Chapter 2 Show some mercy.

"Maria's point of view,"

"Maria, are you sure?"

"Yes, uncle, I have no other choice now."

"However, you have always detested the mafia and those who belong to it." Uncle Boris's eyes reflected a great deal of uncertainty.

"You are completely correct, but that was in my past, and now I am ready to take control of the Marco gang." My gaze remained fixed on the gun on the table in front of me as I responded.

"Maria, you know that once you step into this world, it will be impossible for you to escape it again." Uncle Boris' voice sounded very much like a warning.

"I have decided, and I have no interest in continuing this discussion any further. Instead of challenging my decision, I would appreciate your help in learning the duties of a mafia boss."

I grabbed the gun off the table and tucked it away in my slacks.

"Miss Blanco, as you wish." I could hear the disappointment in Uncle Boris's voice as I explained that, despite treating him like a father and seeking his counsel before making major life choices, I had decided not to take his advice this time.

"Now can we go there?" I asked, hiding my eyes behind dark sunglasses.

He nodded his head in agreement and motioned for the driver to start the car.

We arrived close to a building constructed in a barren area after a roughly 30-minute journey. I sat in the car and watched that building closely. They positioned twenty armed men in black suits at the building's four corners.

There were security cameras and armed guards keeping eyes on this building like an eagle.

I flung open the car door and strode briskly over to the building's front gate.

"Miss, you can not enter." At the gate, a man with a gun attempted to use his hands to stop me.

"Why?" I questioned while removing my sunglasses and giving the man a full once-over.

"We forbid women to enter this building." Coming out of the building, a man answered in a grave tone. Immediately, I stopped staring at the gunman in front of me and started concentrating on another person. His features-6 feet tall with a muscular build and dark brown eyes-and the serious expression on his face gave him a demonic appearance.

"Allow Miss Blanco to enter, Igor." Uncle Boris motioned the man in front of me to move out of my way before I spoke to the devil-looking man.

Only a few specific areas were barely illuminated, and the interior of the structure was extremely gloomy. There were armed guards posted everywhere, including inside the building.

"This way, Miss Blanco." I followed Uncle Boris's direction and entered a gloomy chamber.

Igor was following Uncle Boris and me like a shadow. A small doorway within the chamber led into an adjacent space. Again, armed soldiers were stationed at every turn.

Everyone in this room was staring at me with astonishment. People's eyes were wide with curiosity as they saw me enter the building, but once they saw Uncle Boris with me, nobody dared ask me questions, and as they saw Igor following close behind, their wonder turned to fear.

"Is he the same person?" Looking at the man seated in the chair in front of me, I questioned Uncle Boris.

"Yes." Uncle Boris shook his head as he stared at me.

I concentrated on the man who was chained to the chair in front of me. Blue bruises covered his face, and blood dripped from his mouth. He could only see with one eye because of severe swelling in one of his eyes. It covered his white clothing in blood stains.

"Did this man provide any details?" I inquired while once more glancing at Uncle Boris.

"No, despite our best efforts, this man has steadfastly refused to provide us with any information." Uncle Boris was asking me about my next move based on the way he was expressing himself.

"OK, I know how this guy is going to give me information, Igor. Can you bring me the pliers?" After listening to me, he nodded and withdrew the pliers from his jacket's side pocket, and handed them to me.

I wanted to know if he always has pliers on him. And if so, why? But for the time being, I must concentrate on my work rather than Igor.

I drew one hand from the chair-tied man's and set it down in front of me on the table.

"Whatever strategy you use, I will never open my mouth." With one of his half-opened eyes, the man sent a contemptuous glance my way.

"As you wish."

The man yelled out in anguish as soon as I used pliers to remove the nail from his right hand's tiniest finger. The entire room echoed with his scream. Before he had time to get used to the discomfort, I also removed the nail from his ring finger. His screams grew louder than before.

His screams were so loud that the gunman standing outside the room couldn't help but leave his position and enter the room.

I looked at his face and attempted to decipher his thoughts. I could tell that the initial contempt he felt upon seeing me had given way to a growing sense of terror. His fingers had gushed blood, covering the entire tabletop.

The other hand of the man was bound to his body, so I freed it and set it down on the table. Again, that man and everyone else in the room were terrified of what I would do next. I instantly used pliers to remove the nail from the tiniest finger on his other hand.

"Will you continue to keep your mouth closed?" I asked as I pressed his finger into the pliers.

"I have done nothing; just get me out of here." That man begged in front of me.

"It implies that you won't speak as easily." With a furious tone, I inquired.

"I beg you, let me go." That man's eyes were filled with tears. I disregarded his request and swiftly removed the man's right hand's middle finger and first finger's nails.

"Have mercy on me, please. I have no information." To protect his hand from my agony, he attempted to push his chair toward the wall.

"Mercy?

My dictionary does not contain the term "mercy," therefore you had better be telling the truth."

He was about to slide against the wall when I reached for the chair's handle and stopped him.

"How many times have I stated that I know nothing?" That man's eyes radiated with annoyance.

"Do you think I'm an idiot? If you don't want me to torture you by sprinkling salt on your skinless body every day, you'd better tell me straight. Where did you get a rare pistol like the "Wilson Combat"?" I asked, while firmly touching the wounds on his chest.

"This is my gun, as I've informed your men many times."

"All right," I grabbed the pliers off the table and, without disputing, removed the nails from his remaining fingers as well.

"Hold on; I'll tell you."

He yelled in a loud voice just as I was going to remove his thumb's nail.

"The Bonano gang's boss provided this pistol to me." Just as he finished, that man passed out from the pain.