[CASTELLO DI CARTE MAFIA CHRONICLES, #1]
𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀
When my mother's deteriorating health pushes me into rethinking my career choices, my boss does what he does best; he shoves me into the world I never planned on venturing into. The job is simple:...
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Cole was on the terrace of the six-storey apartment across the street from Raffy's bar, while I was in the alleyway at the back that smelt worse than a sewer and rotten bodies, which wasn't surprising considering the territory I was in. I feared stumbling on an actual dead body, as it was so dark.
"It's getting cold up here, B." Cole's voice came through one of the mini earbuds plugged in. The sound cracked because of the whooshing sound of the chilly breeze.
"I'm standing in a cold alleyway wearing a tight mini-dress, Cole. I think you'll survive," I shuddered.
"Sorry, B."
"Any update on that side?" I asked. The sound of crunching and chewing reached my ears. Cole was like that. He preferred food before missions. But if anything went down by fault, he'd puke everything out. "Hello, I know you're hungry, but can we please concentrate?" I yelled.
"Oh, yeah. There's no sign of him yet."
"Great!"
"And you? No one on your side yet?"
I groaned. "Not yet." The sound of the door unlocking alerted me, and I jumped on my heels. Lucky timing. "There's someone coming out. I need to go."
"Wait!" Cole panicked. "Remember, don't knock a Made-man out. They have different passes. If you pose as a member, you'll get caught," he said in a breath.
"How do I know which one's a Made-man?"
"They always wear black, and they have a batch on their chest. A spade."
My eyes widened. "A spade? Why wasn't I told before?"
"I forgot."
"Cole, you don't forget details this important!" I snapped my eyes shut. "I have to go."
Spade. The men who had stopped the incident back at Mambo's bar a few days ago had the spade broach, according to Harley. My heart drummed in my chest. Something was happening in the Mafia world that the outside people weren't aware of.
I kept keen on the door and took my position in the corner as I had planned. A man walked out, rubbing his nape and yawning. Thanks to the bulb on the doorframe, I could see him and his attire clearly. A red blazer on top of a sky blue shirt and black pants. I tried to look for a batch on his chest. None.
I bent down, made a retching sound, and waited for him to react. Walking down the small steps, he followed my voice and stepped into the shadow, where the light barely touched.
"Hey lady, you okay?" he asked.
"Yes, I'm fine." I whimpered. "I think I've had too much to drink."
He reeked of alcohol, which was more to my advantage. He rubbed my back while I dug into my purse to pull out the injection with a proper dosage of ketamine, or what these people called the Special K to keep him knocked out for the next five to six hours. I slammed my hands on his arm and injected him.
