Chapter 7

Don Sebastian was eating with his son when Giovanni burst into the room.

His son, Marco, was old enough to take over the business from him. He was proud of him. He had satisfied every requirement that involved being in charge of the business when he died or whenever he was ready to retire.

He was the strongest of his men, and he knew that in hand-to-hand battle or even a game of wills and combat, it was only Giovanni who could stand before Marco. That was how strong his son was.

He had gone to a university in London, returned, and was even more intelligent than he used to be. He spoke fluent English and knew when to be rude and also when to strike. He was probably going to be an even greater ruler than him, and he was probably wiser than him too.

He stared at his wife who ate slowly. His wife had never come to terms with the reality of her life. She had always wanted to be a designer, and that was something he didn't agree with. He wanted her to be the perfect housewife, to take care of the house and to see to the welfare of the house and their feeding.

But she had always disagreed with him. She wanted to be free, she wanted her own life. She had even attempted to buy it once after saving a whole lot of money. However, he wasn't ready to let her go. Even if she didn't love him anymore, he loved her dearly. He never saw any other housewife apart from her and that was why he had refused to let her go.

She was going to continue to be his until death did them part.

The last thing Don Sebastian knew was going to happen in his life at the moment was for him to die. He wasn't afraid of death, and he was invisible. Apart from the recent defeat to Don Carlo, no one had ever gotten the better of him in a territory battle. However, he knew that the war was just beginning.

When Giovanni entered, he dropped his fork, then dabbed at his lips, disappointed to leave the steak he was starting to enjoy. He believed in drinking water, vegetables, and half-done meat, and he kept in shape. He could destroy Don Carlo in a fistfight, and he wished for that day to come as soon as possible.

He sipped the water in his glass, then stood up, staring at his deputy who stared him down, unflustered, his hand behind him.

“What is it, Gio? A man cannot enjoy his meal in peace again?”

Giovanni didn't smile. That was one thing he was known for. While Don Sebastian also rarely smiled, he wondered if his deputy had ever smiled at all, or if he had ever seen the man smile.

“I have some news which I believe might interest you,boss.”

Leaving his meal, he dragged his deputy to his room which was just a few feet from the dining room. It wasn't the room he shared with his wife, it was the room he went to think, the room that was his and his alone.

There, he drank more of the water in his glass, then stared at his ever-confident deputy.

“I've just heard from my source that Don Carlo's men will be going to the combat event in town tonight, sir. I've checked all the positions, boss. We can ambush them near the river, and then kill every one of them.”

Don Sebastian was taken aback instantly by his deputy's words. He could see that his deputy had taken the fight personally, and he knew that it was probably because of the bottle of brandy he had thrown at him on the day that they had been defeated.

“Kill them?”

“Yes, boss. They killed ten of our men. We're returning the favor.”

Don Sebastian scratched his beard, pacing the room. He couldn't believe that for the first time in his life, he was afraid to launch an attack on a rival. But this wasn't just any rival. This was a rival that had handed him his first official loss at a territorial battle, and he knew that if he was going to approach him, he should do so with caution.

He stopped pacing and then patted his deputy on the shoulder.

“This your source, where did he get the news from?”

“Stefan, boss. His girlfriend works at the Don Carlo mansion. She has kept her eyes and her ears open. She heard the guards discussing it yesterday. It's all they've been able to talk about. And yes, before I forget..”

Don Sebastian stopped his pacing, staring at his deputy for an instant.

“According to her, Don Carlo's son wished to go with them, but he has sworn to punish any of them that lets him follow them. He has strongly disagreed.”

Don Sebastian slammed his fist into the wall nearby, ignoring the pain he felt initially.

“The bastard. He's too smart, way too good. He knows. I'll get him regardless. Meet me in an hour, Gio. And I'll tell you if we should advance. You are dismissed.”

Entering the dining room, he called his son, Marco. Taking his son into the room, he shut the door firmly, then began his pacing once again.

“We might have our revenge sooner than planned, Marco. Don Carlo's men are attending the combat event in town tonight. I got the news from a good source, Giovanni.”

He watched his son smile broadly, running a hand through his hair. He had recently become interested in the family business, and Don Sebastian had to admit that it was pleasant to see.

“We have them just where we want them, Dad. What are we going to do to them?”

“We kill all of them, my son. We kill every one of them, Marco. Each and everyone, to the last man. Don Carlo will get what he has always wanted.”

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Sampson Du Vanguard stared at the clock in his bedroom, his heart slamming in his chest. He had made up his mind, and there was no going back now. He was going to do it, no matter the circumstances, no matter what he entailed.

He knew his father was busy with the accountant in his study, calculating the monthly proceeds of the drug peddling business he engaged in. His father didn't trust anyone when it came to money, and that included the accountant he had hired.

He didn't blame him.

After living in abject poverty for years, his father had fought and struggled through the streets to get to where he was eventually. That was why he acted like he did sometimes, controlling the decisions of his children and deciding for them. He didn't want to lose what he had struggled to build, he was afraid of his family leaving his control and what he saw as the safety that his men and the Mafia provided.

However, Sampson knew that one thing was inevitable. He was going to go to the combat event, even if his father decided to punish him later on.

He had everything planned perfectly. Putting on his hoodie and the black boots, sweat pants, and black singlet, he found his way out of his father's house. He headed for the truck, his mind on how he was going to get to the combat event without being seen by his father's men.

They were going to start moving by nine o'clock on the dot. Without batting an eyelid, he jumped into the open part of the truck and then opened the drum that contained bottles of alcohol. He jumped into it, closing it.

And that was where Sampson Du Vanguard hid until the men began to pour into the truck. They were loud and chatty, and it was obvious that they had just finished smoking and drinking. Shaking his head, Sampson knew that he wasn't going to risk smoking or drinking. He had a lot to accomplish, a lot to do and he needed to have clear eyes.

The men poured into the truck, and Sampson shivered at the thought of one of them opening the drum and discovering him in there. It was going to be a disgrace, an embarrassment to his father. He didn't want that. That was the last thing he wanted for his father.

At that same moment, the truck began to move, leaving his father's compound. He smiled, overjoyed because he was finally going to get the chance to prove himself, not only to his father's men but to his father as well. Because he was sure that when his father saw at least an award in his possession, he was going to be extremely proud.

They had been driving for close to an hour when the car struck something, and all of a sudden, it stopped. Sampson frowned, knowing instantly that something was amiss. He heard the driver's door open, then heard him inspecting the car.

“What's the problem, Darius?”

It was Cole's voice, and Sampson smiled in ecstasy. He was soon going to show his friend how tough he was by the time he fought several contestants at the event.

“Oi, it's a flat. God, where did that come from? Luckily enough, we've got a spare. Think a nail hit the tire. Cole, get me the spare. It's underneath one of the seats.”

But Cole never got to give him the tire because a couple of shots ricocheted off the bus, and from the cry he heard, Sampson knew that the driver had been shot.

His hand was trembling as the truck descended into chaos.

Gunshots upon gunshots and more thuds and sounds of pain. From the sounds he heard, Sampson could tell that his father's men were being defeated.

When he heard Cole's scream, he closed his eyes in terror, only imagining what had just happened to his friend.

Then all of a sudden, there was silence.

It was a silence that even he was afraid of. Because it only meant one thing.

It was either he was about to be discovered, or he was about to be stranded and alone amongst a couple of dead bodies in the forest.

Either way, Sampson Du Vanguard knew he was in trouble.

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Giovanni Rossi ordered his men silently to move forward. Adhering to his instructions, they went forward, following his lead. Turning on his flashlight, he asked all of them to do the same.

Kicking the bodies, he fired at anyone that still had life in them. He hated them all. These were the same men that had reduced people he had begun to refer to as his brothers.

There was no escape for them.

He was going to kill every one of them.

When he entered the truck, he ducked in time as a bullet whizzed past, hitting another of his men who fell with a thud. Screaming in hate, he advanced, firing until the man behind the chair dropped. He had shot him through the bus seat.

“Kill every one of them, boys! No one escapes, clear?”

They answered, and more shots were fired. Seeing a drum that was probably filled with beer, Giovanni Rossi went towards it, then opened it in a bid to use one cold beer to celebrate their success.

But there was no beer inside the drum.

Pointing his flashlight at the shape that was a human being and light-skinned, Giovanni smiled when he discovered that it was probably one of Don Carlo's men.

Lifting his rifle to pump bullets into the man's body and end his miserable life, he stopped as soon as he heard the voice.

“Please! Please! I'm Don Carlo's son. My father would do anything to make sure you don't kill me, please.”

His eyebrows raised in surprise, and Giovanni stared at his men who were also surprised. That was when it hit him. He suddenly remembered what his source had told him, that Don Carlo's son had wanted to come, but had been told by his father not to.

Smiling, Giovanni Rossi slung the rifle over his shoulder.

“Well, well, well, well. What do we have here? Beautiful, ain't it, boys?”

But Giovanni Rossi wasn't listening to their replies. He was staring at the eighteen-year-old and smiling, knowing he had just gotten his boss the perfect gift.