Owned By The Psychotic Billionaire (Mafia BL)

THIRD PERSON’S POV

As he silences Adrien by shoving his head under the table, Orion sighs to himself, irritation crawling beneath his skin like a living thing.

They were flirting— he and Adrien. Their version of flirting. They danced around each other with hate-filled words and barbs dripping with poisonous sarcasm.

The kind of dance he adores when it comes to his lovely duckling.

He was having the time of his life and it was about to get even better. But these fuckers ruined even that. It’s almost as if every time he wants to enjoy himself with his duckling, some fools just have to interrupt.

He leans slightly to the side, watching through his peripheral vision as the first bullet flies right past where his duckling would’ve been if he hadn’t shoved the idiot under the table.

What a mess.

The club explodes in a cacophony of noise and screams. The clubgoers rush out of the club, disrupting the fragile staring contest Orion had going on with the man who took the first shot.

If it were any other place, owned by any other man, these clubgoers would’ve been shot down as they clamored to the entrance. But this club belongs to The Basilisk.

And everyone knows what Orion did to the last man who tried to have a shootout in his club. It wasn’t anything bad really. All he did was experiment on how long it would take a man to drown in a vat of wet cement.

It took less time than he liked.

”Do I call in the Wildcat now, Sir?” Marcella yells over the roar of the noise, one hand already halfway beneath her jacket.

Her eyes flicker briefly towards her brother who had thrown himself under the table with absolutely zero dignity.

”Keep that bastard outside for a moment,” he responds lazily, fingers digging into Adrien’s scalp under the table.

The wince of pain he receives is like music to his ears. He digs his fingers deeper, wondering if he should just crush the liar’s skull and be done with it.

The slap to his wrist snaps him out of his thoughts. ”Let go of me, you asshole,” Adrien snarls from underneath the table.

Orion’s mouth curves slowly. It turns out that his duckling will live to see another day. How lucky he is to be who he is.

”Stay under the table with him.” He calls out to Marcella.

Before she can respond, he releases Adrien’s head, vaults smoothly over the booth, and disappears into the throng of panicking club goers. It’s time for a game of tag.

”I knew I shouldn’t have left my gun upstairs,” he sighs to himself while weaving through the chaos. He wasn’t even done with cross-checking the ledgers, but he missed Adrien, so he had to go downstairs.

And no, it’s not because he thought of Adrien escaping. If that idiot did that again, then he’d have no choice but to amputate his legs. He can’t run if he doesn’t have the tools for it.

”Well, no matter,” he mutters, rolling his shoulders as another panicked scream tears through the club, ”It’s not like I’ll need a gun anyway.”

As the last clubgoer escapes the building, the three gunmen stand frozen, guns raised as they scan the room frantically. They cannot find the major obstacle to their target. Orion Vassilis had vanished.

Or had he?

Concealing his presence, and slipping between the guard of the first man on the left, Orion delivers a vicious elbow jab to his Adam’s apple.

The sound echoes across the room, wet and ugly.

”Tag,” he grins wildly. ”You’re it!”

The man collapses to his knees, clawing desperately at his throat as horrible wheezing sounds spill from his lips. Without even sparing him a glance, his two companions whip out their guns and fire at Orion. No time is wasted.

But Orion is already moving.

”Here,” he lifts the wheezing man by the back of his head and angles his body before him as a shield. ”Catch!”

He holds the man in front of him like a shield and runs towards the other two men, ignoring the blood spraying across his cheek. The two remaining men don’t stop firing until they need to reload and the meat shield is riddled with bullets.

Orion tosses the dead body away from him and lunges at the second man’s gun before he can reload for the next shot. This is the man who took the shot at Adrien.

He clamps a hand around his weapon and twists violently. Bone crunches in the man’s wrist, and his gun slips through broken fingers and falls to the floor.

”You almost made me a widower...and I haven’t even tied him properly yet.” He mutters.

The man swings freely with his free hand, but Orion ducks beneath it effortlessly before driving a vicious uppercut straight into his jaw.

The force snaps the man’s head backwards so hard his feet leave the ground momentarily.

The gunman’s eyes roll into the back of his head, but before he can sink into unconsciousness, Orion hears the click of his partner’s gun. The last gunman had reloaded his gun.

”Here you go,” he hums as he grabs the dazed gunman by the collar and violently slams his face against the muzzle of the third man’s pistol just as the trigger is pulled.

”He’s all yours~”

Three rounds are unloaded into the man’s skull before his partner realizes his mistake. Bone fragments spray across the pillar behind them. The third man stares in horror at what he’s done.

But before he can even take a step back to reassess, Orion moves like a serpent. He slams his partner’s bloody face into his with sickening force, then he turns sharply and drives a whip-fast kick into the man’s knee.

The leg bends sideways unnaturally. The last gunman lets out an animalistic scream.

Before the sound even finishes leaving the man’s throat, he seizes him by the face and drives him headfirst into the concrete pillar behind them.

Blood splatters across the marble, and the pillar dents slightly as the gunman goes limp. Not dead, just painfully unconscious.

”Damn. How are they all so bad at tag?”

For a moment, silence settles over the empty nightclub. Three bodies litter the floor, two dead and one somehow alive. The sharp scent of copper and iron lingers heavily in the air, and in the middle of it all stands Orion.

He looks heavily disappointed.

His white dress is stained crimson, and his sleeves are sloppily rolled up to his elbows. Blood drips lazily from his knuckles to the floor beneath him.

”You sure look like you had fun.”

Orion turns, a wicked smile already forming.

No longer hiding underneath the table, Adrien stands in the middle of Marcella and Luca, still glaring at him like scum, despite the fact that Orion had very clearly saved his life.

What an ungrateful little thing.

”Why don’t you step up so you can make it more fun for me,” he retorts playfully.

Adrien visibly takes a step back. ”If you are going to kill me, I’d rather you shoot me. Beating me to death seems a bit excessive, don’t you think?”

”What’s bad about being a little excessive?” He smirks teasingly, making his way past the evidence of his carnage to Adrien.

Adrien takes another step back. ”Do not come closer. I mean it, Orion.”

It would be threatening if it weren’t the most pathetic attempt at intimidation he’s ever seen. He slows his steps, so Adrien can see the mocking grin spreading across his face.

”There’s no need to be afraid, Duckling,” he croons, ”when I want to physically dismantle you, I’ll let you know. I promise”

”And who the fuck is afraid of you?”

”Oh, you’re not?” He snorts. ”Then why don’t you come closer?”

”Why don’t you guys just fuck already?”

Orion doesn’t need to turn back to know who spoke. There’s only one man who he’ll allow to walk up to his back, and that’s—

”Stay the fuck out of it, you yellow-eyed rapist.” Adrien snarls, eyes narrowing in anger.

Yes, that’s Niko. His friend. The yellow-eyed rapist according to his duckling.

”It’s almost been a week, puppy. At some point, you’re going to have to let that go.” That dry tone of voice only serves to infuriate Adrien further.

Orion doesn’t like that. Adrien is his to wind up. Not anyone else’s.

He tilts his body to the side, glancing at Niko through the corner of his eyes. ”Were you not supposed to be outside, handling the rest of these donkeys?”

His right-hand man walks up to him with the grace of a lazy predator, hands in his pockets, and presence thick with the stench of blood.

”I already did,” he shrugs, ”I had my axes on me, remember? Not everyone goes into a fight without their weapons.”

Ignoring the jab at his person, Orion turns to face him, lips drawn in a wide, empty smile.

”So, what did you find out? Care to explain to me why I almost became a widower?”