THE BETRAYER'S GAME

I used to be part of something bigger—something deadly. My name's Coolio Adriano, half American, half Italian, and two years ago, I belonged to a small, notorious mafia known as The Bloodveil. 

We were more than just a gang; we ran the cities underworld. And let me tell you, the city's rise to infamy over the last twelve years? It wasn't because of its fancy landmarks or friendly faces. It was The Bloodveil.

We did it all—drug trafficking, theft, murder. You name it, we controlled it.  One mission stood out, though: a heist to steal an ancient emerald. I was part of this mission, I went into the place where the emerald, and pulled it off—only to steal it back from them when I turned my back on that life.

The Don, our twisted, shadowy leader, was an enigma. He played with us like chess pieces, his next moves unpredictable. None of us ever saw him in person, only through messages or on an old TV screen with a distorted voice. They said he had a mind like Einstein—if Einstein had a taste for blood.

I was just a soldier, another pawn who worked long hours and barely saw a cut of the loot, while the capi at the top drank up the rewards. 

After three years, I'd had enough. I made a wild, desperate move and turned myself—and the mafia—over to the FBI. I offered them information and a hidden diamond I stole from the mafia's stash in exchange for a shorter sentence. I spent two years in a cell, but the Don remains behind bars with plenty of loyal allies waiting to get me.

Now it's been a year since I got out, hiding out in San Francisco, trying to scrape together a life. It's laughable—I live in a dingy, cramped basement apartment with only a squeaky sofa bed, a crumbling kitchen, and a bathroom that only works when it feels like it. The only reason I even lock my door is because of my iPhone 15. 

The mafia's power, my old five-star lifestyle, even my own pride? All gone. All that keeps me going are two people: Tory, my girlfriend, and my best friend since childhood, Deon. They're my reason to keep breathing, and honestly, they have no idea how deep in hell I've been.

"DING DONG!"My doorbell jolted me from my dark thoughts. I opened it to see Tory standing there in denim shorts and a tight black shirt that fit her just right. She smelled like strawberries and mango, her Gucci bag slung casually over her shoulder. Her brown hair fell in perfect waves, framing her face, her eyes bright and warm.

"Hi," she greeted, smiling, though I noticed her gaze drifting over the mess in my apartment.

"Hey," I said, feeling a pang of embarrassment. I shifted to block the view of the empty whiskey bottles scattered around.

"Find a job yet?" she asked, curiosity in her voice as I let her in.

She sat on the chair and I replied,

"Yeah, I did. That old manager didn't deserve my time anyway," I said, trying to keep it light.

She raised an eyebrow, amused. "Oh really? What's the new gig, Mr. Coolio Adriano?"

"Working for Amazon. Delivery driver," I replied, faking a bit of pride.

"Nice! Just...try not to get fired this time, okay?" She laughed, nudging me playfully.

"Get out of here, I wasn't fired, I just left." I said, laughing, giving her a gentle push.

She leaned in and kissed me. "I should get going," she said, smiling as she headed downstairs to her waiting limousine. Tory's dad was loaded and ran some company, Dominic's Hour. I didn't know what they did, but they had money—unlike me. Dating a millionaire's daughter while hiding my past? Let's just say her father would hate me if he knew. 

Tory and I met in a charity event where I was setting up the event which was my job at the time.

I waved from my balcony as the limo pulled away. Once she was gone, the silence hit me, and I dropped onto my bed, staring at the ceiling. I let my mind wander, replaying my life from where I started to where I'd landed. It wasn't long before I drifted off to sleep.In my dreams, I found myself in a barbershop with Deon, who's obsessed with getting his hair to look like David Beckham's. The dream felt strange, more like a memory with everything sharpened. I glanced in the mirror and, somehow, my hair had turned into a messy David Bowie look.

We left the barbershop, and suddenly, we were standing near a volcano. Oddly enough, I was wearing a sweater. Deon looked at me and said, "I really like you, but..."

Then my phone rang, snapping me awake. I groaned as I fumbled for my phone, annoyed by the Elvis Presley ringtone.

"What's up, Cole?" Deon's voice boomed through the line, far too bright for this early hour.

"Bro, it's 6 AM. What could you possibly want?" I muttered, rubbing my eyes.

"Dad brought the month's money! Swing by, we're having a feast!"

I sighed, knowing my chance of sleeping in was officially over.