Blade

Chapter 36: Never give up

Blade

I step out of my car, the cold night air biting at my face. I brush the cigarette ashes from my long black leather coat and lift my gaze to the towering manor before me. Its dark silhouette looms against the night sky, more reminiscent of a haunted house than a home.

A crow caws somewhere nearby, the sound doing nothing to ease the heavy sense of eeriness that hangs over the place like frost on a spiderweb. It is not a perfect comparison, but it is the closest image that comes to mind.

I knock firmly on the wooden door, my eyes scanning the aged stone walls and intricate carvings as a soft footstep approaches from the other side.

The door creaks open with a groan, then clicks shut behind it, revealing Elisa, Eduardo's wife, standing in the dim light of the foyer.

"Welcome to our humble abode, Blade Armani. It is a pleasure to see you again." Elisa smiles warmly, her eyes crinkling at the corners, and gestures for me to come in. Strands of gray hair escape from her otherwise neat bun perched atop her head, giving her an air of dignity.

"Same here, Elisa." I force a smile onto my face, knowing it will likely read as a frown, but I do not care one bit. I just need to get this over with.

As Elisa guides me down the long, dimly lit hallway, my eyes linger on the ancient paintings that line the walls, their colors faded with age yet still telling their silent stories.

"He has been expecting you, Blade," she says softly.

I ignore her words like the rude devil I am, following in her footsteps until she comes to a stop in front of a long dining table that stretches beside the kitchen, the polished wood gleaming faintly in the soft light.

Eduardo sits at the head of the table, a plate of omelette and a steaming cup of coffee set neatly in front of him. His eyes move slowly over the faded print of an old newspaper, scanning headlines as if he's searching for a story he already knows.

He hasn't changed one bit.

The bald old man is still very much himself. He wears his usual outfit: a plain white shirt tucked into brown dress pants held up by black suspenders. The kind of suspenders that make you wonder who in their right mind still wears them.

His shoes are equally unimpressive: scuffed brown leather with tiny holes that reveal socks that are white once, but long past clean.

For a man as filthy rich as Eduardo, he dresses like a relic from another era, a clown wandering through the modern world.

"Nice to see you, Blade. Why don't you take a seat." He gestures toward the wooden chair three feet away, its surface worn smooth from years of use.

"What would you like to drink?" Elisa asks politely as I lower myself onto the chair, which protests with a loud creak that echoes slightly in the room.

I shift carefully, making sure not to put all my weight on the fragile furniture, unwilling to test its patience or risk ending up on the floor.

"Wine will just be fine," I mumble, drumming my fingers lightly on the polished tabletop as Elisa lets out a soft chuckle.

"That's nonsense, Blade. You must try my famous green tea," she says, her voice cheerful, before she saunters off with a confident sway, leaving me with no chance to argue. Crap.

"So Blade," Eduardo begins, his fingers brushing over the gray strands of his mustache as he lifts a forkful of the omelette to his mouth, "word got out that you want the head of my nephew. Why is that, if I may ask?"