The Omerta

(AT SATOSHI'S RESIDENCE)

Having sold off Romeo to Ivan, Satoshi gets back to his residence. Part one of his plan is done. The trojan horse is planted.

Satoshi gets into his office, pours himself a full glass of tequila, and lights up a Cuban cigar before settling down at his desk.

He lets his weight sink into his recently imported Italian leather seats as the weight of his actions settles on his shoulders. He just made one insane gamble. He knows Ivan is going to try coaxing the secrets of his operations out of Romeo before disposing of him. On the other hand, he believes Romeo will uphold the mafia code of silence—the Omertà. They had all sworn the Omertà to become made men.

The Omertà is an oath signed in blood that bound them for life. All members of the inner circle of a mafia group would take part in the ritual anytime a new member joined. It involved all members making a cut in their hands and letting the blood drip into a special clay pot that they kept for that purpose. This oath had lasted generations, binding all brothers in arms by blood. It was a lifetime oath, a one-way flight. Once in, the only way out was death. No matter what.

Death Before Dishonor. They swore never to reveal secrets of their operations to enemies, no matter what. Enemies, in this case, referred to anyone outside their organization.

Yet, even with his belief in Romeo's loyalty, there was a nagging thought at the back of his mind. Could Romeo truly withstand whatever hell Ivan had planned for him? Torture broke even the strongest men. And if Romeo talked, everything could crumble. But if he didn't… If he held out long enough…

Then this mission would be his redemption.

Satoshi swirled the tequila in his glass. If Romeo survived this, he wouldn't just earn back his place. He'd earn Ema's hand in marriage.

And more importantly—Satoshi's trust.

He chugged the entire glass of tequila in one gulp and poured himself another. Then he turned his attention to the paperwork on his desk.

The quarterly reports from Nakamoto Holdings—his companies that engaged in legitimate business. These were the companies he used as a front to launder the money he made through his illegal ventures. He used these companies, along with bribes to government officials, to make the law turn a blind eye to his family's operations, which spanned the entirety of Saratoga. He had plans to expand beyond Saratoga—this was why he needed insider information about Ivan's operations, his main rival.

He had just opened the first file in the pile when his attention was distracted by a knock on his door.

"Come in," he called out.

A burly man stepped in with a scared-looking man in his early thirties held by the collar of his shirt. He threw the smaller man into the middle of the room. The man fell to his knees. It was clear from the bruises on his face and his broken nose that he had already received quite a beating.

"We caught him spying on the residence entrance," said the burly man. "He was recording videos of cars coming in and out of the compound on his phone from the bushes across the road."

Satoshi gets up, walks up to the man in the middle of the floor, and stands over him with a dominating stance. He grabs him by his shirt and lifts him until they are face to face—so close their noses are barely touching. The spy can taste the smell of cigar and tequila Satoshi had been on.

The alcohol effect was already kicking in. This usually made Satoshi a dangerous man.

He then tells him slowly, articulating each word clearly.

"First, you will unlock that phone. Second, you will tell me who sent you. Third, I will promote you to glory. Am I clear?"

A yellow liquid drips down the man's pants as he whimpers, "Ee… eeh ques que vous—"

Satoshi narrows his eyes. French?

"English, motherfucker! English!" he bellows as he drops the man to the floor and kicks him hard in the ribs.

"English, motherfucker!" he repeats, kicking him even harder.

"Two three three four! Two three three four!" the man screams in pain as Satoshi's expensive Italian leather boot digs into his ribs once again.

The burly man enters the code into the bloodstained iPhone 15. The phone screen lights up, revealing an iMessage chat just as a message pops up from a contact saved as Boss.

[Grab her at 8 PM.]

The burly man hands Satoshi the phone. Satoshi scrolls up, revealing HD photos of his daughter taken moments earlier as her BMW GLE exited Satoshi's residence.

His grip on the phone tightened.

They were watching her.

Infuriated further, he hands the phone back to the burly man, takes a pistol out from its holster on his hip, and pistol-whips the spy right across the face with all his might.

"Thwark!" Four teeth fall to the floor as blood splatters across the adjacent wall.

The man coughs, gagging on blood and missing teeth. He clutches his mouth, trembling violently.

Satoshi crouches next to him, his voice eerily calm.

"Who is your boss?"

The spy groans but doesn't answer.

Satoshi lets out a slow breath, then jams the barrel of his Glock beneath the man's chin.

"Tell me… or I'll make sure your next breath is your last."

The man's body shakes as he gasps out, "I-Ivan the Terrible…"

Satoshi wipes sweat off his forehead with his free hand before turning to the whimpering man.

He makes sure to look him straight in the eyes as he utters the following words:

"I sentence you to death."

Milliseconds later, a gunshot rings out in a loud bang.

The 9mm silver bullet exits the Glock directly into the man's right side of the head and exits through the left. Blood and brain matter spray all over the adjacent wall.

The bullet hits the concrete wall and falls to the tiles on the floor as it loses momentum. The man's limp body falls to the floor like a sack of potatoes.

Satoshi blows a column of air into the gun's muzzle, puts the safety back on, then places it back in the holster. He takes long strides back to his seat. He sits for a long moment, drumming his fingers against each other like Mr. Burns from The Simpsons when cooking up an evil plot.

"The war is upon us. Ready the men. We set an ambush for tonight at 8 PM. Tonight, we paint the streets red." He says with finality.

Mugor hesitates for a second—just a second—before nodding. "Yes, Boss."

He turns and strides out.

The moment the door closes, Satoshi leans back in his chair, exhaling slowly.

War was inevitable. But something about tonight… about the way Ivan was moving…

It felt personal.

And if Ivan wanted to make it personal, then so be it.

Tonight, there would be no survivors.