“I don’t like your tone, or choice of words either,” Drey said, holding my gaze, his demeanor switching from arrogant to blood thirsty in a flash
“You don’t want to find out if I mean every word. I want my money back, and the person who did this dead by sundown tomorrow, or you would have border patrol to deal with,” I said with tight lips, poking further.
The earth quaked with shattered fragments of glass flying like launched missiles across the room as Drey steps up close to my face until our toes were touching, his head slightly tilted to meet mine, “treaty or not, if you utter one more word about my family or business, be well assured you will carried out of here in a body bag,” he said, the familiar sound of the safety releasing reached our ears, as glinting barrels were pointed towards our skulls from either side of the room. One against the other.
Chapter Seven of Mafia's Subjuagtes Updated.
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