Nipped in the Bud

Tommaso

I adjusted the strap on my bulletproof vest and stared through the dark at the house in front of me. We couldn’t have asked for a better night, thick cloud cover hiding us from even the neighbors’ view. Out in the suburbs, houses stood at arm’s length from each other, but just close enough to be a problem. The house in question looked like almost every other, a simple split-level from the ‘70s. I hadn’t done a hit on a place this obviously middle-class since…maybe ever, but the pair of guys with guns rounding the corner out of sight again told me we had the right place.

Phil Sinatra’s house. It looked more like an accountant’s wet dream. I smirked. I knew he was small time, but he should’ve considered what the hell his own operation looked like before he tried to come at me.

Killian clapped me on the shoulder, a dark mask already covering half his face. Since he’d gotten Phil’s location, he’d insisted on coming and bringing a few of his guys. “Ready?”

I grinned and pulled my o