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I hate it.
I avert my gaze and look at my would-be perpetrator. He is acting very nonchalant but I can tell that he is keeping me in his line of sight at all times. I step out and let the cool air calm my nerves.
Game time.
The city seems to be winding down. I sidestep into an alley without anyone paying attention.
I quickly pull out my phone, my fingers moving with urgency as I text Sophie.
Something’s come up. Access the café’s security cameras and delete the footage
Her response is almost immediate.
Explain!!!
I send her a smiley face and reply.
Later!
Then, I tuck my phone back into my bag, my heart racing as I pull out my revolver and slide it into the inner pocket of my blazer.
The abandoned alleyway I find myself in is far from inviting. It’s a grim, dimly lit passage between two buildings, barely wide enough for two people to walk side by side in. The walls are stained with years of grime and neglect, and a sense of foreboding hangs in the air. Dilapidated crates and discarded refuse are scattered about, remnants of a place long forgotten by the city’s cleanup efforts.
I survey the surroundings, aware of every creak and rustle in the eerie silence. The presence of any potential witnesses or evidence could be a dangerous complication.
Luckily, I cannot spot any CCTV’s out here.
I am safe.
As I contemplate my next move, a voice calls out from the entrance to the alleyway.
“There you are.”
I turn to see Bobby, a sly grin on his face, his eyes glinting with a mixture of amusement and menace.
This is going to be a fun little lesson on consent for dear old Bobby. I can’t help but smile in return.
CHAPTER FIVE
Alessandro
I sit in the corner of a bar called Ivano’s, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the wooden tables. Giulio, my younger brother, sits across from me, a frown etched on his features. He takes after our father, the same jet-black hair and piercing grey eyes, one arm covered in tattoos that tell stories only he understands.
I smile sadly, remembering my father, Dante. He had died of a heart attack a few months ago. He had been putting me and hisconsiglieremore and more in charge of the family business in the past year or so, but nobody had expected him to leave us so soon. Certainly not for natural causes.
When he died, hisconsigliere, my brother and I decided to wait a little before making the news public. It would give me time to get used to beingcapoand my brother the underboss. Most importantly, our men would feel even more loyal to us. With the Mafia being mysteriously targeted and all of the business tohandle here and in Sicily, it seemed like a good plan at the time. We held a very small funeral just for close relatives and friends and associates, who swore to keep the secret. Since then, Dante had become a sort of ghostly presence, haunting the city. People still thought he was operating in the shadows even if they did not see him around.
“I think we have a serial killer on our hands,” I tell him, switching to Italian, our native tongue, as we discuss family matters. Giulio’s nods, lines creasing his forehead.
I lean in closer, my eyes scanning the room before I continue. I spot Bruno, a few seats away, feigning interest in his phone but, as always, on high alert.
The bar is a sleek place, all exposed brick walls and brass and wood fittings.
I explain what happened to Luca, revealing the mysterious note Luca’s wife showed us.
“This was found at the crime scene.”
He stares at the printed paper, his grey eyes narrowing as he takes in the seriousness of the situation.
