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Matteo
Isatatmydesk in my office, eyes fixed on the newspaper's headline that stared back at me with ominous words: "Brutal Murder Shocks City."
The image of the victim's lifeless body was splashed across the front page, a haunting reminder of the events that had unfolded just three days ago.
I couldn't believe what I was reading. The man who now lay dead on the pages before me was the same man my men had dealt with before I ended his life.
How had it escalated to this? How had a simple elimination made the front pages, sending shockwaves through the city?
My mind raced with questions, each one more perplexing than the last.
I had meticulously planned the operation, even getting rid of the CCTV in the hotel, leaving no room for error.
Yet here it was, a headline that threatened to unravel everything I had built.
I couldn't help but wonder if someone had tipped off the authorities. Was there a leak within my organization?
The thought sent a surge of anger and frustration through me.
I prided myself on running a tight ship and maintaining control over every aspect of my operations.
But now, it seemed like there was a crack in the foundation.
As I delved into the details of the newspaper article, a mix of anger and frustration consumed me.
The false narrative painted a grotesque and brutal scene, which I knew was far from the truth.
But here it was in black and white. The story told was a different tale.
It was already bad enough that the woman who had caught my attention that night had disappeared when I returned after dealing with the traitor and the situation he had caused.
Now, I had to deal with this.
Our encounter had been brief but impactful. I remembered how our conversation had flowed easily, a surprising connection amidst the formalities of the event.
The banter flowed easily, a spark of something intriguing that lingered in my thoughts long after the conversation had ended.
I had been unable to forget that night, the night that had brought us together in a way I hadn't anticipated but had looked forward to.
But then, sudden chaos erupted as gunfire sliced through the air like a thunderclap.
The shootout had shattered the fragile bubble around us, reality crashing back in with brutal force.
The rival mafia family, emboldened by the traitor's information, had seized the opportunity to strike.
During the chaos, the urgency of the situation had left me with no choice but to leave her behind.
As I searched for her, I couldn't shake the sinking feeling that I had let something slip through my fingers.
I retraced my steps, my gaze scanning the surroundings as I searched for any sign of her.
But the underground car park remained eerily empty, a stark contrast to the frenzied moments that had unfolded earlier.
Panic gnawed at the edges of my thoughts as I realized she was nowhere to be found.
The memory of our shared moments – the conversation, the laughter, the passionate encounter – weighed heavily on my mind.
And now, amid the chaos and uncertainty, I couldn't shake the concern that had taken hold of me.
