The mafia and his hit man
I leaned back in my chair, studying him, he is like a little lamb with venom in its bite.
“Out,” I said to my men, flicking my hand.
They hesitated, uneasy, but filed out one by one until only the two of us remained. The room felt instantly smaller, the air heavier.
He dragged a hand through his hair, pacing once before blurting: “Someone placed a hit on you.”
My smirk faded into stillness.
Interesting.
“Don’t ask me how I know,” he rushed on. “Hell, I don’t even know why I’m here. Maybe it’s your damn magic dick making me lose my reasoning.”
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