Lorenzo

 

It had been hard to wait for darkness to descend over the city. I’d planned this hit for a long time, and I was eager to get it over with. The Calzoni family had been stepping into our turf for too long, running drug deals and money laundering schemes that interfered with Moretti business. There had been more than enough of it, and Matteo had finally awarded the job to me. The others were jealous. There were plenty of capos, including Matteo’s own son, who would have been happy to do it. But Matteo knew that I was the only one who could actually pull it off.

 

“Lorenzo,” Matteo had said as he leaned back in his desk chair. “You know as well as I do that this must be done. We have waited too long already. Get in there. Get Frankie. He deserves it.”

 

“And anyone else?” I had struggled to keep the excitement out of my voice. A new hit always sent a surge of adrenaline through my blood, and this was the most important one of my career.

 

“Them, too. Anybody who has so much as laid eyes on Frankie Calzoni deserves to die. He has his mitts in everything, and it’s time we cut them off.” Matteo’s dark eyes crinkled at the corners. He was happy with himself.

 

Coming in through the tree line just to the east of the property, I took up my usual surveillance position. How many times had I already been here, watching Calzoni’s guards as they changed shifts? I had studied every door and window of the mansion until I knew them all by heart, even memorizing what kind of curtains they had and when they might be open. Like most people, Frankie and his men kept to a routine most of the time, and I knew it like the back of my hand.

 

I pulled in my breath to slow my heart as I checked my pistol and the extra magazine. I had cleaned and examined my weapon thoroughly the night before, but I knew that this was my only chance. Everything had to go right. If not, my career as a hitman—and my life—would be over with. But everything was in smooth, working order, and the only thing I had left to do was wait.

 

At exactly midnight, two guards came out of a side entrance of the building. Their ties were loose and they laughed and shook their heads at each other as they came out into the courtyard. Whatever they’d been doing, they’d been having a good time. They spoke to the men at the gate for a moment, pointing over their shoulders at the festivities they had just left. The new guards replaced the old ones, and I watched and waited anxiously.

 

I needed just enough time that the new shift was well-established at the gate and the old shift had gone inside, but not too much time that they would be required to report in. I wanted to give myself enough leeway in case things didn’t go down the way they were supposed to. No matter how careful I was, there was always the possibility of a mistake. Raising my gun and aiming carefully, I fired two shots, one right after the other.

 

The guard on the left reeled backward, blood splattering against the brick wall, and dropped to his knees. The one on the right had only a split second to look toward his partner before he met the same fate. They lay on the pavement on the quiet street, their hands flung out uselessly at their sides. My silencer kept me safe from any nosey neighbors.

 

Things had begun. There was no more time to wait around. I slipped from my hiding spot and patted down the bodies. I knew there was a remote control that opened the gate, and it only took a moment to find it clipped to one guard’s belt. Tucking it away inside my jacket, I dragged each of the bodies up into the tree line, placing them right where I had been hiding. The irony would be lost on whoever found them, but I sure appreciated it.

 

It would be easy to open the gate and walk through it, but I had a good feeling that it would trigger an alarm of some sort inside the house. I needed the element of surprise on my side. Scaling the wall, I dropped down onto lawn and headed immediately for the back side of the house.

 

The outer wall was higher here, and for some reason, Calzoni imagined that meant he didn’t need to have this side of the mansion as well-guarded. There were security lights, but I took those out easily as I made my way to a wide French door that led out to the massive infinity pool. Other than that, I was alone.

 

I had acquired many skills over the last ten years, since Matteo Moretti had taken me under his wing. “You should never be a one-ring circus, Lorenzo. Sure, you can shoot. I’ve taught you well. But there are many other skills that would be useful to you, and you shouldn’t ignore them. Train yourself, physically and mentally. Never stop learning. The best in the business are like this.”

 

With this in mind, I whipped out the small lock-picking kit that I always kept on hand. Most people would be shocked at how easy it is not only to make these tools, but to use them as well. I had the door opened in less than a minute, and I had yet to hear any of Calzoni’s goons coming to investigate.

 

I found myself in a hallway. To my right were several doors that could have had anything behind them, from mobsters to maids. To my left was a staircase, the treads carpeted in blue. The noise that drifted up them—music, laughter, and lewd remarks—let me know that this was my destination.

 

I had picked the night of the hit very carefully. It was Frankie’s birthday, and he was sure to have a party of some sort. The rumors about his little private club were rampant. He hired the best dancers and entertainers for his own enjoyment as well as that of his business partners, capos, and sometimes government officials. Why would he bother going anywhere else when the flesh had been fine-tuned to his own desires?

 

Though the lights were fully up on this floor of the mansion, the stairs descended into darkness. It was perfect. I crept down, keeping my pace steady and my weapon ready. The Calzoni men would be armed—we all were in this line of business—and I would only have so much time to get the job done. I was risking my life as I plummeted into enemy territory, but I knew it would be worth it in the end. Frankie would be out of the picture, and I would be able to focus on more important things.

 

The bass thundered in my ears and vibrated in my chest. The stairs weren’t lit, which worked to my advantage. I located Frankie, front and center in front of the stage. The DJ on the other side of the room should have been the first to see me, but he was focused on his mixing table, headphones on and head bobbing along to the beat. None of the other men arranged around the room were interested in seeing who had come to join them; they were too busy leering at the stripper. I only gave her cursory glance—I couldn’t help it—before I raised my gun. At least he would die happy, which was more than I would probably be able to say for myself.

 

My silencer didn’t douse the sound of the round completely, but it was enough with the music blaring. It punctured his chest, a bright red flower of blood blooming against the crisp whiteness of his shirt. He gaped at the hole for a moment, his hand gesturing weakly as he tried to figure out what had happened. The capos that surrounded Frankie were so focused on the dancer that they didn’t notice anything was happening until I had shot two more of them. They burst out of their chairs and off the sofas, screaming and pulling their weapons out of their holsters.

 

Adrenaline surged into my bloodstream. Sure, it had been fun to get into the house, but this was the main event. I counted off my shots as I fired them, watching one man who was running toward the stairs fall forward onto his face after a bullet went through his chest. Another had been quick with his pistol. He sent a round pinging off the stair railing before I nailed him in the forehead.

 

With one swift movement, I dropped the magazine and loaded another one as I came further down the stairs. It gave me a better vantage point on the scene, but it also made me more vulnerable. I didn’t care. I would get the job finished, and if I was killed in the process then so be it.

 

The DJ was more than just a hired man for the show. I had expected him to cower down behind his table and try to crawl away. Instead, he whipped a nine-millimeter out of his back pocket and levelled it at me. I dismissed him with a quick pull of the trigger. He managed to fire, but it went into the ceiling as he slumped backwards against the wall.

 

More men fell to the floor as I worked, killed with my swift efficiency. I would remember them later when I tried to sleep, their mouths gaping in shock as they realized they had finally reached the end of the careers with the mob. I would see the blood as it seeped from their wounds, puddling purple on the blue carpet. Deep down, I knew these weren’t the ones I should feel guilty about. These men had committed to a life of crime, serving a man who did whatever he could to make a dollar. Calzoni had razed apartment buildings to build a casino, the tenants turned out into the cold and too poor to rent anywhere else. He hadn’t done that alone. He hadn’t personally escorted those women and children out into the streets, yelling at them to hurry up or else. No, he had had help. Everyone here deserved to die.

 

When the floor was littered with men in suits, I stepped off the last stair and across the floor. The swiveling lights illuminated the grisly scene as the final song ended, leaving the room in silence. My first shot had been perfect. I wanted to disable him, but I needed the chance to let him know who had finally gotten the best of him. Frankie was still alive, the bullet in his chest causing him to wheeze horribly as he groped feebly for his gun.

 

“Don’t bother,” I said through my teeth. “You’ve lost, Frankie.”

 

The mob boss narrowed his eyes at me. “This was a mistake. I’m a powerful man, and I know who you are. You could have come to work for me instead, and I would have paid you far better than Moretti does. I could have made you into somebody.” Pink bubbles of blood erupted from the hole in his chest.

 

He couldn’t know how much his words affected me. It wasn’t the promise of money. I could still hear Matteo in the back of my head, standing behind me at his private gun range when I was only fourteen. “I’m going to make you into somebody,” he had promised. “You only need to be loyal to me and the rest of your life will be taken care of.” It had sounded so good at the time, but I had been too young to know any better.

 

“No, thanks,” I replied. “I’ll get all the payment I need when I get to see you finally die. You’ve caused too much trouble for the Morettis, and nobody gets away with that.” I put a final bullet in his head, watching with satisfaction as he took his last breath. I twisted his signet ring off his still-warm finger and slipped it into my pocket. I would need it later to prove what I had done.

 

I was just about to turn back for the stairs when I heard a sound behind me. Whirling around with my gun at the ready, I saw the one person I had forgotten about up until this point. The stripper huddled at the back of the stage, her arms over her head. I stepped up onto the platform.

 

These were the ones I regretted. I had no qualms about taking out those who had hurt others—those who took the risk of a mafia life and knew what the consequences were. But it was inevitable that there were others, those who had been hired for what they thought was a normal job only to find they’d gotten involved in something much bigger than a paycheck. But the woman couldn’t live. She’d seen what I’d done and she’d seen my face. I advanced across the shiny floor. Was the world really going to miss a stripper?

 

She picked her head up and looked straight at me. Her tears had smudged her makeup, making colored trails down her cheeks. Her chest, decorated only in little heart-shaped pasties, heaved with her sobs. The woman was attractive; there was no doubt about that. Maybe the world would miss her a little bit, with those long legs and that great rack. But what held my attention most of all were those blue eyes.

 

They picked up the blue of the room around us, shining through her tears as a deep sapphire. Her dark lashes and brows framed them perfectly, and it was as though her eyes were communicating with me even though she said nothing. I didn’t know what the message was, but it suddenly made me uncomfortable in my own skin.

 

“Please,” she finally whispered.

 

“Sorry. Business is business.” I adjusted my grip on the pistol. There was one round left. I had plenty more in the next magazine, but I only needed one. My finger rubbed against the trigger. It was a light one and it hardly took any effort to fire the weapon, yet somehow I couldn’t seem to do it. I lived through the scene in my mind—the bullet flying into her head and sending her into a semi-naked heap on the floor—but I couldn’t make it happen.

 

She blinked, flinching against the bullet she thought was coming, but it did nothing to lessen the effect of those incredible eyes.

 

“You’ve seen too much,” I growled, trying to convince myself as well as her. “I have to do this.” I once again situated the gun within my palm, irritated at myself. I had practically molded my flesh to the feel of this weapon. It was an extension of me—part of me that I couldn’t live without even if I tried. I was a hitman. A killer. My money and Matteo’s favor was earned with the blood I shed. This shouldn’t have been so hard.

 

“Please, please don’t,” she whispered. Those full lips formed the words that wrapped around my gun and made it fall down to my side.

 

“Come with me,” I commanded, watching with shock as my free hand reached out toward her.

 

“What?” She glanced at my hand uncertainly, clearly just as surprised by this turn of events as I was.

 

Her dress lay in a heap near my feet. Without taking my eyes off the dancer, I kicked it toward her. “Get dressed and come with me. Unless you want to die.”

 

Still watching me, perhaps watching me with as much wariness as I watched her, she grabbed the dress and yanked it over her head with a startling proficiency. I forced my eyes to stay on her face instead of wandering down to examine that gorgeous body; there wasn’t time for that sort of thing. The stripper grabbed my hand, and I pulled her to her feet.

 

“Where are we going?” she asked. She followed me up the stairs, but I kept my grip on her hand tight. I wasn’t going to give her the chance to get away.

 

“Don’t worry about that. Right now, we just have to get out of here.” As I got to the top of the stairs, yet another man in a butler’s suit stood waiting for me. By the way the gun wavered in his hands, I knew he wasn’t used to firing at anyone. Calzoni had hired him to show in the guests, pull out their chairs, and bring them glasses of wine. Unfortunately, he had also armed the man. I sent the last bullet in the magazine straight into his chest and barreled past him toward the back door.