Franco was walking through the night streets of Milan, heading to the address written on the black card. The neighborhood he had arrived at was not one that anyone would wish to find themselves in, especially after midnight. The walls were covered in cryptic writings that only gangsters could understand, and passersby were giving him looks that suggested they might steal his shoes at any moment.
"Why do I feel like this trip will be my end?" he muttered to himself, trying to ignore a homeless man staring at him like he was a piece of roast meat.
He stopped in front of a black metal door, just as the card indicated. He sighed deeply, then knocked on the door three times as he expected the secret code to be.
A moment of silence... then the door opened, revealing a giant man the size of an industrial refrigerator, wearing a ridiculously tight suit, as if it was struggling to stay on his body.
"What do you want?" the giant said in a voice that seemed to come from a deep cave.
Franco, who had no intention of dying tonight, slowly raised the black card and said:
"I'm here because... how can I say this? Someone wants to see me, and I'm curious by nature, and I like surprises, but not if they involve my death, so—"
"Shut up and come in."
Franco was pushed inside, where he found himself in an underground room, lit by dim yellow lights, and the walls were covered with old posters of wrestling and boxing rings, as if the place had been an abandoned gym before it had been turned into a gang den.
In the middle of the room, there was Marco, the man he had met at the café earlier, sitting at a table drinking a cup of coffee. Next to him, there was a bald man wearing black glasses, and another man who was busy polishing his gun as if he were taking care of a pet.
"Welcome our dear guest, Franco Pato!" Marco said with a wry smile, gesturing for him to sit down.
Franco looked around, then sat down on a rickety wooden chair.
"Well, here I am. Did I win some sort of prize? I hope it's a car, because my shoes are no longer fit for walking."
Marco laughed, while the others stared at him with stone-cold faces.
"I like your sarcastic spirit, Franco. But it won't save you if you don't prove you're worthy of this opportunity."
"An opportunity?" Franco raised an eyebrow. "An opportunity to do what exactly?"
"To enter the mafia game."
There was silence for a moment. Franco thought for a moment, then said:
"Is this like Monopoly but with bullets?"
Marco laughed again, but this time, there was a menacing tone to his laugh.
"Listen, Franco, we have ten gangs fighting in Italy right now. Zacrota, the man I work with, wants smart, strong men who aren't afraid of getting dirty."
Franco took a sip of the water in front of him, then said:
"Well, that sounds great, but there's a little problem... I'm not a hired killer, and I don't have muscles like your human refrigerator at the door."
Marco pointed to the bald man, who finally smiled and said:
"You don't have to be a killer... but you have to prove that you're not a coward."
"How?"
Marco took out a small pistol, and placed it on the table in front of Franco.
"A very simple mission. In the next room, there's a person... who owes us a lot of money. If you're serious about joining us, prove yourself."
Franco looked at the pistol, then at Marco, then at the door leading to the next room.
"Let me ask you one question..." Franco said, trying to analyze the situation.
"Here you go."
"The person in the next room... is he at least an annoying person? Like, someone who doesn't wash his feet, or talks during movies?"
Marco laughed again, while the bald man muttered:
"This guy is weird."
Franco got up from his seat, then slowly took the gun, and started walking towards the door. All eyes were on him, but he was thinking of something else:
"If I'm going to enter this world, I'm going to do it my way."
He opened the door, and entered the next room, where he found a small man, tied to a chair, and his mouth was covered with duct tape. His eyes were shining with fear, and he started to squirm in place when he saw Franco holding the gun.
Franco closed the door behind him, then leaned slightly towards the man.
"Well, let's be honest..." he said in a calm voice, "I don't want to kill you, and you don't want to die, do you?"
The man nodded quickly.
"Great! Then I have a better idea... I'll shoot, but not at you. You just scream like you're in pain, and I'll go out and tell them I've finished the job, what do you say?"
The man hesitated for a moment, but realized that this was his only option, so he nodded again.
Franco took a deep breath, then raised the gun to the wall, and fired a single shot.
"Aaaah!" the man screamed as if he had lost a leg, even though he hadn't been hit.
Franco smiled, then walked out of the room, holding the gun in a steady hand.
Marco looked at him appraisingly, while the bald man nodded in admiration.
"I'm done." Franco said in a cold tone, placing the gun on the table.
Marco smiled slowly, then said,
"Looks like we have an interesting man here…"
Then he got up, and put his hand on Franco's shoulder, saying,
"Welcome to the gang, Franco Pato."
Franco smiled, but deep down he knew that the real game… hadn't begun yet.