Married After Midnight

The games played

  Rain poured as if it intended to wash away all the blood and sorrow that had been exposed at night. Water droplets the size of pebbles crashed against windows and roofs, soaking the streets of Italy as the sun slowly rose. It rained harshly as if the sky was crying about the sins that occurred, but the sound of water pelting against the windows and roofs produced a melodic tune that was almost hypnotic. It was pure and soft yet constant and strong as if the universe wanted Amara to wake without the guilt that dared to hold her. Maybe she would, maybe her eyes would open and last night would be a memory so hazy and vague that all she'd know was that a memory once existed.

A part of Kalon hoped that would be the case. He hoped that she'd wake up and hold him as tightly as she did now. He hoped she'd wake up and her expression would be as soft as it was now, that she'd have no guilt, or pain, or anger of the night before. That was what he hope for, it was his mythical desire, but he lived in the real world where shit like that didn't happen. Amara would wake up and remember, she'd wake up with anger and there would be a ten-foot pole between him and her heart. But at the moment she slept. Her face like a child that knew nothing but love and her body dawn close to him, and that was enough. So much so that he gave his attention to the laptop, ready to watch the hell he was about to raise in another time zone, The beginning of his perfect game.

In New York they were waiting, waiting for the calm of late-night semblance to settle on the warehouse. It sat by the sea on the road of Pier 90 under the moon with all roads connecting to it blocked off by Matteo and the men that accompanied him. They waited under a dim flickering light and loaded their weapons. Each time the light shone a hue brighter you could see the bandages on Matteo's face from where he sat on a chipped block with a phone to his ear. He sat and watched the light go dark as the last docked ship as he waited for the man he was calling to answer. The phone rang once, rang twice, then there was silence accompanied by the pitter-patter of rain on the other side of the world.

"..."

"Hello?" Matteo asked, his voice unsure someone was on the other end.

"Speak."

Matteo's jaw tightened with annoyance. "What the hell is this Osiris, who are these people? You told me my men were assigned."

"I told you men were assigned, I never they were all yours. Most are yours but a solid handful is mine, what's the problem?"

"You expect me to lead twenty men I've never met much less seen in battle?" Mateo asked through gritted teeth.

"You don't need to lead them they already know the task at hand. Furthermore, Vincent is there to make sure everything runs smoothly and you feel like a big man, so if anything happens to him you are responsible. If the operation fails and he's not alive to tell I'll call it sabotage. If a man walks out of that building alive it's on you."

"I didn't agree to babysit anyone."

Osiris scoffed. "You're the one being babysat, but that is the least of your problems. I want minimal damage done to the warehouse. Which means no bombs, no grenades, no rocket launchers. Any severe damage comes out of your pocket."

"The fuck!" Matteo snapped pulling everyone's eyes on him. "We never fucking agreed to this. I have 65 men 20 of which I've never seen in action and you want me to kill 85 or more with just bullets. You've lost your common sense Osiris."

"You agreed to this when you took the file because these details were all inside. In regards to my men, they can handle themselves. Play your part and they will too."

Osirs hung up, and left a dial tone ringing in Matteo's ear. Like a volcano on the verge of eruption the veins in Matteo neck bulged and pulsed as his blood pressure. The block he sat on shook as he shattered his phone into a hundred and one pieces. He cursed, first in English then in his mother tongue. He cursed Osiris, cursed himself, cursed the higher being he believed in. Then he said nothing. His pointless cursing ended as he stood and checked the magazine of his AMT handballer. It was full. He then grabbed the Beretta ARX-160 and checked it. It was fully loaded. Matteo finally turned to the men that had been watching him since his outburst.