Taken By The Mafia Lord

"Where are my guns, Peter?"  All joviality had left Marcel's tone. Right now, his eyes were dark and emotionless, his tone so cold it could freeze over a river.

However, Peter didn't read the signs or he was simply prepared to die.

"You should just kill me, bastard!" He said, yet eyed the chihuahua in Marcel's hands. Once he was dead, the bastard would have no use for the dog and would let it go. Even if he doesn't, he wouldn't be alive to watch Marcel end the poor creature.

However Marcel laughed, pointing at him," Oh, I see what you're doing. You're trying to provoke me into finishing you off ..." he glanced down at the Chihuahua," Little doggy, daddy wants to leave you. But unfortunately, you might have to say goodbye first, "

At once, Marcel pressed the muzzle of the gun against the dogs head,

"Where should I start? The head and give you a quick death? Or the limb? Give you a slow painful death - that one would be on your papa,"

"W-what are you doing?" Peter choked as Marcel's hand curled around the trigger.

However, Marvel didn't even glance at him, he continued his communion with the dog who seemed to have taken a liking to him, "You're a good doggy..." he stroked his furs, "But my guns are more important!"

"No, wait -!" Peter bellowed seconds away from Marcel pulling the trigger.

Marcel's brow raised.

"I'll tell you the truth," Peter quickly added, "But first, you have to promise me not to hurt him, he's the only family I have left,"

Marcel pulled down the gun, "I don't do promises,"

"Then what's the assurance you won't hurt him?!" Peter yelled, he was so tired of his games.

"That's the problem, you don't. So you can either choose to trust me blindly and tell me where my guns are or you can keep your mouth shut and I'll end the doggy painfully and slowly right in front of you. It's your choice," Marcel gave him the condition with a smiling face.

Psychopath.

"Fine," Peter agreed.

Marcel simply gave a sign and the lady from earlier came over and took the dog from him, vanishing from sight.

"Now, talk turkey," Marcel crossed his leg over the other, assuming his get down to business demeanor.

Peter licked his bloody lips, "I don't have your guns, Marcel," He confessed.

"Don't play me!" Marcel growled at him.

Who was he fooling with that? A whole armory was gone! Although the money loss from it was nothing to him, it had a negative effect in the long run.

If his guns become rampant in the streets, not only would his goods lose market value, but the crime rate would increase, and the authorities would come snooping in - which he wasn't ready to deal with at the moment.  In one word, he had to get his weapons before it gets sold or control them after its circulation-both option was hard work right now.

"I only gave him the location of the armory,"

Marcel shot up to his feet, "Yeah, you gave him the address to steal my weapons and who is this he?"

"Elijah," Peter disclosed, "He's a known mercenary, all I had to do was give him the location and I get my money -"

"But then we caught you," Marcel completed smugly. Then, he focused the gun on him, "Thanks for the info,"

Peters eyes widened, "No, you can't kill me,"

"But you were asking for it less than...." Marcel checked his watch, " Three minutes ago," Yeah, he was that observant and smart.

"I could still be useful to you. I gave them the location to your armory, I could still contact them or something and get you back your guns, Marcel," He pleaded.

"Oh, don't worry, Peter. Your way past  your usefulness,"

"No, you don't know....." Peter gulped, realization set in, "You knew I didn't have the guns," It dawned on him.

Marcel rubbed his jaw saying, "Yeah, I had a suspicion you didn't have my guns but I needed to confirm my theory and as well continue onto my next lead - thanks for your contribution,"

"You don't know Elijah as I do. He's a phantom ghost and unless he wants to be caught, you wouldn't be able to track him down,"

"There's nobody I, Marcel, cannot get. Moreover, if you betrayed me once, you could betray me a second time, " He pulled the trigger.

"No, please don't -"

Bang!

The bullet was successfully scored between his eyes. A clean shot.

Marcel tossed the gun towards one of his men who caught it swiftly, "You know what to do with the body,"

Peter's body would be hung in  Times Square for all his enemies to see and learn. Oh don't worry, he's joking. He would be buried in a place where no one would ever find him. See? He's that merciful for giving him a befitting burial. Other gangs would simply toss such betrayal in the ocean for the sharks to feed on.

"Sir, what should I do with this?" his assistant, Macy caught up with him outside, referring to the dog in her arm.

Marcel gave the dog a nonchalant look, "Take him to my place and feed him to Samson…. " he paused, as if contemplating his options when the dog whimpered, giving him a sad look as if he knew his fate was sealed.

Damn it, he hated that look.

Marcel sighed, "Just keep him in my bedroom and make sure Samson doesn't eat him. I'll think of what to do with him later,"

"Also, sir," his assistant stopped him, "You have an appointment,"

Marcel halted in his step, his brows deeply  furrowed in thought, "I don't remember having one until now,"

"It was an emergency,"

"An appointment with who?"

"Your fiancée,"

"Oh great," His mouth turned bitter. Talk about living in a nightmare.

"She has a party going on tonight and wants you in attendance,"

"Tell her I'm busy,"

"She said you should forget about the engagement if you don't make it," Macy told him.

Marcel ran his hand through his already messy hair, "Fine. I'll be there," He said and left, climbing into the car already waiting for him in the driveway.

"Where do we go, Sir?" his chauffeur asked.

"A place that sells strong coffee,"