Chapter 5- The Devil

'And who the fuck is Leone fucking Andreotti?'

What a mouth.

What a foul mouth. Suddenly, my pants are just too tight.

Agent....Thirteen… She has no idea, but she just summoned the fucking devil, and he wants so badly to play with her. Who knew those lips... those dark embers in her eyes would arouse me so much?

I didn't think I could ever go nuts for that kind of body. Petite, with the kind of hourglass proportions that makes her look even fuller; hides her slim waistline well. But the word is not quite petite. Frail-looking. Innocent-looking. A contradiction to that lethal tongue of hers. Everything about her screams Weak. From the smooth, platinum-blonde tresses with their dark roots to her light-grey eyes and those soft, heart-shaped lips.

Nothing about her speaks Capable in any language. She hardly looks like the kind of a person that would have survived the assortment of injuries that she did, but that feisty spirit speaks a whole different story.

"One hell of a bitch," I say, flinging my phone across the table. "Concussion. Stabs. Bullets. Existential Crisis."

Guzzo raises a brow at the last phrase, gaze moving from his cards to me.

"Verdi's own words. She doesn't fucking know who she is," I explain. "She doesn't know who I am either. Made a scene at the hospital soon after she awoke. He sent me the camera footage." I incline my head towards my phone.

Guzzo picks it up and watches the video in silence, and my gaze shifts to the other player with us. The luckless man is still shaking slightly as he stares at his cards in exaggerated concentration. I would too, if winning decided whether I lived the next few minutes after the game, like it does for him.

"She looks like a fucking wet dream," Guzzo finally says, dropping the phone.

"Bozo. My gun is loaded and my patience is paper-thin." I pick a card.

Guzzo has a nasty, scar-wrinkling grin. "What, you like her?"

"I didn't even notice her before." I wait for our guest to make his move. "And now I do, I see that there is something in her eyes. Lethal. Crazy." Addicting.

"In other words, it's making you hard."

"Fuck you."

Guzzo laughs.

But he is right.

Thirteen is the kind of woman I want to do slightly bad things to; see how much I can tease her into begging me for the really bad ones. I know she can take it.

Those lips of hers are like halloween candy- as wicked as they are sweet. She has no idea what I can make them do.

And those eyes… I swear, I see God in those eyes. I almost laugh to myself. To think someone with a mind as dark and dirty as mine would be able to.

Fuck.

She has my attention. And now I want hers.

"I heard Domenico Vesalius's rival for the Grand Prix is in critical condition," Guzzo says after a while of watching his cards, trying to decide if he should pick another. "Not likely to recover."

"Vesalius paid big bucks, else, you know I'm too fucking lazy to go after people these days. That is what the operatives and dolls are for," I respond.

Guzzo pauses, watching me. "He was in the middle of a high-octane race," he says in disbelief. "How did you manage to hit him straight in the head? The car was driving at about a hundred miles an hour. You're a fucking monster."

"You can put it in your diary." I pick another card.

Guzzo grins, shaking his head.

My gaze moves to the other man. "Don't you value your life?"

"Sir?"

"Why haven't you won yet?" I ask him. "You do realize that I won't be this patient forever, don't you?"

"I'm trying my best, sir." He is still shaking as he picks another card.

My gaze rests on him- the daring man who had tried to kill me minutes ago. I scoff internally. Like others haven't tried. In recent times, the threats on my life have significantly reduced which bored the shit out of me. And that is why I'm rewarding him for the effort. If he wins this game, he gets to run for another month before I catch him.

I would have won the game aeons ago, but I'm enjoying prolonging his dread, and a part of me hopes that he will save his head… so that he can run. I like to chase people before ending them. I've always found it more enjoyable that way.

But it's been ten minutes. At this rate, he might not live to run another day. Fucking mediocre.

"I saw Martina at Emiliano Russo's house party last night.

"Who?" He knows I'm not asking about Russo.

"Last week's girl?" He shakes his head. "She lasted a full week, I thought you had finally contracted the love bug."

Generous delusions.

I grab my drink and down it. "And what about Martina?"

"That's what I'm asking."

"She talks more than a starving parrot. I grew bored." And now, I'm bored of this game. I place my cards face up, prompting the others to do the same.

I win easily.

And I didn't even put in much of an effort. My attempted murderer is pathetic. Looking at his cards, I see that his chances of winning were the thinnest.

He stares at me, fear etching lines on his features, and I lean back, unimpressed by his elaborate show of desperation. "I was distracted for half the time. Were you not making an effort or were you just concerned with entertaining yourself with conversations that are none of your business?" I ask.

"Please. Mercy."

"We had a deal. Win or die."

"Please."

I pull out my gun, and his mouth opens to let out a scream. I shoot him two times in the head, and the scream chokes in his throat. He falls forward on the table, his blood splashing.

I watch the body. "We need new cards."

"No kidding. But we might have to play some other time. I have an eight p.m. with some angry Capos," Guzzo says.

"You do that. I'll pay Agent Thirteen a visit at the hospital. She has recovered for long enough," I say.

"Go easy on her."

"She's my doll, not yours."

Guzzo raises his arms in mock-surrender. "Your assassins, your call. Just get your ass in Naples on the weekend. Everyone in the Famiglia will be present. We need to discuss territories. See you "

"If my mood improves."