Mafia King's Contract Breeder

Emmanuel POV

The shrill voice of my so-called mother echoed in my mind: "This is him, look! I have birthed a boy for Norman, a male heir! I want my cut! I mean, that is, his cut...my baby, my darling..."

"Father, I can explain—" Norman Altair interrupted her tirade in a hurry, flying down the grand staircase.

"The House of Altair will never accept a bastard child of filthy origins," the older man with graying hair looked down his nose at me as though I were a stain on the marble. "Guards! Throw them out!"

"Norman! Norman! Say something! He is your son!"

"How could you do this?" The older man demanded. "What will your wife’s family say?"

"Shut up! It was a mistake." Norman Altair barely looked in this direction. "Father, I swear I was only having a bit of fun..."

——

The car stopped at the gate. I rolled down the window.

"Passes?" The guard asked.

I handed over the dead man’s access card.

"Beep. Access verified."

"Password?"

"Limonite."

The guard nodded. And lastly—

"Fingerprints," the guard said gruffly, holding out a fingerprint sensor. Close to the end of his shift, and having passed the first two checks, the guard was no longer on high alert.

I reached out casually. With a careful sleigh of hand, I pressed to the sensor the finger that I had chopped off the dead assassin’s hand.

The gate opened.

What was it that he said to me? One man could never shake the foundations of a family like the Altairs?

True, I must thank him for his generous assistance. Couldn’t have done it without him.

The car rolled into the estate. The main house was still a mile down the driveway.

My informant, the assassin by the name of Simon, spoke up. "It was usually only the Captain who would go and see Mr Altair. He would go and talk to the butler, and then he’d be invited to the study."

"I will go myself."

"Boss," Dover protested. "That’s too risky."

The dark mask that formed part of the assassins’ uniform concealed my face.

"The main house is full of guards. And weapons are not allowed inside." Simon said doubtfully. "You’ll never get out of here if any kind of alarm is raised."

"They will not have time for that," I promised. "Wait here."

——

A metal detector at the staff entrance was the last barrier between me and my vengeance. I calmly put down my pistols, my knives, before walking through the barrier.

The air in the Altair mansion was faintly fragranced. Portraits of stern-faced ancestors watched from the paneled walls in gilded frames, interrupted only by hunting prints, framed maps, and a grandfather clock whose measured ticking seemed to mark not seconds but generations.

"You’re back!" The butler looked taken aback to see me walk in in the assassin captain’s uniform.

I nodded silently.

"That’s a new one..." he muttered under his breath before he quickly painted a smile on his face. "I mean, excellent, excellent! They will be pleased to see you. Mr Altair and Mr Herman have been up all night. They are still in the study. Come quickly."

The butler rapped on the carved wooden double doors.

"Sirs. The Captain has returned to report back."

Almost instantly, the doors swung open from the inside.

"Have you done it?"

For the first time, I was face to face with my half-brother, Herman Altair. Dark haired, blue eyes, there was enough similarity between us to speak of a family resemblance. The difference between us lay in his sharp, narrow chin and the restlessness in his eyes. His eyes were bloodshot. He looked like a man haunted.

"Let the man inside to talk, Herman," a hoarse voice said from deeper within the study.

"Indeed. Of course."

Herman stepped back.

I entered the study bathed in yellow light from a brass floor lamp. An antique Persian rug muffled footsteps across the oak floorboards. Floor-to-ceiling bookcases of polished walnut lined the walls, and a tall window overlooked the manicured gardens at the front.

Behind the heavy wooden desk sat Norman Altair, dark hair graying at the temples. He sagged into the high backed chair, double chins wobbling as he turned pale blue eyes in my direction, full of greed and hope.

The look of a man who wished to hear that the nightmares which had plagued him for decades could finally be over.

The double doors closed behind me, stirring up the dust motes in the air.

"Well?" Norman Altair said.

I let the silence stretch a little longer, turning my gaze between Norman, sagging in his chair, and Herman, who had taken up a position by the side of the desk, bracing his hands against the edge.

"It is done," I said, pitching my voice low and rough. "The target has been eliminated."

"Eliminated?" Norman echoed, as though he could not quite believe it.

Herman had no such hesitation. A great, beaming smile spread across his narrow face. He pumped a fist in the air.

"About time!" He roared. "Oh, good lord! Every night that vermin still scuttles down in the gutters keeps me from sleep."

"How did you put him down?" Herman said eagerly, turning to me. "A bullet? Or did you get close up and cut his throat? Or poison, perhaps?"

"That’s enough, Herman," Norman rasped. Wrinkles deepened in his forehead, on the sides of his nose. "We do not need to know about the ugliness."

A sneer surfaced on Herman’s face.

"There would have been no need for ugliness if you’d cleaned up after yourself sooner, Father."

Norman let out a low, irritable hiss.

Herman looked in my direction once more and wiped the sneer off his face, coming to his senses that he was speaking too much of family secrets in front of an outsider.

"Well, you are certainly the best guard captain that we have ever hired," Herman said jovially. "I don’t mind telling you, none of the others managed to come back alive...didn’t want to say so before your mission...too much pressure for you, you understand..."

Norman coughed heavily.

"Still, what an excellent night. No, an excellent morning, I must say! A new dawn. There must be a toast. Father, go on, get out the good stuff."

Heaving a sigh, Norman poured himself out of the armchair and turned to open a liquor cabinet in the tall bookcase behind his desk.

I came casually up to the desk beside Herman, as though merely moving closer for the toast he had proposed...to my death.