mafia
Garrick
6
Garrick didn't move when the door opened. He remained seated behind the mahogany desk, his massive frame filling the leather chair, making it look almost fragile. A single amber light hung low over the desk, casting his face in half shadow, highlighting the sharp, dangerous line of his jaw and the silver glint of his slicked back hair. He looked less like a man and more like a predator waiting for a prey to realize it had already been caught.
In front of him, Leo was a wreck. The man who once walked with confidence was now reduced to a sweating, stuttering mess, his knees knocking together audibly in the silence. His breathing was shallow, panicked.
Garrick slowly swirled the whiskey in his crystal tumbler, the ice clinking with a slow, deliberate rhythm. His steel grey eyes didn't leave Leo; they remained fixed with a cold, unsettling intensity. When he finally spoke, his voice was a low, gravelly rumble that seemed to vibrate in the very air of the room.
"You think this is a game?" Garrick asked, his English slow and measured. "You think you can take what doesn't belong to you and just... desaparecer? As if I wouldn't notice?"
"I-I can explain, Garrick, I swear," Leo's voice cracked, his hands flying up in a useless gesture of supplication. "It was an accident, the numbers were off, I can fix it."
Garrick's hand suddenly slammed against the desk. The sound was like a gunshot in the small room. Leo flinched violently, nearly falling off his chair.
"Cállate la boca, idiota," Garrick growled, cutting through the air like a blade. His eyes darkened, the storm behind them gathering force. "You didn't make an accident. You made a choice. You chose to steal from my family. You chose to test my patience."
He leaned forward, the light catching the scar on his eyebrow, making him look even more menacing. His gaze shifted slightly, sliding past the trembling Leo to focus on you the person who had been brought along as either a witness or collateral.
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