Daniel's breath came in ragged bursts, his chest tight with fear as he stood frozen, gun in hand, facing the man who had appeared out of nowhere. The stranger in the black suit, tall and menacing, didn't flinch. His gaze was unyielding, his posture calm, like he had dealt with men like Daniel a thousand times before.
"Drop the gun," the man repeated, his voice smooth as silk, but every word carrying the weight of a threat. It wasn't a suggestion. It was an order.
Daniel's mind raced, every muscle in his body screaming at him to run, to escape, to do something—anything—but his feet felt like they were stuck in concrete. He knew the Mafia's enforcers weren't like the rest of the world. They didn't hesitate. They didn't negotiate. They took what they wanted, and if you weren't useful anymore, they made sure you disappeared.
His hand trembled, the gun heavy in his grip, but he couldn't lower it. He wouldn't. Not yet. There had to be a way out.
"Who the hell are you?" Daniel managed, his voice hoarse, betraying the panic he was fighting to control.
The man didn't answer immediately. He took a slow step forward, his polished shoes making a quiet click on the marble floor. Daniel instinctively tightened his grip on the revolver. He was sweating now, his palms slick against the cold steel.
"You already know," the man said, his lips curling into a slight smirk. "I'm someone who makes sure things go the way they're supposed to. And you… you're in my way."
The words hung in the air, heavy and foreboding. Daniel swallowed, his throat dry as dust. The vault door loomed behind the man, a symbol of everything he needed—everything he had risked his life for. If he didn't make it through this, if he didn't get that money, there was no escape. Salvatore Mancini would find him. And once Sal found you, running wasn't an option.
The manager stood frozen by the vault, her hands shaking as she glanced between Daniel and the man in black. Her voice was barely a whisper. "Please… please, don't make this worse."
Daniel's eyes flicked to her, and then to the terrified people on the ground, their faces pale, eyes wide with fear. He knew he was beyond redemption at this point. There was no going back. But if he could just get what he needed—if he could disappear—
"Move," Daniel ordered the manager, his voice shakier than he'd intended. "Open the damn vault."
The man in black's smile faded, and he stepped forward again, his pace measured, deliberate. "You think you have a choice, huh?" His eyes never left Daniel. "I don't think you do."
Suddenly, the air in the bank grew thick with tension. Daniel's hand was slick with sweat. He could feel his pulse pounding in his ears, louder than the ringing silence that stretched between them. He knew there was no escaping this. Not from Sal. Not from the Mafia. And certainly not from the man in front of him.
Without warning, the man in black moved, faster than Daniel thought possible, his hand reaching for the gun. Daniel reacted on pure instinct. He jerked the revolver away, firing into the air with a deafening crack. The bullet splintered a light fixture above them, and the room plunged into darkness for a split second before emergency lights flickered on.
The man in black didn't flinch. He didn't even blink. His grip on Daniel's wrist was like iron, forcing his hand down, the revolver pointing to the floor. "You think you have power in this situation?" he asked, voice cold, almost amused. "You don't. You never did."
Daniel's heart hammered in his chest, the fear and desperation gnawing at him. He tried to pull away, but the man's grip tightened, pinning him in place. His mind was screaming—he couldn't afford to lose this fight. If he did, it was all over.
A low chuckle escaped the man in black's lips, and he twisted Daniel's arm just enough to make him wince. "You really thought you could just walk in here, steal some money, and disappear?" He shook his head, almost pitying him. "You made a deal, Daniel. And now, you're going to pay the price for it."
Daniel's stomach churned. That name. The man knew who he was. Knew what he had done.
"Salvatore sent you," Daniel said, barely able to get the words out.
The man in black tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing with something akin to amusement. "Not exactly. But we work for the same man. And trust me, Salvatore is very particular about his assets." He let the words hang in the air, like a noose.
Daniel's mind raced, but there was no escape. His pulse was roaring in his ears now, drowning out everything else. His fingers twitched around the grip of the revolver, but it was useless. The man was too strong. And even if he somehow got free, he knew it wouldn't matter. The Mafia was already closing in.
"Let me go," Daniel said, his voice shaking with a mix of fear and defiance.
The man raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. "What's the point?" he asked softly. "You're already dead, Daniel. You just don't know it yet."
Daniel's world spun, his mind still racing as the man slowly, deliberately, removed the revolver from his hand and dropped it to the floor with a sharp clink.
"Now," the man said, his tone changing, colder, more commanding. "Let's talk about what happens next."