Mafia Lord's Possession: Little Toy

The cold wind slapped the men's faces as they stood, heads bowed in defeat-like the ground beneath them had become too heavy to bear.

At the top of the mountain, Dante Romano stood still. His hands were buried in the pockets of his leather pants, his brows furrowed, tense breaths leaving his chest like smoke fading into the early morning fog.

Before his eyes, the valleys stretched endlessly. His distant stare was nothing but a mask-a disguise for the storm of rage burning inside him.

He had given them a command. Clear. Unmistakable.

And now... they were late.

Late-as if they didn't know what "late" meant in his world.

"Idiots..."

His jaw clenched with irritation.

He remembered his demand-sharp and absolute: Ten girls. Today. No delays.

He licked his lips, forcing down the urge to crush the first skull in sight.

And Paul? That sly bastard... If he dared show up without the full count, he'd better be ready to pay in blood.

His voice exploded into the silence like thunder, laced with fury:

"Jaaaack!"

The name echoed like a warning shot. One of the men jolted to his feet.

"Call Paul. Now. Tell him his time's running out. If he doesn't bring all ten girls by midnight-he'll pay. Ten. Not one less."

Then, just as suddenly, his tone dropped-cold and distant. As if even rage was becoming too familiar.

Jack didn't hesitate. He turned and ran, like fire chased him down the hill.

The fear of Dante wasn't just in his bones-it lived in his blood, whispered in his ear:

Don't be late. Don't fail. Or disappear into one of those dark valleys behind you.

On the other side of the city, Paul Smith sat in his sleek black car, lost in a thick curtain of cigar smoke-as if trying to vanish behind it.

His eyes were locked on nothing. Cold. Still.

He didn't need to see Jack's name on the screen. He already knew why the call was coming.

It was expected. Obvious. Cold, like a dead winter night.

He picked up the phone, bored and bitter. His voice was dragged out of him:

"Yeah?"

Jack let out a sigh of relief just hearing his voice, then quickly delivered Dante's threat-like dropping a heavy weight off his shoulders.

But Paul cut him off, flat and unimpressed:

"Tell your master... I've got nine girls. One's still out there. I'll find her. No one disturbs me until midnight. Got it? Goodbye."

He ended the call. Just like that. No waiting. No apology.

He slammed the door shut on any fear Jack might have hoped to push back his way.

Jack stood frozen. Like he'd swallowed ice.

How the hell was he supposed to repeat that to Dante?

How do you tell a man who doesn't flinch at blood, who doesn't blink at screams, that someone dared test his patience?

He returned to him slowly, as if the ground pulled his feet back.

He stopped a few steps away. Cleared his throat, softly. Waiting.

Dante didn't turn. He said coldly:

"Speak."

Jack hesitated. Stumbled over his own words. Then forced them out:

"S-sir... Paul says he has nine girls... He's still looking for the tenth... He... he asked not to be disturbed until midnight..."

For a breathless second, silence fell like fog.

Then, Dante laughed.

A loud, sharp, eerie laugh.

The kind that doesn't warm a room-just makes it colder.

And then, softly, almost to himself:

"That bastard... he knows exactly how to get under my skin.

Fine, Paul... We'll wait until midnight.

But if she's not with them by then...

Know this-tonight will be the last thing you ever see."

He waved Jack away without looking, turned toward his armored mountain SUV. His steps were calm... but the fire inside him could've burned down the sky.

The convoy moved like a shadow through the hills.

A lead car. His own. Then two black vehicles behind-silent guards in the night.

At the gate, his men opened the heavy wooden door. Dante stepped inside like a king returning to his den.

His body tight. His face-still. Still enough to make anyone uneasy.

He looked at his luxury watch. 11:45.

A breath. Long. Slow.

He walked to the library.

Pressed a hidden button.

The bookshelf slid open, revealing a steel door behind it.

A fingerprint scanner blinked. He pressed his finger. The door clicked open, revealing a secret elevator.

He stepped in. Pressed "4". Waited.

When the doors opened, guards were waiting-faces like stone.

"Send Nancy," he ordered.

He entered his room, took off his jacket. The wardrobe opened automatically.

He picked a black suit, midnight-dark, paired with a shirt of the same color. Left the top buttons open.

Sprayed his signature cologne-a scent no one forgets.

Ran his fingers through his hair. Styled. Precise.

A soft knock at the door. He didn't look.

"Come in, Nancy."

She entered like a blade drawn from its sheath.

Head lowered. Back straight. No fear. No hesitation.

He led her into his office. Stood in front of her.

One hand in his pocket. The other on the desk. His eyes never blinked.

His voice was made of ice and order:

"Midnight. Paul will arrive. Ten girls.

Take them to the prep floor.

You have one hour. No delay.

You and your girls know the rules.

Understood?"

Nancy nodded once. Sharp. Perfect.

"Understood, sir. We'll have them ready immediately."

He dismissed her with a tilt of his head. She left like smoke in the wind-already planning every step.

******

Night had swallowed the roads by the time Paul sat back in his car, staring into the void.

His teeth clenched under pressure. The cigarette burned low, crackling with silent rage.

One of his men walked up. Knocked gently on the window.

"Sir... the girls are sedated. Inside the truck. Waiting for your signal."

Paul didn't look at him.

"Move them. We're heading to the compound. Dante wants to inspect them before the sale."

He started the engine. Quiet. Calm. Dangerous.

Behind him, the truck followed.

Inside it-nine broken souls. Barely breathing.

An hour later, they arrived.

Dante's men. Paul's men. All lined up to unload the shipment.

One by one, the girls were pulled out-drugged, silent, their bodies limp like human statues.

Nancy stood waiting. Eyes sharp. Face like steel.

She scanned each girl quickly, calculating everything.

Time was slipping.

The sale was near.

Failure wasn't an option.