Page 3 of Felix (4 Seats #2)
Chapter Three
Felix Greyson
T he phone vibrates in my hand, jolting me out of my thoughts. I glance at the screen and see Matteo’s name flashing on the screen. My heart rate quickens as I answer, knowing it must be important.
“Yeah?” I say, trying to sound calm and collected even though my pulse is racing.
“Felix, I need you to bring some cash to the Italian restaurant down at the harbour,” Matteo’s voice crackles through the phone, rough and gravelly.
I can picture him standing on a bustling street corner, his dark hair tousled by the wind.
The urgency in his voice sends a shiver down my spine, and I know it must be something serious.
I let out a low breath before ending the call—another day in the gritty underworld of Sydney.
Matteo Ricci, the kingpin of this city, calls the shots, and I am one of his loyal soldiers.
My job description—cleaning his dirty money, collecting from his network of dealers, and taking care of any obstacles that come our way.
Gender holds no weight in this world—as long as I get my cut, I’ll do whatever is necessary.
It’s a twisted reality we live in, but it’s where I thrive.
The adrenaline rush of danger and power courses through my veins, fuelling my love for this sick existence.
As I approach the highly coveted restaurant, my mind swirls with thoughts of my past and how it brought me to this moment.
Years of violence and bloodshed have moulded me into the ruthless enforcer for Sydney’s most feared man.
The intoxicating power and control that comes with this position is like a potent drug, coursing through my veins and leaving me constantly hungry for more.
The weight of the cash-filled bag slung over my shoulder is reassuring and intimidating, like a loaded gun ready to be fired at any moment.
I confidently stride down the bustling street, feeling like a predator among the unsuspecting sheep.
Inside the bag lies fifty grand, just waiting to be cleaned at Matteo’s Italian joint by the glittering harbour.
As I walk into the restaurant, the tantalising aroma of garlic and tomato sauce wafts towards me, causing my stomach to growl in hunger. Stepping inside, my eyes immediately find the short, bald man behind the bench with a bushy moustache—the owner.
“Here’s the cash,” I say, dropping the bag onto the polished wooden surface.
“Thank you, Felix,” he responds with a grateful smile. “You staying for dinner?”
I nod eagerly in response, already imagining the delicious Italian dishes that will soon grace my taste buds.
“Your usual table, Felix?” the owner asks, leading me through the bustling dining area to my preferred spot—a cosy booth tucked away in a corner.
The dingy restaurant is quiet, save for the low murmur of conversation and the occasional clink of silverware. I slide into my designated corner booth, back pressed against the wall. It is a perfect vantage point, giving me a clear view of the entire room. No one will catch me off guard here.
With trained eyes, I scan the other patrons like a predator assessing its prey. Most are weak and pathetic, but at least they are adults. Adults make their own choices, and I can handle that. It’s the kids who make me nervous, with their innocence and potential to be manipulated.
“The usual, Felix?” The owner’s familiar voice breaks through my thoughts as he sets a steaming plate of pasta before me. “Enjoy.”
I don’t recall ever seeing a menu in this place. The owner always makes me whatever he pleases, and I simply eat without question.
“Let me know if there is anything else you require.” The owner’s smile spreads across his face, revealing a glimmer of white teeth.
“Will do,” I mutter absentmindedly, twirling my fork through the plate of spaghetti.
The savoury aroma of garlic and tomato sauce fills my nostrils as I contemplate the job that awaits me tonight.
My target—a detestable paedophile worth nothing but pain and suffering.
But someone has paid me a hefty sum of fifty grand to ensure justice is served.
Every muscle in my body tenses with excitement at the thought of this job.
It’s not often I get truly exhilarated, but this one is different.
Just thinking about hanging the cold- hearted bastard from hooks and slowly stripping away his skin sends a chill down my spine.
I can feel myself hardening at the anticipation of the blood-soaked night ahead.
My heart races with adrenaline as I imagine every detail of the gruesome scene, from the sound of flesh tearing to the scent of coppery blood filling the air.
This is no ordinary job. It’s a thrilling chance to unleash all my pent-up rage and let loose in a moment of violent retribution.
When I finish my pasta, I stand and walk towards the front door.
The owner bids me goodbye, his voice a warm and familiar comfort in this cold world.
As my hand reaches for the brass handle, ready to embark on my dark task, a sudden collision knocks into my chest. A small, delicate woman has barrelled into me with force.
She is stunning, her features a mix of softness and strength.
My instincts kick in, and my hand tightly wraps around her neck as I pull her closer.
Her scent invades my senses, a heady mixture of wildflowers and fear that sends shivers down my spine.
It’s an intoxicating blend, fuelling my twisted desires.
I can’t resist the urge to run my tongue along the side of her face, eager to taste if she matches the alluring aroma surrounding her.
“Fuck me, darling,” I growl, my voice a low and menacing rumble.
She stands before me, the embodiment of beauty.
Her dark hair cascades in waves around her delicate face, and her wide, doe-like eyes are filled with terror, but I can’t help but be captivated by their depth and vulnerability.
Maybe fate has brought us together, or perhaps it’s just another twisted game played by life.
But one thing is certain—she belongs to me now.
My darling. And nothing will ever come between us.