The Mafia Boss Secret Desire

Chapter 9

Maron

“Maron, I really need your help this time.” Maurice says, nearly whispering.

"So, that’s it, huh? After all these years, you come in here, just to ask for money again."

He nods. “Without that money, I’m totally fucked.”

It takes a great deal of willpower to not get pissed off at him. I heave a sigh and force my mind to focus on the facts while fixing my eyes on Maurice. “That’s too f*****g bad, bro. You should have thought of that before losing your remaining money in Marble Monkey.” I’m keeping my tone even, but I’m really starting to feel zero empathy for my idiotic half-brother. Who the f**k does that? And who the f**k puts his girlfriend through s**t like that?

While I might seem like I’m keeping my cool, I’m boiling underneath the surface. I really had enough of Maurice’s bullshit. For the last few years, it seemed like he was getting his life together. I almost thought he could pull it off. Yet, here he is, crawling back to my office just to try and use me as his personal bank, pissing me off all over again. I know one thing for sure. If I give him cash, it means I’m never seeing that money again.

But then again, he is my brother. Well, half-brother. Maurice and I are from the same father, but from different mothers. And despite the fact that he’s from a different mother, my own mother loved him, and treated him like her own. She even used to call him ‘son’ when she was still healthy. As much as I want to punch the i***t in the face and throw him out of my office, I can’t deny that he’s a part of my family. And that means I can’t just let him down.

Blyad!

I take a swig of vodka and lean back, keeping my eyes locked on Maurice. It's obvious that he’s desperate. He's not even trying to hide it. I could just kick him out and let him be homeless, but for some reason, I can't bring myself to do it.

Then a lightbulb goes off.

What if I could get Maurice to take over the organ business? It's a risky move, yes, but it could be the answer to a lot of my problems. Nearly all of them. And also, to his problems.

The thing about organ trade is that it's unpredictable. One minute you're on top of the world, the next you're dodging bullets and watching your back every second of the day. It's a constant f*****g headache, and honestly, I'm getting tired of the stress that comes with it.

But Global Media? Now that's a different story. It's the perfect cover for my less-than-legal activities, like the Tramoxine project. It's a legitimate business, a way to keep the money flowing without drawing too much attention from the wrong people.

If Maurice took over the organ side of things, it would free me up to focus on Global Media and Tramoxine. He could deal with the s**t surrounding Jennifer Shirkova's kidney and the mess with her father. And I could pour all my energy into making Tramoxine the success it’s meant to be. No more distractions, no more worrying about the next kidney going missing or some rival family trying to f**k me over. Just pure focus on the project.

So yes. This could be the all-in-one solution.

"You're one lucky asshole, Maurice," I drawl, fixing him with a pointed stare. "I won’t give you cash."

He looks up. "How does that make me lucky?"

"I've got a better offer for you."

Maurice furrows his brow. "Better? What’s the offer?"

I spread my hands, a smirk playing on my lips. "Only the opportunity of your miserable life, brother. The way out of the steaming pile of s**t you've buried yourself in. The light at the end of your f*****g tunnel."

Maurice leans forward, his interest piqued. I let the silence stretch for a moment, savoring the power shift. "I'm willing to hand over my organ trade business to you. The entire operation, as it is. It's yours to run."

He scrunches his nose, confusion etched on his haggard face. "The organ trade business? I don't know s**t about moving body parts, Maron."

I wave a dismissive hand. "You have that f*****g ball sitting on your neck, right? It’s called your head. And you will use that to learn, bratok. Got it? You will learn, just like me and everybody else in the world."

He puts up his hands. "Okay, okay, Maron, don't get yourself worked up. Go on."

I let out an exasperated sigh. Classic Maurice - always trying to control the situation, even when he's as deep in his own s**t as he is now.

"The point is, this is your chance to finally get your s**t together. I'll give you training, hold your hand through the first few deals. Micromanage your ass until you get the hang of it."

Maurice's face suddenly darkens, his fists clenching at his sides. "I didn't trek my ass here for a f*****g job, Maron," he spits, his voice rising with each word. "I came here asking for temporary help. Because last time I checked, we were family. Or something like that. Does that mean nothing to you?"

"Your definition of family is quite fascinating, Maurice," I remark, trying to hide the frustration in my voice. "Whenever you find yourself in need of money, you suddenly remember you have a brother. Then you reach out to me, take what you need, and vanish into thin air without repaying a single f*****g penny."

Maurice's face flushes with a mix of shame and indignation. "It's different this time, Maron," he insists.

I lean forward, my eyes boring into his. "How the f**k is it different?" I spit out. "And what assurance do I have that I’m going to get my money back this time? Your word?" The last two words come out as a mocking sneer.

"Yes, my word, Maron," Maurice says, meeting my gaze with what he probably thinks is determination. "I will pay you back this time. I swear it."

I let out a harsh laugh. "I've heard that song before, brother, and I'm not buying it." I stand up, towering over him, my voice dropping to a dangerous growl. "I won't give you money. End of story." I give him a look that's designed to freeze blood, my words as sharp as steel. "Take the job or f**k off. Your choice."

The tension in the room is palpable as we stare each other down, years of resentment and broken promises hanging between us like a toxic cloud.

“Alright, alright.” He finally backs off. “Tell me the rest of the offer.”

I continue to eye him for a few moments before I start talking again. "You will handle operations after you receive the necessary training. And you will get thirty percent of the profits."

"Only thirty?" he scoffs. "Why not at least fifty?"

"Because I’m still the business owner and the one taking the risk," I snap. "Face it, bratok. You’re not in a position to negotiate. You lost all your money gambling and your girlfriend of two and a half years. I don’t even understand why she would put up with you for that long. Right now, you’re a f*****g loser and here I am, giving you a chance to turn your miserable life around. Show me that I can count on you and maybe, just maybe, we can re-negotiate the deal."

Maurice stands up, pushing his chair back so forcefully that it topples over. His face is red with anger, years of pent-up resentment finally boiling over.

"You know what, Maron? I'm sick of this! All our lives, you were the big boy who saved little Maurice from trouble. Well, newsflash: I'm the older one! I'm not some snotty five-year-old anymore who needs his baby brother to swoop in and save the day!" He's practically shouting now, spittle flying from his mouth. "All my life, I had to feel inferior like I was some shitty loser because I could never compare to my so-called big brother. You took everything from me, and now when I'm in trouble, you hand down some pity help to poor little loser Maurice?"

I stare at him like a dumbass, caught off guard by his sudden outburst. Is he f*****g serious? What planet does he live on? I've never seen him like this.

His voice drips with sarcasm as he continues, "Do you think you can make me work like a donkey for thirty percent while you sit on a beach sipping margaritas and snorting coke off the ass of hookers while I give you the remaining seventy percent? f**k you, man! You can shove your f*****g job offer up your ass!"

I can't believe what I'm hearing.

"Are you f*****g kidding me?" I manage to sputter. "You're really going to walk away from the opportunity of a lifetime? Who the f**k does that?"

He nods, his jaw set stubbornly. "Opportunity of a lifetime, huh? f**k you and your opportunity! I’ve had enough of you treating me like a loser."

Seriously?

I can feel my patience wearing thin. I take a deep breath, trying to find a way to diffuse this situation. I really don’t want to let him down, but he’s not exactly helping. I almost consider throwing him out, but then, an idea strikes me.

"You want to try Tramoxine?" I ask, forcing softness into my tone. "It could help calm your nerves down, bratok. It's not just a painkiller, you know. It could help with... all this." I gesture vaguely at him, hoping he'll understand I'm trying to help.

Maurice's eyes widen in disbelief, then narrow in disgust. "Are you serious right now? You want to drug me for telling you the truth? That's your solution?" He lets out a bitter laugh. "I don't need your pity, your handouts, or your f*****g pills, Maron. You don't need to save me from myself."

He walks to the door, his footsteps thudding. From the door, he turns back and says," I won't be your errand boy. I'll handle this on my own." With that, he storms out of the office, slamming the door behind him so hard the windows rattle. I'm left standing there, wondering what the hell just happened and how did a job offer that could have turned his life around, turned into World War III.

Jesus Christ, what a f*****g moron.

I lean back in my chair and let out a sigh, shaking my head with my eyes closed. I take another deep breath and exhale loudly. My conscience is clear - I did everything I could for Maurice. I went above and beyond what anyone else would have done for him. I offered him a fully functioning business with a paycheck most people can only dream of, and he couldn't even see the potential it held for his screwed-up life.

But that's fine with me. I did what I could. I can't allow myself to be bothered with my hopeless brother's s**t anymore.

I pour myself a final shot of vodka and allow Mindy's images to flood my mind again. Ever since I saw her photos and that video, she has consumed my thoughts. And now, after my conversation with Maurice, any lingering sense of guilt is completely gone.

I crave another glimpse of her gorgeous body, so I open up my laptop. But instead, another email catches my eye.

‘Farewell’, the subject line says. Frowning, I click it open.

“Dear Maron,

I hope you're doing well.

I have something difficult to say, and I hope you can understand. I can't marry you. I've found someone else. I have chosen to follow my heart and build a life with him. I know this may come as a shock to you, and if it does, I am truly sorry.

Please don't try to find me. On all three occasions we met, I saw you're a good person, and I truly hope you will find someone who makes you happy.

Take care,

Elena”

I read the email twice, then a third time. A mix of emotions washes over me - surprise, anger, and oddly, a sense of relief. I should be furious. This isn't just a personal slight; it's a potential disaster for the Bratva alliance I've been cultivating. But instead of anger- or at the very least, concern-, I feel a weight being lifted off my shoulders. No more pretending, no more forcing myself to feel something that isn't there.

Still, the implications are massive. The Kubikov family won't take this lightly. There will be consequences, possibly violent ones. And yet, as I pour another shot of vodka, I can't help but smirk. In the midst of all the chaos - the lost shipment, Maurice's bullshit, and now this - life has thrown me an unexpected curveball in the form of nudes gone astray. And for the first time in a long while, I feel a spark of excitement.

My mind drifts back to Mindy Williams. With Elena Kubikova out of the picture, the possibilities suddenly seem endless. I down the vodka, my brain already spinning with new plans.

Despite the fuckery with Maurice, this day just got a whole lot more interesting.