Elias sat in the dim glow of his living room, the folder Dominic Graves' man had given him lying open on the table. Anton Sorelli. Mid-level enforcer for the Vescari Syndicate. A dangerous man, no doubt, but still just another cog in the underworld machine. Elias studied the grainy black-and-white photo Graves had sent him—a stocky man in his forties with slicked-back hair, a thick mustache, and a scar running from his temple down to his cheek.
His hands clenched into fists. Another life he was about to take. Another piece of his soul he was about to lose.
Elias exhaled and checked his watch. 24 hours left. He had to act.
---
The Crimson Key stood at the edge of the city, nestled between old brick buildings that had seen better days. It was the kind of place where the walls had ears and no one asked questions. Elias parked across the street, his hood pulled up, blending into the nighttime crowd.
He entered the club, the air thick with smoke and jazz notes floating from a live band. His eyes scanned the dimly lit room, searching. He found Anton Sorelli near the bar, laughing with two women draped over his shoulders. A drink in his hand, a cigar between his fingers—completely at ease.
Elias took a seat at the far corner, just watching. Learning.
Sorelli was confident, comfortable. That meant he didn't expect danger here. Good. That was something Elias could use.
He noted the men surrounding him—guards, but not obvious. Their eyes constantly moved, their posture tense. Anton wasn't alone. He was protected.
Elias sat for an hour, then two, committing every movement to memory. How Sorelli drank. How he talked. How he shifted his weight when he laughed.
When the night deepened, Anton stood and left through the back entrance. Elias followed at a safe distance. The man climbed into a sleek black car, his driver waiting. The vehicle pulled away, disappearing into the night.
Elias now had what he needed. The next 24 hours would be about preparing himself for what came next.
---
But as Elias drove away, a weight settled in his chest. The more he followed Graves' orders, the more he realized—he was becoming a monster. Graves' monster.
Instead of going home, he took a detour. His heart led him where he hadn't gone in months.
The cemetery was quiet, the cold air biting at his skin as he stepped between the headstones. He stopped in front of a grave marked Mariana Carter. His wife.
He crouched down, running his fingers over her name. "Mary," he murmured. "I don't know what to do anymore."
Silence.
Elias swallowed hard. "I thought I could survive this. I thought… maybe if I played along, I'd make it out. But I don't think that's possible anymore."
A gust of wind blew through the trees, rustling the dry leaves.
"I wish you were here," he whispered. "You always knew what to say."
His hand clenched into a fist. "I have to do one more job for him. Just one. And then I'm free." His voice broke. "But I don't think I'll ever be free, Mary. Not from what I've done."
He sat there for a long time, talking to her, letting the guilt pour out of him. But no matter how much he spoke, the weight never lifted.
---
The next morning, Elias drove to a small house in the suburbs—the home of Mariana's parents. His children were here. Safe.
He knocked, and after a moment, his mother-in-law, Margaret, opened the door. Her face was stern, but there was something softer in her eyes when she saw him.
"Elias," she said quietly.
"Can I see them?"
She hesitated, then nodded, stepping aside.
Inside, laughter echoed from the living room. His daughter, Clara, was playing with her brother, Leo, stacking blocks into a wobbly tower.
"Daddy!" Clara squealed when she saw him. She ran into his arms, and he hugged her tightly.
Leo followed, and Elias scooped them both up, holding them close.
Margaret watched from a distance, her arms crossed. "You look like you haven't slept in days," she muttered.
Elias forced a smile. "Busy with work."
Margaret didn't press, but he knew she could see the darkness in his eyes.
For the next hour, he played with them, soaked in every moment, every laugh. He knew something would happen to him soon. Either this job would end, or he would.
And if he didn't return, he wanted his children to remember this moment—their father smiling, playing with them, being present.
As he left, Margaret stopped him at the door. "Whatever you're caught up in, Elias… get out before it's too late."
He met her gaze, but he couldn't promise her that.
---
That night, Elias walked into Graves' casino.
The bright neon lights did little to mask the rot beneath the surface. The casino was Graves' fortress, his kingdom.
Elias checked into a suite, knowing he needed to be close. The mission was tomorrow. No distractions.
But before he could settle, a voice called out.
"Couldn't sleep, Elias?"
He turned to find Dominic Graves at a private poker table, a drink in his hand, smirking.
Elias sat across from him, saying nothing.
Graves studied him, then grinned. "Nervous?"
Elias leaned back. "I've done this before."
"Not like this," Graves countered. "This one's special. This one will set you free."
Elias clenched his jaw. "If I do it, you let me go."
Graves swirled his drink, watching the amber liquid shift. "That's the deal."
A long silence stretched between them. Then Graves leaned in, his voice lower.
"You know, Elias, I see something in you. Something dark. You pretend you hate this life, but deep down… you're starting to fit into it."
Elias stiffened.
Graves chuckled. "You don't have to admit it. But I know." He took a sip, then set his glass down with a satisfied sigh.
"Only do it," he said finally, his voice calm yet sharp. "And you will be free. Tomorrow, Elias."
Elias left without another word.
Tomorrow.
His fate would be decided.