don't care. We're firing in every fucking direction!"
The roars of affirmation, louder than before, they all began to applaud, the thirst and hunger for bloodshed evident in their eyes.
"And for the Hollow…"
A quick coke sniff gesture.
"whoever they are, I have a spectacular plan for them"
Everyone bellowed with pride, they were all enormously proud to be led by such character. They feared him yes, but that pales in comparison to their love and loyalty. Their devotion to Jordan Miller's immovable. One might even say, these lot may go as far as to follow him to the ends of the Earth.
**********
In the dark, did Lorenzo creeped, silently as a crawling snake. With a pounding heart, and a sweaty palm, he brought the burner phone to his ear.
"Donna, a decision has been made, they're planning on going to war. A brutal one, and the assassin that killed capo Francesco, their name is The Hollow, they're very very deadly ma'am please be careful"
His voice, barely above a whisper.
"Is that all, Lorenzo?" she asked, her voice so calm it could put a wild boar to sleep.
"One more thing Donna, Don Jordan, he said something about have a spectacular plan for the hollow, so I guess there's some good news after all"
He smiled, relieved that the hollow wouldn't be a problem or hindrance for his boss.
Luisa smiled, as stepped out of the warehouse, and walked slowly to her red Maserati MC20 , cigar in hand as she blew a fog of smoke into the crisp evening air of LA.
"Thank you Lorenzo"
The call disconnects.