The Mafia's Arrangement

Holden POV We come to you this evening with tragic news. Paris has just been hit with yet another gang related attack. Three bombs were detonated in a crowded concert hall, injuring over ten thousand people with over one hundred and fifty dead. Paramedics have arrived at the scene to tend the wounded, but there are still many that are unaccounted for. This attack has already been claimed by the Ivory Brotherhood, a new gang that has recently surfaced, trying to make a name for itself in the world. They claim to rival against even the fearful Grim Reaper Mafia in London and wealthier than the Golden Dragon Mob in Hong Kong. This attack has been the second one this year as they try to incite a gang war- My father, Eric, shuts the tv, in a disgruntled mood. That’s not surprising, given that we already know who’s behind all of this. There’s only one person it could be, or rather two. “This is some bullshit.” He mumbles out at me and my younger brother, Sebastian, or Bast when we’re not in some deep elbow s**t. “I already got men covering it.” I inform my father as I was quick to act the moment that it happened. “It’s been nearly two decades and that son of a b***h is still out there.” My father grabs a bottle of that Remy Martin Louis XIII Cognac and takes a fat swig. I am on my phone trying to assess the gravity of the situation in Paris from here. “Dad, chill out. Holden’s handling it.” Bast tries to calm him down, but that’s unlikely to help. 3..2..1.. Cue the phone. And then it does. The phone rings and my father goes to answer it. Bast takes a glance at me, but I don’t bother looking in his direction. We both already know who It is. “Yeah, Kenneth. I know. I know.” My father answers to his best friend. You would be surprised to know that his best friend is practically halfway across the world in Hong Kong right now, but he is. Kenneth and my father went to the same boarding school in London, where they both met their significant others, coincidentally enough. And since then, they have been quite close, especially since both women died in a car “accident” together. “What’s Uncle Kenneth saying now, dad?” Bast gestures at our father to give us some real conversational words because he’s just agreeing with everything Kenneth is saying. That’s not so surprising either. Kenneth also happens to be our godfather. “Just that he saw the news and wanted to make sure we were alright.” My father puts the phone down. “He’s flying over tomorrow.” “Again?” Bast responds in disbelief. “I mean, dad, I love Uncle Kenneth, but they have been coming here quite often. We can handle it.” “Yeah, well, this time, it’s a bit different.” My father gives out a big sigh before I confirm the last of what I need to know from the scene tonight in Paris. The newscaster is right. This is going to start a gang war, and right now, no one holds any cards. “How so?” I say after I place my phone face down against the armrest of the living room that we are in. “I don’t know exactly. Kenneth didn’t want to risk sharing with me over the phone, so whatever it is, it’s important.” “He’s always been careful.” I remind them both as we all remember what happens when we aren’t. “Well, we all have to be. They’re gaining a reputation and fast. And I would rather turn over in my grave than let those sons of bitches win.” With that, my father leaves the living room to just Bast and me. “Should have came out with us, Den.” Bast blasts a smile from his side of the couch. “Tell me you didn’t bring one of them home with you.” My frigid tone makes him laugh. “I’m not absolutely morbid, you know. I can keep it in my pants when we are going through a family emergency.” I huff out at that. “Aunt Gretchen?” Bast’s eyes grow wide quickly as his mouth forms an ‘o’ with shock that I would bring that up. “That’s not fair. She was fine as hell.” “I hardly think that the fact that she was, as you say it, ‘fine as hell,’ makes up for you picking up a girl at Aunt Gretchen’s funeral.” Rising from my seat, I grab at my phone again to see a number of emails in my inbox from the scene that unfolded tonight that I need to take a look at. “That was one time! And you hold it against me every time I go out.” “Just keep the number of women here to a minimum, I don’t want a repeat of last Friday.” Bast follows me to the office of our Gothic structured manor with the dark wooden accents among the walls. The office is relatively large with a big fireplace by the door that faces my large wooden desk. There’s a velvet dark green sofa with gold embellishments in front of a dark wooden coffee table. My walls have ghoulish paintings of varying sizes against a matte black wall that could give people nightmares. On the side, there is a small bar that holds some of the most expensive liquor in the world. That’s Bast’s favorite corner. “Look, I apologized for that already. Let it go!” Bast plops himself down to one of the red velvet chairs opposite my desk as I sit in my seat and open the emails on my PC. Answering them quickly and swiftly, I have my second in command print out everything I need so I can view the structure of the bombs myself. “I had to burn those bedsheets, Bast.” I reply back to my ignorant brother. Don’t get me wrong, I love the kid to death, but he lives for the women, and I would rather be here, working to make sure our family stays in power. I’m not looking for the same thing to happen to our mother to happen to any of us. “You’re being dramatic.” Bast playfully smiles at me as he turns his phone around and shows me a surveillance video at his nightclub. He runs the most exclusive warehouse nightclub in London with a couple of his buddies. They have been there for him since we were young, so I can’t say I was too surprised. At least, he’s making a decent chunk of the money after he invested a portion of his inheritance in it. “Put it away.” I say darkly as Henry brings me the photographs. “I would rather not see England’s ‘brightest’ waste their minds away.” “Oh, the Royals and Dukes would be so mad if they heard what you say about them behind closed doors.” He jokes about it as Henry gives a friendly huff of breath. “Bast, don’t you ever want to slow down and get real.” “I will when I find the right girl.” He gives us that wide smile that he used to use to get himself out of trouble when women found out he was sleeping around. Though you would think with his reputation, they should know better. “And when might that be?” I remark at him questionably. “This is London we’re talking about here.” Bast sits up right and then puts away his phone with one last text. “There’s never a right girl here.” Again, I roll my eyes at him.