Chapter 2

“You’re really the best mafia out there, Russo.” 

My employer, bald yet with a thick, hairy mustache that curled slightly at the ends, leaned back in his chair as he slid the envelope across the polished desk, which contained the remaining balance of our transaction. 

I picked it up without a word, flipped over the crisp bills, and counted. Twice. Things were getting expensive nowadays, and I couldn’t afford to lose even a penny.

“If you have some free time, why don’t we grab a cup of tea first?” 

I raised an eyebrow, tilting my head slightly. “Transactions over. Conversation ends here.”

Before he could open his mouth again, I slipped the envelope into my coat and turned on my heel. His voice followed me halfway to the door, but I didn’t listen.

 I don’t accept extra payments for drama.

The night air was colder than it had been lately. The busy city streets are full of activity, vendors and mascots attracting potential customers, cars and taxis weaving through traffic, and the crowd surging in every direction, their chatter rising above the hum of engines and blaring horns.

As I moved along the bridge, the crowd pressed in too close, their heat sticking to my skin. Sleeves, bags, and God knows what else brushed against me. Fucking disgusting. I really need to head home and shower in this instance.

Yet something else gave me the chills on my spine. A presence drawn to you, unshaken even by the hundreds of bodies around.

Someone was watching me.

I shifted my pace, slow then fast, blending through the crowd without garnering more strangers’ attention. When I reached the bridge’s end, I veered off and slipped into a narrow alley that reeked of rotten food and oil. 

The footsteps followed.

Three. Two. One.

I snapped forward, grabbed him by the collar, and dragged him into the dark, pinning him against the wall before he could even breathe.

“Who sent you?” I asked. 

The dim light caught his face, and I almost slipped my gun to his throat.

“Relax, Russo.” He grinned. “It’s me.”

The handler. The old goose who usually handed me contracts like candy, always with that smug little smile as if he wasn’t sending men to their graves.

I didn’t lower the gun. “You’ve got guts, tailing me in a crowd. Either you’re bored with living, or someone finally paid me to put a hole between your eyes.”

His grin faltered briefly before he chuckled, trying to play it cool. “Why so irritated, mafia? I’ve got something for you. Are you up for it?”

“What’s the deal?” I let him go.

“Not here. Let’s go grab some drinks.” He dusted off himself and straightened his jacket. 

Against my better judgment, I ended up following him.

We ended up in a bar, but it wasn’t any ordinary one. It was owned by a retired mafia, a place that never really left its career even if its owner did. The seats were all covered with curtains for private talks, lights dimmed, and music played low. 

The handler slid into one of the curtained booths, waving me to follow him inside. A waiter was already waiting, with two glasses of beer meticulously seated on his tray. He set them down, no words exchanged, then slipped back through the curtains.

The handler reached for his glass, swirling the drink with his wrist. “This place never disappoints.”

“Stop wasting my time. What’s the damn job?” I asked, not touching the glass of beer in front of me.

Finally, he slid a folder across the table. That alone made me pause. He usually tosses photos of my target from different angles. 

I slowly reached for the folder, expecting photographs, maps, and basic information about a person. But nothing seemed familiar. Instead, I saw a decent resume with my name and information. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” I blinked, then laughed so genuinely. “You dragged me right after I just finished a contract, through the stinkiest alley I could ever breathe, into this bar where I expected something grand, only for you to hand me an office job?”

I stared at him for a long time, waiting for him to take it back, but he remained stoic. “You’re young and capable, Russo. Why don’t you try some decent work for once?”

“Decent work?” I repeated. “I’m not capable of that. I kill, handler. That’s what I do. You all trained me for this. C’mon, man, just spill the work.”

“That’s about it. A job offer. Not your usual kind. They don’t want you to kill anyone. They need an IT analyst.” The handler grinned, his gold tooth catching the dim light. 

This time, I finally took a sip of the beer, letting the bitter taste burn down my throat. Maybe the beer got the humor out of him, making him drop his funniest joke. 

“You’ve got the skills for coding, data, and the like. This job even pays better than most contracts, even far cleaner. No blood, just a computer and a desk.  I don’t see any reason why you shouldn’t try.”  

I set the glass down with a sharp clink. Everything he’s saying is so ridiculous!

Then again, a regular job doesn’t come through a handler who’s been playing people’s lives like a pawn in chess. 

Guess I’ll play dumb, for now.

“Fine, I’ll bite. Let’s see how fast this job application will take.” I finished every drop of beer.

The handler slid the folder closer. “Bring this tomorrow with you and wear a suit. No guns, please.”

“It’s like asking me to stop breathing, old man. Don’t worry, I’ll try to keep it from slipping out of my pocket.” 

I tucked the folder under my arm and stepped out of the booth. I gave out some cash to the waiter who had served us earlier, then went straight to the door. The bar’s low music faded behind me as I entered the night.

An IT analyst. What a joke.

But I have nothing to worry about. I just need to attend the interview tomorrow and get the rejection letter. Because after that, I needed to be ready when the handler crawled back, begging me to do what I did best.

Kill.