Gael's Naughty Angel: A Mafia Prince Romance

"Go back inside and stand guard for her," Gael told Trigger who was still clutching the man by the collar. The alley was dark, with only a lamp post several feet away.

"Alvaro's there. I want to be here. This motherfucker needs to die." Trigger's brows were deeply knitted.

The kid was too hot-headed. Just like J, Trigger was also one of the closest soldiers Gael had. He knew him since his father brought him to Italy. Gael was sixteen while Trigger was ten. They trained together a year later under Alessandro's best assassins. Trigger's father also used to be a soldier before he died, which led to Gael's father and grandfather taking Trigger in and taking care of him like one of their own since he didn't have a mother. Trigger became loyal to Gael and followed him everywhere. 

Gael wasn't oblivious that Trigger had gotten attached to Angela in a short period of time. He didn't like that fact, but he also appreciated that he could trust him to protect her—as long as he didn't cross the line. 

"They're in the lounge. You stand guard and make sure she's okay."

"But—"

"Go back inside. That's an order."

Trigger groaned and shoved Makarov's son to the wall in his last attempt at payback before storming back to the club, annoyed that he didn't get to watch all the fun.

The guards held up Makarov's son—well, he was also a Makarov as that was their surname. He tried and failed to escape from the guards, shouting as he thrashed, "I know your boss, you sons of bitches! You can't treat me like this! Let me the fuck go!"

Gael lazily strolled towards him, rolling his sleeves to his elbows. The fucker hadn't realized yet that the "boss" he was spouting earlier was there. The club was too loud and dark, so he wouldn't have seen Gael clearly the first time.

Makarov's son looked up, and his eyes widened, perhaps realizing who he was now that the light from the lamppost had shone on Gael's face.

"Phantom—"

"So you know me…" Gael drawled, not sparing him a glance yet while taking his time to fold his sleeves. "Too bad I don't know you."

"The fuck? I'm Ilias Makarov. You work for my father!"

"Ilias…" Gael tested the name and threw his head back in a burst of chilling laughter, glancing at Giovanni who was casually leaning against the wall with a weed between his teeth. His uncle's eyes were blank like he waited for a bloodbath but couldn't care less about it. He was there for fun. Gael, on the other hand, didn't care for violence. He didn't enjoy it, but he sure was going to enjoy breaking every bone on Ilias's body. 

Wordlessly, Giovanni passed the blunt to Gael who stared at it for a beat before giving in and taking one hit. The smoke lingered in his mouth. The taste felt like an old high school crush—familiar, yet he didn't care about it anymore. It was the first smoke he had in months, and it was fucking good. He didn't take another hit, though. And he passed it back to Giovanni as he faced Ilias, blowing the cloud of smoke to his face.

His strong hand clamped on Ilias's shoulder. "Tsk tsk tsk. You're wrong. I don't work for your father." Gael tilted his head down to peer into the man's eyes—he was taller by a few inches. And he was telling the truth: he wasn't working for Makarov. The mafia and the bratva worked together in a few businesses, but no one was higher than the other. "Didn't they teach you that in Bratva 101?"

"Let me go. And I'll forget about this."

"Forget? You think I'll just forget that you touched what's mine?"

"What?" Ilias gritted his teeth and glared as if trying to piece the puzzles together. "That bitch?" He grinned. "How the fuck should I know?"

Giovanni hissed. "Oooh… You shouldn't have said that." He clicked his tongue and killed the joint under his shoe. 

Before Ilias could say another word, Gael hit his stomach with his fist. Ilias doubled over, coughing and wheezing from the harsh blow. 

"Call her that again, and you'll lose all of your fucking teeth," warned Gael.

Ilias thrashed, scowling at Gael. "You fûck! You're going to beat me up for her?"

Gael smirked, but there was no mirth in his eyes. "That first one was for touching her, yeah. But the next ones? They're for me." Then he punched Ilias right on the nose.

"Aaaa!!! Fucking shît!!! You broke my nose!" Blood gushed down Ilias's nostrils, past his lips and chin until they dripped to the asphalt.

"Buckle up. That's not the only thing you'll break tonight." Another strike hit Ilias's eye before Gael kicked him in the knee. A crunch echoed in the darkness when Ilias couldn't hold himself up anymore, and he cried out in pain, more curses coming out of his mouth. He shrieked like a pussy after each blow delivered to him.

Gael didn't stop, using his fists and feet until Ilias sprawled on the dirty asphalt. Ilias's face was disfigured and bloodied. His shirt was torn, and he was coughing out blood and saliva. Gael could have killed him, and he wouldn't have cared. But for the sake of being Makarov's son, he let the man live.

Rick handed him a white handkerchief, and he wiped the blood off his knuckles. Gael busted his skin, but it didn't hurt. The thought of Ilias touching Angela was enough to set him off.

Ilias spat on the ground, heavily wheezing. The guards had long stopped holding him up, so he was alone with several big men surrounding him. "All this for just a chick?" He coughed. "You'll regret this."

"She's no chick, you motherfucker," Gael said in a toneless voice. He bent down and hovered over the other's limp body and looked down at him. "She's mine. And no one touches what's mine. You're lucky I didn't cut off your hands and shove them up your ass."

"Wait 'til my father gets a word of this," Ilias spat.

A sinister laugh came out of Gael. "You want me to call him for you? I'll tell him myself if you want."

Though his face was nearly unrecognizable, Ilias managed to scowl at Gael like he was insane. "I'll do it," he taunted.

"Oh, I don't doubt that you will. But… You won't. You know why?"

Ilias didn't answer, but he waited for what Gael had to say. The latter's eyes were dark, cold, and deadly. Ilias had only heard about how ruthless Gael was, but he didn't think he would experience it first hand. The man was the devil himself.

"Bitch about tonight, and your father will know what kind of scum his son is."

"What the fuck are you talking about, asshole? You think you can flip my father and make him listen to you instead of me? I'm his son. Your threat is useless."

Gael let out an exasperated sigh as he tossed the bloodied handkerchief to the ground next to Ilias's face. "You wanna test that theory?" He held up a hand to the side, and Rick handed him a brown envelope. "Let's see…" Taking out some papers and photographs, he began listing off the crimes and secrets of Ilias. 

"Oooh, Arson. You're the one who set fire to one of the Irish's warehouses five years ago, weren't you? Of course, your dad didn't know that, or maybe he turned a blind eye because if the Pakhan knew, he'd have to kill you. After all, because of that fire, you started the war between your families. Hmmm…" Gael fingered the photographs and slowly tossed them to Ilias's glowering face. 

Then Gael added, "You can probably get away with that, but I doubt you can if your father finds out you've been fucking your stepmother—his lovely wife—behind his back."

Ilias's eyes widened as he scanned all the photos, fear dancing on his face. Gael dropped everything to the ground before him.

"I have more, but you get the point. So go ahead and tell your father I did this to you. I don't doubt he'll put a bullet through your head himself as soon as these land on his doorstep." Gael got to his feet and shoved his hands into his pockets. "Keep 'em. I have plenty of copies."

Despite his violent nature, Gael didn't do anything without calculating first. He didn't strike unless he was sure he could come out of it alive or that he wouldn't put his family in jeopardy. Keeping tabs on the Russians was a precaution he hoped he didn't have to use in the future. What he did to Ilias that night was nothing compared to what he had to do in the past.

Rick opened the door back to the club, the music still heavily thumping in the air, oblivious to the brutality that happened just now in the alley.

Before Gael stepped foot inside, he glanced behind his shoulder and warned in a grave tone, "Your sin tonight was touching her. But for future reference in case you're so thick to understand, it's never okay to touch any woman without her permission. Stay away from all Manor and Phantom's Empire clubs. Now get the fuck out of my property."