Lucio Costa.

The heartless devil of Chicago who occupies the throne of the king.

“I can see that.” He stops in front of me, staring down at Serrano’s lifeless body with disinterest. “Where the fuck is my money?”

“Trust funds and deposit boxes. I have the numbers.”

“Good.” He snaps his fingers and his two closest men barge in like hyenas for the lion’s prey.

Stephan and Marco are both buff and merciless, bigger than me, harder than me, with mean faces and the cliché mafia image, but they know better than to fuck with me.

“Marco.” Lucio snaps his fingers between us, a hint of his Italian accent showing through. “Go get my fucking money back. Every last dime.”

As he barks his orders, I lean down and wipe my hands on the small piece of Serrano’s clothes that isn’t tainted in blood. I try to, anyway. There’s no such place.

I rise to my feet and fetch my jacket from the chair and throw it over my shoulder. Blood has made its way to my white shirt. Another wardrobe gone wrong, but it’s proof of a job perfectly done.

“Stephan.” I smile at him. “Take care of the cleaning.”

His mean eyes glare at me, but he’s a good dog, so he doesn’t speak in front of his master without permission.

Still, his face begs for some carving, so I continue, “You have a problem with that, Steph?”

“For someone who kills like a monster, you’re shit at cleaning,” Marco says on his behalf.

“I don’t just kill, killing is normal. Even you kill. I get the information we need all the time. Cleaning is for maids like you two. Keep up, Marc.”

Both their bodies jerk forward, for a fight no doubt, but Lucio stops them with a hand. They wouldn’t have touched me anyway, they’re too coward for that, and I’m too valuable for Lucio.

“Jasper.” Lucio steps between us with a bored expression written all over his face. “Go see the wife and daughter. I need to know if he hid anything else with them.”

He wouldn’t have. Truth is, Serrano wasn’t that much of an idiot. He distributed the funds strategically all over the country and outside of it. He knew he’d get caught, and since his family is his weakness, he wouldn’t have gotten them involved.

I nod at Lucio’s order anyway.

It’s the only way he’ll get off their case. While I’m fine carving up little fuckers’ faces, it’s a hassle to deal with women. If I don’t, Marco and Stephan will do it and they have...peculiar tastes.

At their boss’s order, the two henchmen go about dragging Serrano’s body across the bloodied floor.

I watch the trail for a while until they disappear out of the storage.

“You need to stop antagonizing my men.” Lucio’s hard voice brings me back from my quiet observations. “No one likes you in the organization.”

“If I wanted to be liked, I would’ve run for the popularity vote.” I sheathe my knife with its half-dried blood at the back of my pants. “Being liked doesn’t get the job done, fear does.”

He narrows his eyes. “Fear does, yes?”

“Yes, and loyalty. Mine is only with you, not with your organization.”

It’s not a secret. Lucio saved my life when I was twelve and I’ve owed him since then. That’s why I became his willing dog and have been that for over twenty years now.

His most rabid dog.

“I know that, and that’s why I have this job for you.” He gets closer until the space between us is nearly gone. “I will become heir.”

The famous Costa internal war.

Papa Costa, Emilio, has recently died without naming an heir. Now it’s an endless struggle between Lucio and his eldest brother Paolo about who’ll take the reins of the city.

There’s only room for one king in this war. When kings clash, the loser is sure to die.

Lucio Costa doesn’t like losing or dying.

“You will have it.” I suppress a yawn. “Paolo is sick and unfit to rule.”

We knew this since Emilio Costa was alive. Paolo has been off for years and barely keeps track of his health. He can’t take over the Costa legacy like Lucio can.

In short, boring. Or interesting, depending on how you look at it. After all, with this, Lucio will have more fun for me.

“There’s another player.” Lucio smacks his lips together in complete disdain.

I raise an eyebrow. “Go on.”

“Paolo’s bastard son.”

“Didn’t you kill him twenty years ago?”

“Apparently fucking not. Paolo knows he’s alive and is searching for him. Which means I want him —”

“Dead.” I finish for him.

He snaps his fingers. “He should be twenty-five now. Find him. Kill him.”

“Got it.” I head toward the exit with a smile on my face.

Hunting then killing.

This should be…interesting.

 

 

Serrano’s wife is a head nurse in the emergency room at the Chicago State Hospital.

It’s been a long fucking day and I need sleep. I have spent the entire night with her dear husband and daytime is my down time.

Killing machines are more efficient when the darkness falls, and few humans roam the earth.

You know, so no one witnesses what they do.

My jacket is half-closed against the bloodied shirt. I didn’t bother to wash my hands, but I shove them into my pockets. Day time is also full of pesky witnesses. They’re like mosquitos, drawn towards blood.

Having learnt Mrs. Sorrano’s routine from the week I’ve watched her husband and his family, I wait for her near the parking lot. Clouds fill the sky with condensation, casting a blue, gray shift over the air. As if six in the morning couldn’t be more tragic, the city’s cold yet humid atmosphere adds more to the tragedy.

Though tragedy can be interesting.

Leaning against the wall, I retrieve my stash of whiskey and take a swig, letting the burn go down before I look down to stare at my watch. Rebecca Serrano takes her pause here in about… three, two, one.

There she is. Like clockwork.

She comes out from the side door with her phone to her ear, wrapping the thin jacket around her scrubs.

At first, she doesn’t notice me, even though she’s a few feet away. I have that effect, the blending with shadows. You never see me until I hit you in the face —and possibly carve it the fuck up.

“Pick up, Nathan.” She stomps her feet, her generous tits jiggling with the motion. “Pick up—”

“He won’t.”

She gasps, the phone slipping from her fingers and hitting the ground. The crack echoes in the otherwise silent early morning.

She runs her fingers against her cap in a nervous, unsteady gesture. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t know someone was here.”

Rebecca doesn’t meet my gaze, staring at her cracked phone, her short nails, but never at me.

Interesting. Does she already know who I am? Serrano was smart enough not to get his family involved, but maybe he uttered the name one day; the name everyone in this city needs to stay the fuck away from —or rather, from Lucio.

“Jasper Cain.” I extend my hand, still coated with her husband’s dry blood. “The pleasure is all mine, Mrs. Serrano.”