A/N: Hasn't it just been so long? Like 6 months? 😂😂 omg I'm so sorry. I don't have much of an excuse other than my laziness to write... which I profusely apologise for. I hope you all enjoyed my last chapter and now enjoy this one! Love ya.

Updated authors note: thanks for the patience guys. Here's the new and improved chapter !! As Ive said before I will probs keep taking back chapters then re-uploading because I want this book to be as good as it couple possibly be - a book I'm actually proud of.

Chapter eight will be uploaded mid-day tomorrow once I finish it up but it's nearly completed. ALSO CHAPTER 10 I have some really exciting news so make sure you tune in until then.

I love you all for the millionth time 💋

Staring out of the car window sits Modravé. His jaw clenched and hand roughly held onto his glass of whiskey - "on the rocks". The early morning sunrise is beaming through the car's window, creating a beautiful setting outside against the trees.

He was sat alone, it only being himself and the driver, with the partition blocking any connection between them. It officially 7:00am and Modravé is making his way to a small village to meet with some people to discuss some matters that have arose. He was fuming because he had plans to take little Cove out for breakfast, but now, he has to postpone that to dinner. He left a small note back at the hotel for Cove, letting him know that he will be away again for the immediate day.

Tilting his head back slightly, the last of the golden whiskey smoothly runs down his throat, and the ice bumps at his top lip. He sets the glass down into the holder and presses a button for the in-car phone to call Valentino.

"Hello?" the voice rings loudly through the car.

"Valentino, I am soon to arrive. Has all arrived?" He asks.

"Yes, boss. Marco Schushi is here also on behalf of Frank Delio. 'Parenly he got into some altercation last Friday - broke his jaw", tells Valentino.

"Fuckin' Marco. He's a kid".

"Well, Frank seems to think he's responsible enough to transfer the message, so give the guy a break, yeah? He's got potential", reasons Valentino.

Modravé grits his teeth. He doesn't like the sound of someone he knows little about infiltrating his meetings - however, he'll let that fucking Frank know how he feels about it later ... maybe when his jaw heals he'll go fucking break it again. That sound plausible. Groaning into the phone, Modravé replies: "Sure, sure. Who else is there?"

"Wesley Dank, George Tunic, Juliano Ferveti, Butch M. Krane, Conor Mikhailov, Danny Cunn, June White, and... Xavier Marco", swiftly replies Valentino. "They've all got a few ops with them too. I think George's gotta' hit on him. Shot Yaser Hijazi dead, didn't he?"

"Yeah, yeah, he did", Modravé rubs his nose in frustration. "Why the fuck would he turn up knowing he could bring trouble? Stupid motherfucker. Irresponsible git, I tell you."

Valentino sighs over the phone, before replying, "Have you spoken with his father recently. He's remarried". Modravé rolls his eyes and lets out a sarcastic spit of laughter, "another whore I suppose".

One would probably flinch at Modravé's choice of wording to describe the women he doesn't even know, but instead his right-hand-man just releases a burst of laughter, bringing a smile to Modravé's face as he scratches his chin. Valentino chuckles. "I'll see you when you get here, boss."

They hang up.

Releasing a sigh. Modravé has no desire for this. He wanted to treat the birthday boy sat back at the hotel. Take him out: shopping, sight-seeing, for food and overall just to have a good time. He can do that tomorrow, he guesses.

A smirk forms on Modravé's lips when flashbacks of their time in the bath comes back to him. No one. No women nor man has made Modravé feel the way Cove did yesterday. So alive with desire and want, it was palpable.

Cove withering in his arms with a sheen coating his body from the water - his hair fatted down on his face and eyes closed with pure bliss. His mouth ajar, lips swollen and voice box releasing Oscar-worthy moans. Modravé can feel heat pool In the bottom of his stomach as his member begins to harden within the confines of his pants. He reaches down and pulls at the crotch, readjusting himself.

Soon enough, the car arrives. It stops at a little checkpoint where there are a group of men stood, kitted in bulletproof vests and some with dogs on leashes. The approach the car from each side.

The window rolls down on Modravé's side revealing his face. Once the man sees who it is he make a hand gesture to allow them to go through and so they do.

Modravé begins to briefly adjust himself. He straightens his tie and collar, before pulling his socks up and rubbing he top of his dress shoes to assure they're nice and shiny.

They come to a stop and the driver get out before opening the door to let Modravé out. Three men begin to walk towards him with soft but assertive, sinister smiles on their face.

(All the men in the meeting:)

Wesley Dank:

George Tunic:

Juliano Ferveti:

Butch M. Krane:

Conor Mikhailov:

Danny Cunn:

June White:

Xavier Marco:

"Modravé! My friend!" One flatters, his sharp face adorned with a sickeningly sweet smile, and his arms pulled open as if to grab Modravé into a tight embrace. The two other men follow behind him.

The taller of the three and the more butch, walks forwards with a stoic face - doesn't even bother to greet Modravé the rude Bitch. The third guy, apparently much younger looking, rolls his eyes, bored with the actions of the immediate man.

Danny - the one with the wide arms and bright smile, shakes Modravé's hand with a firm grasp. "How have you been, friend? How have things been keeping up with you?"

Danny from the Japanese drug cartel - didn't run it, but is still a significant figure. He dealt with the more ... messy business. He had the crazed mind to deal with such extreme terror. The second behind him, the more brutish of them all, was polish Butch M. - his name matched his personality. Convenient. He ran the Polish Mafia - a small, unrecognisable organisation, however, they were deadly. It'd be best to not undermine them. Lastly, was sweet British George. His Jamaican descent allowed this boy to gain great influence with North America. Young, smart, and very, very dangerous. His father ran the drug smuggling ring from Britain to North America.

"Everything has been good", he replies curtly. He may find this man annoying, but he's an ally and has been a 'friend' (he uses that term lightly) for a remarkable amount of time. And most importantly, he's never done any wrong to Modravé.

Modravé spots George and glares.

"Why would you allow yourself to turn up when you got a hit on your head, boy?" Modravé steps closer to the lad, peering down on him like a scorned father.

Staring dead into his eyes, Modravé catches a flicker to emotion resembling panic. His lips part but he doesn't speak. "I have every right to put a bullet through your fucking eyes, but your father is my friend." Modravé turns and looks around before peering back to him. "I'm assuming he doesn't know?"

With time George shakes his head.

"Neither did I", Danny says with a sinister look plastered on his face. He takes a step forward.

Butch glares at George. "I'm assuming Butch didn't either". Butch just nods.

Modravé tuts his mouth as the youngest of the four hangs his head in shame. "Before you get yourself killed you better inform your father of this... who wants you dead?"

"The Hijazi family".

Modravé shakes his head and grits his teeth. Before he can say anything, a hiss of anger sparks from Danny.

Sharp, daggered eyes gaze at George. "You fool", he spits. "No much for you even trying to reconcile - you'll be dead by the end of this day."

"If not the end of this hour", Butch's voice cuts in, looking down at George with a heightened jaw and crossed arms. "That family are ones to not be messed with".

George groans with frustration. He will not be doubted like this! Do they know who he is? Who his family is? Who his father is?

As though Modravé has read his mind, "Your father will never be able to settle a score good enough to rat you out of the assassination of the Hijazi's son." It is true. The Hijazi family may not be necessarily the messiest or the loudest mafia family, but they are deadly - deadly enough that Modravé would prefer to have them at alliance than at enemy. However, he will stay out of this - he will not rat the boy out, yet neither will he inform the family of anything he knows. If he has to straddle the fence then so be it; just remember, regardless of his decisions, Modravé is no bitch.

Footsteps approach the trio where they stand. Modravé looks up and sees Wesley. "What is taking so long?" He asks with furrowed eyebrows. He immediately notices an off aura when in approach and looks around. "What is happening? Have we been breached?"

"No", Butch shakes his head.

"Nobody else needs to know anything", George quickly informs.

Wesley snarls. "What is the stupid kid talking about?"

George looks towards Modravé, Butch and Danny in quick, desperate glances - eyes begging not to say a word.

Modravé has always thought that the world was just pure and utter danger. Little child and teen Modravé was never taught, nor personally believed that the world had people who were kind, generous and forgiving. However, little prissy boys like George have never been taught that they should avoid the ones which are bigger and stronger than them. Him and his imbecile father will die a death of misjudgement if they're not careful.

Danny and Modravé peer at one another.

"Why don't we all make our way inside and start this meeting, yeah? Talk about the matters at hand", Danny speaks, his arms flexing out beside him and a small, snarled smile coming onto his face.

Wesley looks at them all before growling under his breath and stalking back to the building.

The small group walk towards the building with guards trailing behind them, guns in hand.

Unbeknownst to them all are the men dressed in black, snipers in hand layer atop of the desolate buildings around them... waiting for the perfect time to pounce.

The men in the building all sit around a large glass table, none speaking but just waiting for all to settle so they can begin with the meeting. The concerning thing about this is that some of these man have 'beef' per se with those their sat with - but when this meeting comes around, all that must be saved and locked away for the duration of the meeting itself.

Modravé listens carefully as one of the men talk, addressing some problems he's come across. "This thing with the mayor being murdered"- Modravé rolls his eyes, he knew this was going to come up -"Modravé, this has caused a massive hindrance in my Las Vegas selling - nothing from Alberto is being distributed there anymore".

Modravé sighs and leans onto his forearms which are resting on the table. "Alberto is my city, and what happens in Alberto stays with me. It doesn't-"

"Yes but it's stopping me from selling, I get the gear from you, but with the government stepping up on border patrol amongst the cities, we can't get the stuff we need".

Modravé wants to kill the imbecile for interrupting him when he's speaking, but he gives himself a 1,2,3 in his head and continues: "the diamond pantera Mafia has had a longstanding issue with the Mexican drug cartel, as you all know". Many nod in return.

The Mexican drug cartel have been a massive problem for many rings that run in and out of America. They are like pirates, hijacking and killing for treasure that is not rightfully there's.

"Fucking rats", Danny seethes.

Danny has probably the biggest vengeance against the Mexican drug cartel as his once-loved brother became a snake in the grass and joined forces with them. Nothing worse than having one of your own stab you in the back.

"They have been turning many of out allies against us", Modravé continues, "as some of you may be familiar with - I have have a strong alliance with a few top government officials for a very long time, and the Mayor of Alberto was one of them", Modravé sighs, " the Mexican drug cartel, or rather Vicky-" Danny growls in anger.

Vicky was the son of the drug lord. He was a spoilt, evil motherfucker. Fed from a silver spoon and never worked a day in his life yet, always felt that he could do and take whatever he wanted all because Daddy was there to protect him. "Pussy" another man mutters.

"Vicky joined forces with the Mayor behind our back. When we were using the Mayor to steer media outlets within the city away from the attention of the Diamond pantera Mafia - Vicky was paying the Mayor considerable amounts of money to give information on many of our stations in the city".

"Is that why the streets of Alberto city and have aligned with so much blood these past months?" Conor Mikhailov asks.

Modravé nods. "Yes. We have been fighting a continuous battle as our stations keep getting raided. You may have seen on the news that one of them right on the outskirts was discovered and raided".

Conor mikhailov nods - "yes, yes, I have. Uhh, a huge mass body pit was discovered".

"Of my men", Modravé growls.

"The station was merely a pick-up station for Cocain travelling the border, but they were given intel about it". Modravé clears his throat, starting into the eyes of each man at a time as he continued his story. "Stupidly and idiotically, we didn't believe it were the mayor. He had pulled he wool over our eyes, but it soon fell into place that it was him. We have synced in and listened into his calls from his house - stupid man was fucking contacting VICKY FROM HIS OWN HOME!!" Modravé yells in fury. "FUCKING IDIOTA".

"We killed that cunt and his whore of a wife".

.

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