(On hiatus for two month or so)
"Whatever you sell has a price."
Circa 2001, Italy.
The assassination squad of Passione finds itself at crossroads two years after the death of their two beloved members. Everything surrounding that untraceable messag...
Last of the sun rays peeked through the door that led into the vacant church where a lone man in black sat on one of the benches. His head was stooped low, but his hands weren't joined, rather they sat still and oddly on his thighs clad in some kind of striped attire. He likely wasn't there for prayer, but mourning instead.
A few silver-dyed strays of hair slipped out of his dark hood and tickled against his placid face, while he remained nonchalant of it. He didn't seem to be crying, but it would have been evident to one that he was trying to keep his face away from view; despite being the only person in that hall.
Footsteps echoed against the walls of the church as another human entered the hall. Their long bright beige overcoat crinkled as they moved slowly and steadily towards the rows the previous man had been sitting along. They took the seat a few benches behind him, soon joining their hands and bowing their head down in submission to the idol of the Lord ahead.
"Risotto." The voice of a man resonated as it called out a name. "It's late, we need to leave," the blonde in the formal suit said.
The man with the silver hair finally picked his head up and turned towards the other guy. Not letting his dark eyes meet anything but the floor, he walked towards the doorway and reached the guy, who put his arm over his back and rubbed it in a consoling manner.
"Pericolo came by. He sent his condolences."
The man named Risotto hummed a melancholic response as he stepped out of the church doorway, only to stumble his foot onto something on the floor. When he looked down, he spotted a triangular trinket the size of a palm laying on the ground near his foot.
"Is that yours?" Risotto asked the other, who shook his head in denial.
The two men turned around to look at the person that had been sitting inside, who quickly finished with their short prayer and was now standing up and preparing to leave.
"Excuse me, but... Is this yours?" the blonde asked.
Subtly turning your head to the side, you faced the man who had asked you the question and followed his finger that was pointing to the article on the ground. You brought back your eyes to his and shook your head, with a low-voiced reply.
"I'm afraid not."
"Are you sure -"
"Proscuitto." The other interrupted him and then turned to you. "Never mind."
The two left in the direction away from you, walking up to the car that had been parked on the side of the deserted street.
"That thing was an occult triangle. I've seen those things before." Proscuitto said.
"I know," Risotto responded as he sat on the seat next to the driver's.
"What's that kind of thing doing in a church?"
"It's not our business, Proscuitto... None of it is our business... Drive..."
Watching the car drive away into the distance, you pushed your hands into the deep-sewn pockets of your coat and stood still and inanimate; almost appearing to be frozen in time. As your eyelids turned languid and irises dull, a slow and sluggish muted hum of music left your lips.
It was a tiring task, but nothing could be sweeter than getting one step closer to the one you had sold your soul.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
