Mafia Men: Nikolai's Inferno - Chapter 2: Chapter 2

•Nikolai•
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Family. Honor. Loyalty.
These are the pillars of our existence, the core values that define us.
As the firstborn and only son of Luciano Costello, I, Nikolai Costello, have inherited the mantle of power. My father was the most feared Don in New York City, but now, it's my turn. I don't just follow in his footsteps—I surpass them.
I was molded to be strong, ruthless, and cold-blooded. Cruelty was a lesson drilled into me from a young age. Emotions were a weakness I was trained to purge.
I made my first kill at just seven years old, outdoing my father, who didn’t make his first until twelve. By twenty-four, I had already taken over the mafia, seizing power while my father was still alive. He only assumed control after my grandfather's death.
Surpassing my father isn't just a goal—it's my obsession. I won't stop until I've eclipsed his every achievement.
It wasn't that I had a bad relationship with him; I just loved to win.
My father carried the legacy of the underworld from his father. Which my grandfather inherited from his father and so on. We had ruled for generations and I intend to rule and carry on the Costello lineage.
My father inherited the legacy of the underworld from his father, who took it from his own, and so on for generations. The Costellos had ruled with an iron fist, and I was determined to continue and elevate our lineage.
When Luciano Costello retired due to failing health, he passed everything to me: the money laundering, large-scale drug trafficking, political connections, and our network of companies that masked our illegal operations and laundered our money.
The name Costello resonated with fear and respect across the entire country.
I am more feared than my father and grandfather combined. Those under me cower in my presence. Families loyal to me show unwavering respect. Every person who hears my name knows to tread carefully.
I picked up a glass tumbler from my desk and drank the whiskey. The liquid danced in my mouth for a few seconds before allowing itself to seep down to my throat, the burning sensation teased my throat. Reclining back in my seat, I placed both of my legs over the table.
Two of my men... They were my men until they decided to betray me. I watched with satisfaction as they were getting tortured to death in the next room. This special torture chamber was divided from my office by a one-way mirror.
This torture chamber was hidden behind the bookshelf of my office, specifically designed for traitors. Disloyalty was the biggest fucking sin in our world, I had no place for it. The one thing I could never forgive my people for is betrayal.
I felt like a god as I watched their blood drip down their bodies. I enjoyed tormenting and humiliating my enemies. I would make them suffer for hours on end before finally putting them out of their misery. I reveled in their agony as they writhed on the ground, their bodies slowly being eaten away by the acid that dripped from Marco's hands. This was the only thing that could quench the burning desire inside of me.
The door to my office creaked open. Selena poked her head in, keeping her gaze steadily on me. She knew better than to look around and see what was happening.
"Mr. Costello, Mr. Ramirez is here to see you."
I sighed and poured myself another glass of whiskey. "Send him in."
Favors.
People came to me for favors. I granted them, and in return, they sold their souls. That's how I earned the nickname "The Devil." I didn't mind; I liked the sound of it. What did bother me was how easily people traded their souls, as if they were mere bargaining chips.
Ramirez walked in, sweating like a pig. He heard the painful groans and glanced at the one-way mirror. I could see his Adam's apple bobbing up and down with fear. The smell of fear was all too familiar to me; most men reeked of it when they came to see me.
"Don Niko" he managed to say.
"Only my friends call me Niko, Ramirez. You and I... I don't remember us being friends"
He nervously laughed. "My apologies, Don Costello"
"What brings you here, Ramirez?"
His eyes went to my shoes resting on the table and then back to my face. "I needed a favor,"
"You know what asking me for a favor means, Ramirez? Your soul will belong to me"
"I'm aware. I'm desperate, I need help. I will do anything you'd want me to" he said, desperation exuding from his body.
I watched the barely alive men behind the mirror, crying like the cowards they were, asking for mercy, asking for forgiveness. They knew I don’t forgive traitors yet they went on and betrayed me anyway.
It was a shame that I had to destroy such valuable specimens, but their betrayal forced my hand. I pushed the button, and the walls of the chamber began to slide close. The men inside screamed and cried. They knew what was coming, and there was nothing they could do to stop it.
"You see that?" I pointed toward the big, muscular men who were now reduced to whimpering, bloody messes. "This is what happens when someone crosses me"
"Don Costello, I swear on my daughter's life, I will do anything you'd want me to do. Just help me, get me out of this problem"
I savored his misery a bit more before I gestured for him to continue.
He nodded, and a smile covered his face. He slid back a chair to sit down, but I raised a hand, stopping him before he did.
"I don't remember telling you to sit."
The smile fell from his face before he pushed the chair back in its place and kept standing before me.
"It's about my daughter, Don Costello. I got into a fight with my landlord, one of your men. I couldn't pay rent this month. I didn't have the money. He..." his voice broke. "He took my daughter. She's just fifteen. He's holding her against her will until I pay him. I don't know if he hurt her or..." he started to cry. "Please, help me, Don Costello."
I nodded, got my feet off the table, and poured another glass of whiskey before sliding it across the table. "Take it," I ordered. He wiped his tears and took the glass.
"Consider it handled, Ramirez. Your daughter and your little rent problem."
He grinned like an idiot and sauntered around my desk. Bowing before me, he extended his hand, clearly expecting to kiss the family ring on my finger. I let him perform the ritual before swatting him away with a dismissive gesture.
"That'll be all, Ramirez. I'll reach out when I need something from you."
"Forever at your service, Don Costello," he said, his tone dripping with false reverence.
He placed a hand on his heart in a theatrical display and strutted out of my office.
I had men ready to give their lives for me at my single order all around the world. They gave me their lives and in return, I took good care of their families and friends. Their women and children were taken under our wing. Given that, their respect for me increased tenfold.
I pulled out my cell phone and called Alessandro. I told him what needed to be done for Ramirez and then hung up. I didn't have to tell him how to do his job; I just needed to order, and Alessandro knew what to do next. By this time tomorrow, Ramirez will own the house he lives in and will have his daughter back.
My phone rang as I placed it on the table. I checked the caller ID and placed the phone next to my ear.
"Father," I said.
"Niko, have you forgotten about your old man? It's been days since I last saw you," my father’s authoritative voice crackled through the line.
"I'll visit soon," I replied, glancing at the two men being crushed between the chamber’s walls. "I’ve been tied up with some minor issues."
"Your mother misses you," his voice softened, "though she can't say it but I feel she misses you."
"I'll come by soon."
"And it’s about time you fulfill the promise you made to Paul Russell. His daughter isn’t getting any younger."
His persistence about arranging my marriage was tiresome. I had no issue with the marriage itself; an heir was necessary, but staying in that marriage was irrelevant. It just seemed like terrible timing every time he brought it up.
"I don’t have time for marriage right now, Dad."
"Nonsense. You’ll make time! You need a queen by your side."
I snorted. Grace Russell, Paul’s daughter, was far from a queen. As far as I knew, she had been passed around by most of the men in New York City.
"Pops, I'll come to visit you soon. Just give me some time" I ran a hand through my hair as my frustration got the best of me.
"I'm afraid you don't have any more time, Nikki" he used the nickname that I hated. He always used it to assert his dominance, letting me know that he would always be superior to me just because he was my father. "I need a grandson. You need an heir, a successor. I'm not going to see the end of the Costellos just because my son can't stick to one woman."
"Pops, I—"
He interrupted me. "Just get married, get her pregnant, and then go back to your whores or whatever it is you do."
"I doubt Paul Russell would appreciate me using his daughter as a mere breeding vessel."
"Paul Russell is a scum. He’s only interested in his connections with us; he couldn’t care less about his daughter."
"Her name is Grace, isn’t it?" I asked, feigning ignorance.
"Yes, you met her at the New Year’s party—"
"Yes, I have..." the woman annoyed the shit out of me, "Quite a loquacious woman"
"Once she becomes Nikolai Costello’s wife, she’ll learn to keep her mouth shut," he said with a deep breath. "The Russells are coming next month. They expect either an engagement or a marriage, so make sure you’re there."
A muscle in my jaw twitched with irritation. "I’ll be there."
I slammed the phone down and tossed it across my desk in frustration. Grace Russell was a cheap piece of ass—a slut who’d spread her legs for anyone with a bit of power.
She’s just good for a quick fuck, and that’s all she’ll ever be. She’s not fit to be a wife for someone of my stature. I’m willing to bet most of my men have had their turn with her too.
I preferred my women clean. I had my own personal whores, meant to please me and only me. I didn’t share them and was intimate only with them—no one else. The women who served me didn’t even have permission to touch themselves without my explicit order. I'd rather marry one of my whores than be stuck with Grace Russell.
Scott stumbled through the door, his hair a mess, lips swollen, tie hanging loose, and his once-pristine white shirt wrinkled. It wasn’t hard to guess where he’d been.
Scott Mancini, my underboss and second in command, was half-Italian and half-American. We’d grown up together and attended the same boarding schools in England. His loyalty was invaluable to me; I knew he’d lay down his life to save mine if it ever came to that.
"Hey, man!" Scott burst in with a goofy grin plastered on his face.
"Get that creepy grin off your face," I growled, loosening my tie.
He glanced at the nearly-dead men and whistled. "What’s got your panties in a twist?"
"Do you know how weird ‘panties’ sounds coming from you?"
"Not as weird as it sounds coming from your mouth," he shot back with a laugh. "What’s up, Niko? You seem more pissed than usual." He plopped into the chair opposite me, propping his legs up on the table.
"Grace Russell!"
"Oh, you mean America's biggest cunt?" Scott grinned, his face lit up like a Cheshire cat.
I wanted nothing more than to smash that smug grin right off his face.
"Dad promised Paul Russell," I snapped.
"Shit, you’re screwed, my man," Scott chuckled.
"You’re not helping."
He slid his legs off the table and leaned in, his demeanor shifting to serious. "Want me to take care of it? What’s the order, boss?"
I picked up the glass tumbler and hurled it at the wall. My father’s word to Paul was as binding as a blood oath in our world.
"Dad gave Paul his word!"
Scott stood up, hands in pockets, a twisted smirk spreading across his face. "No Grace Russell, no word, no problem, boss."
I mulled over his suggestion for a moment. "Let me find another way before we start talking about offing the girl."
"Just give me a shout when you’re ready to change your mind."
My phone vibrated against the glass table. I answered and listened in silence as Lorenzo’s voice crackled through the receiver.
“It’s done, boss. We painted the town red...” His voice brimmed with exhilaration.
I smirked. To anyone else, it was just a phrase meaning they had a hell of a time. But when Lorenzo said it, it meant he’d literally splattered our enemies’ blood all over the place.
I ended the call and grabbed my car keys and wallet from the table.
“Scott, get a whore over to my place,” I ordered, running a hand through my hair.
Scott snapped a salute and exited the office. I needed a fucking release, and I needed it now.