Alessio
"I screwed your ragazza" he says, his glass with golden liquid captured tightly in his hands. My fist clenches, I am too tired for this. His drunken mouth had been spilling enough shit before he decided to start apologizing too.
"Which one?" His little grin falls just a bit at my words. I smirk, smudging the cigarette I was smoking just a second ago against his hand.
He squeals like a little cagna.
"I don't care if you take my leftovers Luigi but please do it after I'm finished--", I raise the cigarette and get out of my chair, "or I'm going to be finished with you."
He nods frantically, his throat bobbing. A man like Luigi can act tough whenever he wants but inside he's just as much of a cagna as a cat.
"I don't share, this is your official warning, Si ?"
He nods again and I wait.
"S- Si" he swallowed audibly and I nodd.
"You'll be doing work in the docks for a month when we get back home." He opens his mouth to protest but he closes it at my gaze. He knows he deserves this, he probably would've gotten a lot worse if he hadn't decided to say anything though. The man had some balls even if they were tiny and shriveled.
I backed out of the room, a habit. Both to be polite and because I've always refused to turn my back on snakes like him. Especially while they're more poisonous than usual.
The hallway beyond the small room is dim. The shitty lights of the fucking motel we had to stop because the car broke down.
Of course the one time one of my cars had to break down was when we were in America, the land of dreams and freedom. I had called of course, but none of my contacts were close enough. If I didn't have a car by tomorrow I would just have to buy a new one.
I turn around the corner, my muscles tightening for just a minute and then relaxing again when I realist there's no one there. The cold piece of perfectly made metal under my arm is a safety net. Usually I would have security guards with me but since this is supposed to be a "incognito mission" I brought my own security. My favourite gun and a loaded AK in the car. You might think that's not so much but I never miss.
I found my door, number 13 . The motel only had two floors and yet both of them were dirty. The numbers were hardly visible, the black paint was flaking off and only the outline of the numbers were left. I felt for the key in my suit pocket. Still there, I picked it up the small metal plate on it showing the name of the old motel,
Claire's Motel, how American.
I push the key in the door, turn it and with a click I'm in.
It's a small room, a double bed in the middle with a small table on either side of it. I always ask for a double room. I hate small beds. The feeling of being crowded and having to little place.
I close the door behind me, locking it and shrugging off my suit jacket. I throw it over the wooden chair in the corner of the room. Not even having the energy to throw off the rest of my clothes. I fall back on the bed. It creaks and whines like an old tree.
The coldness of the room makes me miss Italy. The warm air and the always present smell of orange trees. I still don't know why I had to go on this trip. Work trips like these usually didn't need me to come with. But now as my company has grown over the years, I find that my presence in meetings had become more important. I makes everyone a little calmer and I pull my gun out and push it in under my pillow.
I rest my head against the pillow with a sigh. The gun is safely in my hand under the . I run a tattooed hand through my dark hair and fall into sleep like a hopeless baby in it's mother's arms.