Two weeks elapse…
Since the time we were paired up, we've been assigned various tasks. Once, our job involved apprehending a delinquent who had failed to repay a loan. We also assisted in facilitating loans for individuals visiting our office, in addition to dealing with dangerous patrons frequenting the gang-owned clubs and casinos.
Nicolas evaluated us in different ways. After pairing us, he assigned these sort of tasks. I was partnered with Emilio, who mainly handled the physical confrontations, while I managed verbal communication or used my knowledge to track people. My communication skills even garnered some new loyal loan-sharking clients.
Despite my minimal self-defense, Nicolas overlooked it. However, Damiano watched over us on two occasions, and I'm certain I saw him frown. That man rarely spoke, but it felt as if I could hear him telepathically saying, "You're hesitant; if you continue like this, you'll screw up the opportunity I gave you."
To my surprise, he took no action despite his displeasure. However, I now understand he didn't intend to let me off easily.
Today is the big 'Test' day- the killing test. Damiano stands in front of us, delivering a few comments meant for today. I resist the impulse to grit my teeth and challenge him about it. His eyes fixate on me when he states, "I want to see how you handle tasks independently, without a partner. No one will cover your back."
Why does he need to complicate things for me?
I know he's addressing me. Niko accidentally killed a man yesterday when provoked during our club duty. Terry brutally injured a man, sending him into a coma. And everyone on my team seems to have some record of stabbing or nearly killing someone this week, except for me.
My attempt to rely on intelligence and basic defense appears to displease Damiano, whom I discovered yesterday is Marco's son, named Damiano. I don't understand his issue. I should harbor animosity towards him, being the son of the person who killed my parents. However, I prefer not to judge him based on that, even though his behavior leads me to view him as a potential adversary.
Since day one, he's given me mixed signals. At times, he gives me tender looks; then, he regards me seriously, gazes at my lips, and occasionally appears displeased for no apparent reason, despite my satisfactory performance. Now, he looks at me as if expecting an intriguing performance.
I think I grasp what he desires, but I'll never reveal it. That shall remain my secret, and he's the last person I wish to expose my true self to. I sense he knows I act differently, judging by his displeasure when I refrain from violence or self-defense. Does he want me to confront him physically? Would that please him?
People claim that eyes are windows to the soul. That must have given me away. He might be adept at reading people through eye contact, which is why I now avoid his eyes, diverting my gaze to Emilio.
What unnerves me is that kindred spirits are likely to flock together. I won't allow that. I will defy the odds, which currently aren't in my favor.Both of us sense the attraction, for whatever reason it may be.
Damiano steps down from the stage. We rise from our seats and form a line for him to distribute the papers detailing our ultimate tasks. The club is deserted, and I wish we didn't have to wake up this early. Last night, we played cards until the middle of the night.
"I'll be going. Take care, Amara!" Emilio embraces me, his paper tucked in his pocket. I smile and reciprocate the sentiment. Niko is in front of me, with Terzo behind. He places his hands on my shoulders, and I tilt my head, my cheek brushing against the top of his palm.
"Take care, Amy…" His whisper is interrupted by Niko, who ecstatically receives her task. I bet it's something adventurous. Terzo frees my shoulders, and I wish he'd kept his hands there so I wouldn't be facing Damiano, who glares at me.
Soon, I understand he wasn't glaring at me; his gaze is directed at the person behind me for a moment before passing me the paper. I want to leave, but he clasps my hand, drawing me closer.
His lips nearly touch my ear, and he whispers, "Don't hold back, de Rossi…" The low voice and the words brushing my ear make me shiver. Not in pleasure, but in astonishment.
He smirks, and I depart, ignoring the glances from Terzo and Leo, the last two people in line. The others have already left.
Nicolas and Fiero stand at the entrance of the club, engrossed in conversation. When Nicolas spots me, he wishes to converse, but my legs won't cease. I don't want him to see me. I'm certain my face displays deep shock, and my nerves are on the verge of breaking.
I run along the street and find an alley untouched by the sunrise. The shadows offer a space to compose myself and refrain from snapping. How did he know my original last name? How!?
"DAMN IT!" My exclamation is drowned out by the cars and traffic on the main road. Numerous thoughts cross my mind, but I need to gather myself and focus on the assigned mission. I feel anger towards him, but I must calm down.
The fact that he informed me by whisper might indicate his intention to keep it a secret. Or at least, I hope so. With only this information, he could ruin me. Franco could eliminate me for deception. How can he trust me when I lie about my name? Loyalty is currently absent in me.
Damiano, that manipulative character… I refuse to admit, even to myself, that I find him somewhat admirable. My identity is challenging to trace, even for the State. He may be more cunning than he appears. He is like a fox rather then a wolf….He is sly .
I might as well say he holds me on a leash now. I breathe deeply, leaning against the wall. The only thing I must avoid is getting on his bad side now. It's a challenging task when he's the reason my blood is boiling.
My hand grips the gun in the gear around my waist. I pull it out and resist the urge to toss it away. I review the paper he gave me.
"Stephan Conti…" I growl the name and head to the specified location in the paper, a warehouse. The same warehouse we visited a few days ago to learn about the gang's locations for drug shipments to the US. I recall the guy's name; he served us juice during the lunch break.
The motive for his murder is not mentioned on the paper, but I presume it's due to his involvement in smuggling small drug quantities among his circle of friends. The usual motive for the mafia to eliminate such a minor player. I don't sympathize with them. Loyalty should be evident in the smallest things to build trust.
I'll never pledge allegiance to anyone wholeheartedly, and if they fail to catch me, it's their fault.Loyalty to them is the last thing on my mind when revenge is begging to be served. However, that doesn't mean I can't be loyal.
I retrieve the motorcycle I left in the parking lot a few meters from the club and speed towards the warehouse. In half an hour, I'm already there.
Damiano, why did you have to complicate things? My heart races, and my jaw tightens beneath the motorcycle cap. What does he plan to do with me? I should concentrate on Stephan for now.
I press on my jacket; the gun is felt through the leather gloves I wear. I park the motorcycle and approach the front door of the warehouse. The wind blows my hair back as I open the large door. People move around, handling boxes of drugs, and some work on loading them into trucks. I spot Stephan talking to a big guy.
"Hey! Amara!" He glances, and as he sees me, the man strides towards me. After a pat on my shoulder, he continues, "Did Nicholas send you here? I didn't receive any call from him or from the Capo."
The Capo, Vincent, is the man taking care of all drug operations in the Caruso gang. He is one of the three Capos of the Caruso gang. Given that I gathered some other info from the recruits, I also found out Damiano is the underboss, soon to be the next leader. So he is in a higher position than I expected. Which is another reason to make my blood boil.
The Capo is sort of a lieutenant who has a certain number of men, at least ten, under him, focusing on a particular section in the gang.
"He sent me here on a whim. Sorry." I smile shortly, and he assures me that it's no problem.
"Can we talk alone? I have some news to tell you." He looks curious and nods.
"Sure. Follow me!" I walk after him, and we cross the main hall, going down the stairs, into the basement. He thinks I don't know the building's layout, but I researched it after the first meeting.
My steps and his are the only sounds heard on the metal stair. Down a smaller hall has two doors and some other boxes on the right wall along the hall.
"Get in…"He opens the first room and lets me get in first. I step inside but a metal sound is fantly heard coming from the stairs .I ignore it and walk in .The door clashes, and he folds his arms at his chest.
"You were lying, weren't you?"
"True."
He's a true gangster, well-versed in navigating the ins and outs of this underworld. No one gains entry to the warehouse without him being announced by Franco or the Capo on the phone. He's somewhat the one pulling the strings around here.
"What do you want?" His frown makes me enjoy the troubled face. At least, it's not just me with a bad day.
"I heard from Nicholas that you like to act as a hustler. " I lean on the office table with my ass while unzipping my jacket slowly. My eyes on his movements.
"What do you mean?"
"You know what I mean too well, old man." I step forwards, looking into his eyes.
With a fast movement, he kicks me with his leg. I bear the hit. My elbow stinging. The man has a muscular frame, but his skill in fighting seems average from the way he uses just simple kicks or punches. If I am right, he surely has a background in boxing.
But damn he has power in his hits .My bones will not withstand it longer .
I jump high enough to do a 360-degree kick. He doesn't even move an inch. I stand my ground and try to punch him; he avoids it. One jab in response and my ribs crack. My breath cuts, and I try to keep myself on my feet. He is prepared to hit my face, but I avoid it, wincing as I bend down my head.
I take a few steps back, and I know the only way I can kill him is using my gun. A moment of hesitation was enough for him to reach me and kick my shoulder, sending me to the right side wall of the office. I feel the impact against the wall too intensely, my head ringing.
After groaning, he kicks me with his leg; my abdomen stiffens, and I hold my cry. He doesn't stop till I curl into a ball, letting out a soft cry. Maybe I should have killed him the moment he closed that door. Why am I hesitating?
The moment I entered the warehouse, I felt someone was watching me. I couldn't put my finger on who it was or where he was. But I felt that someone was following me. And my senses are not wrong. That metal step on the stairs was another proof that someone is following me .
I'm ready to endure a substantial beating and defeat him without resorting to my gun. While my skills are typically focused on firearm use, I must handle Stephan using only my hands, reserving my bullets for Marco. I aim to leave no evidence behind until that crucial moment.
Mr. Conti appears to vent his frustration on me once more; his hand seizes the chair, poised to strike me with it. My body tenses during the process, prompting me to devise a strategy.
I hold my breath to prevent my ribs from hurting, and employing my legs, I entangle his feet with mine. Executing a swift rotation on the ground, he descends to his knees, colliding his face with the chair.
"Damn! Hadn't you had your fill?" His growl resonates loudly as he seizes my legs, dragging me towards him. Ready to strike me with his elbow, someone bursts into the room and forcefully kicks him away from me.
My eyes widen in surprise. Damiano appears darker than I've ever seen him before. His intense glare causes Stephan to freeze in his tracks.
"I thought I told you to kill him. Not to let yourself be killed."His words send a chill down my spine. He glares at me with intensity, looking down on me. I gulp.
I muster the strength to lift myself and glance at the frowning man, who's ready to bolt. Damiano remains oblivious, still turned towards me, unaware of the imminent escape attempt.
As Stephan starts to rise, panic surges within me. His gun emerges menacingly.
No, no, no…!
In a split second, my instincts kick in. I shove Damiano down, and in a swift, wincing mid-air twist, I clutch my gun, directing it towards Stephan, the shot hitting his forehead.
Damiano gasps as I hit his chest, falling on him. My back arches when my ribs touch his abdomen.
Damn, damn, damn… Why did I save him?
His hands are hugging my shoulders, knowing that my ribs are hurt. I feel his breath on my neck as he kisses my neck.
My mind numbs as I feel his wet lips. I freeze under his touch, not knowing what to do. His warm body makes me relax my muscles that were so stiff under Stephan's kicks.
"You did good, Amara." That low whisper is the last thing I hear before my vision blacks.