Spaghetti And The Ultimatum

●Back in Murmansk●

Ronan Ross, the name that could freeze the warm blood running into the veins, and could send everyone staggering back into their holes, only his name was enough, although the man, the terrifying mafiya king of the USA was absent and currently away from his territory. 

His current new location? Russia, the homeland of his beloved wife who had passed six years ago in a deadly car accident, surprisingly the tragic death of such an influential figure was without any suspicious circumstances,  a natural end. Russia was not the lion's den where he could roar and shed blood at his own will because the Russian mafiya belonged to Amaris's father, who was the leading figure in the country.

Ronan's father in law, the Lord of Russia was already ruling the political room effortlessly and was having all of the Russian land in his hands by enforcing his men throughout the streets, his eagle eyes were everywhere and apparently that was how he old man was ruling the politics with the good image along with controlling the power of mafiya.

While he had a feud with Ronan and considered the leader of the US mafiya responsible for his daughter's tragic death, who was the heiress to the throne of Russian mafiya, yet Ronan dared to conduct the operation of wiping out those men who had intruded in his house, behind the back of his father in law.

Wiping off a few persons out of millions and billions was not a big deal for him and certainly was not his problem to do the task when he was having a whole army to wipe off the 'street litter'.

Rather the troubling thing for Ronan was his possessive attitude towards his wife's accessories and memories and the obsessive love which was still bubbling in his veins as if he had gotten whipped in near past, the outwardly cold and ruthless mafiya lord refused to accept the reality that his wife was dead, no longer with him and it's been six years by now.

"You are again at it? Visit a psychiatrist, Amaris is dead. It's been six years now, get that in your thick skull!"

His angry voice rang through the phone, which must have struck like a thunderbolt to the ears of the listener. No one would have imagined the great Ronan Ross to lose his temper at a mere phone call, but it was pretty much easy to find precisely to know his Achilles Heel, his dead Queen!

Ronan squeezed the place within his both eyes on the top of his beautiful pointy nose and heaved a sigh of helplessness which had a tinge of sadness in it.

There was nothing he could do, if it was possible to revive someone from dead Ronan Ross must have attempted such a forbidden sin too just to bring back the 'light', his dead wife to life. 

He felt the activity of his heart getting uneven as if the organ had shrunk with so much pain, while he stood there with his head lowered.

Although, everyone had expected  Ronan to move on and now after a huge time skip of six years people believed that he had already stepped out of the mournful state, which had affected him greatly. Ronan wore over a facade of being an expressionless man having a stone in the place of his heart...

But Niall knew that his master was still head over heels in love with his wife, and mourning for his queen, remembering her every passing second, Ronan's arrival in Murmansk was the clear manifestation of his inner feelings which seemed 'paralyzed' outwardly. 

'This brat is still stalking that poor lady. He needs serious treatment for his brain.'

Ronan lifted his head up thinking to himself, common people never bothered him unless they were guilty of any charge, thus he pitied the innocent lady to whom the young man was following, while his expressions turned dark and deadly after seeing the nearly frozen jury of his mafiya men.

He moved towards the cabinet behind his head and opened it, pulled out the pack of spaghetti that came into his sight. His wife had left the house but Ronan used to travel all the way up to Russia to spend his every single weekend in the little heaven, by the side of his wife's memories. 

"You people have the moments till this spaghetti boils, to clean up the mess. Or else I will behead each of you if anything remained stained."

Ronan's serene voice fell into their ears like a thunderstorm, sending goosebumps in their bodies and alerting their hyperactive minds to proceed with the speed of lightening, as Ronan's stern tone announced them the ultimatum.

After Ronan had announced them the so called death time, the Lord began to unpack the spaghetti whilst his men in black suits, pulled out the pocket knives and slashed the necks of their prisoners who were terribly clutched in the firm grips of Ronan's men.

When the deed was done they scattered away with the dead bodies of thugs, dragging them mercilessly by the arms as their boots formed the trail of pathway with the mud attached to the soles, towards the way out of the down hall.

'Where did I put the pot last weekend, ugh! I'm sorry Amaris, your husband had become forgetful behind your back.'

The terrifying man adorned in denim and a fur coat over his plain shirt, paused for a moment to recall the place where he had left the cutlery and pots last weekend as he groaned in irritation but of course all was happening in his mind. 

Ronan was conversing with his late wife Amaris, within his occupied mind, apparently he was keeping her alive in his mind, Amaris was still living in the part of his memory, Ronan Ross had kept himself in good form to the life of his wife within himself. 

How could he act like a normal person and run around the kitchen in a panicking state, to look for the items, it would not justify his terrifying image and name, after all these years he had learned how to tame his desires and put chains around his 'soft self'.

The current Ronan Ross was totally composed and cold, comparatively the man Amaris had fallen in love with, who was only open to his her and after her departure from the world, Ronan had became a hard nut to crack.

After recalling the position of the pot, Ronan bent down the slab that had induction stove in it and pulled out the desired pot, after his wife the mafiya Lord had made the house a mess, in the terms of the original places of the things.

'Remember Amaris, I used to make you these with Mexican spices because that's the way you love them while I prefer the original Italian recipe, Mm?'

Ronan was talking to himself, immersed in a conversation with his wife which was going on in his criminally exceptional mind. Who would have thought that the greatly rumoured ruthless man would be immersed into a soliloquy at that moment, sort of romantic talk which was totally opposite comparatively to his usual cold aura.

"Everything is done master, as you instructed."

Niall appeared close by when Ronan was about to add the spices and vegetables he had chopped in perfect small squares to the spaghetti, just within the time limit his master had allotted them.

"Don't leave any corpse or a trace for my father- in- law!"

There came another important instruction for Niall, the mafiya king could trust him with the personalized information, Ronan was already not on the good terms with his father in law and if that 'wiping out' came into his knowledge it could trigger a war between the two countries.

"Yes, master!"

Niall bowed and paid his respect while the man crept away from Ronan as not to disturb his cooking, the man servant had already acknowledged the circumstances of interrupting his master.

A little while later, the jury of ten men arrived back into the down hall.

'Arrgh! These wolves with their wagging tails!'

The Ross heir muttered to himself after seeing that his men were back into the house because they didn't get any order to stay out.

Ronan felt it injustice to state his men as dogs, when actually they were hungry packs of wolves in true sense because that was how he had trained them, a small part of his personally trained and maintained army.

Niall was standing a few steps ahead of the mob while Ronan took a seat in the chair, putting the plate on the white marble slab, the right hand man knew it would only make his master feel awkward. So, he took the liberty to give a small order, which in fact he was allowed to if it was intended to comfort Ronan.

"Off with your stares!"

Upon his sudden call, all the men turned around that their backs dressed in black unscatted suits were facing Ronan now, while Niall chirped for the last time with a genuine smile and followed the action performed by the other men.