The Mafia Boss's Rose

Chapter 2

After going to the gym, I decided to explore the city. So, I'm now standing in front of the Berlin Wall, taking in the artwork that describes the story in its own way. I'm so entrenched in imagining what the artists were trying to portray, that I almost miss the person in my peripheral vision. This is a local tourist destination so there are people everywhere but this ones different. I begin to walk along the wall and I notice that the person disappears. I don't turn around, knowing that if I do, I'll make them aware, that I know they are following me.
     They're good at following me but I want to know who it is and why they bother. Riccardo would have just grabbed me by now, not caring who was around but this person is staying in the shadows. I walk away from the wall and find an art gallery. I look in the windows and notice that it is modern, walls of white and accents of black. The paintings are all unique in there own way.
      As beautiful as the art is, I'm not here to take it in. I use the window to reflect the person behind me, however they know that I could see them and stand far enough back that I can't make out there face. I enter and decide to head to the second floor. As I near the top I hear the door open as someone steps in. I make a show of reaching the top of the stairs, changing my mind and going back down. The door never reopens and I can feel the persons presence.
     There is only one other person in the store, a guy about 20 with blonde hair and wearing blue jeans and a grey hoodie. Even his stance screams professional. I clear my throat because  I know he assumed I went upstairs due to my silent foot steps. He bites his cheek and turns to look over at me. His green eyes are compelling but investigative. He looks back at the painting as if he's indecisive about whether to say something or not.
"Mhm, this artist does such an amazing job with his paintings, the brush he uses is so small you can hardly tell that he didn't just take a picture." It was a picture, I knew that but he wasn't thinking about the painting. He was thinking about whether or not I had figured out that he was following me.
"Yes, that's very true indeed." His voice was quiet and contemplative.
"Do you paint?" I took my eyes off the picture and looked at him, wondering if his exterior would crack that easily.
"No?" he said it as a question, like he was a cop and this was the first time he had talked about his cover.
"Any type of artwork?" At this question he stayed silent, long enough that I thought he hadn't heard me.
"Not with paint."
"What do you use then?" I gave him a questioning look, still waiting for an answer.
"Words and emotions," How is that artwork?
"So your a writer than?" At this he turned and faced me, staring down his nose at me.
"Perhaps. Perhaps I'm a psychiatrist." I made a pfft sound, rolled my eyes and went back to studying the picture.
"Simon. That's my name, Simon." He said it more to himself than me and unfortunately for him I picked up on that.
"No it's not."
"Huh?"
"Your name isn't Simon,"
"What makes you say that?"
"You don't look like a Simon."
"I was put into an orphanage so they changed my name." At that I turned towards him and looked him in the eye. I didn't break eye contact for a full 30 seconds before I took three steps forward and although, I'm shorter standing at a height of 5'5 and him at 6'0, I still managed to hold some authority.
"Don't lie to me, what's your name and why are you following me? I don't have time to listen to nonsense." He was taken back a bit because it was clear he thought I was making a friendly conversation with the only stranger in the room.
"Liam, and I can't tell you why I'm here."
"Training, perhaps?" It wasn't much of a question but he nodded. Just as I asked, the door opened and a man who looked to be at least 50 walked into the gallery. He had greying hair, the same green eyes as Liam and a much more in control presence. Trailing behind the man was a guy who looked to be about 35, an arrogant attitude seeping from him. His eyes are the same as the other two, interesting.
"Son, you've been made, don't say anything else. Head out to the car and wait for me there." My gaze slid from the 35 year old to the 50 year old.
"No, he can stay right where he is and who are you?" The 35 year old smirked, running a hand through his dirty blonde hair as he walked up to me. He was taller than Liam by a few inches and much broader. Tattoos curled up his neck and his hands were lined with scars. His voice when he spoke seemed to fill the whole room.
"He's leaving." No ifs, ands or buts about it.
"Who. Are. You??" My tone was angry and harsh, frustration radiating off me.
"Get out," he said holding my gaze. The other two left and soon it was just us in some extremely quiet gallery. I stood there, with a you better tell me now, type of glare.
"I shouldn't have let my father pick him to follow you," he spoke while moving away from me and turning to study the picture of an owl hanging ever so delicately on the wall.
"However he blew his cover so I'll tell you what I can. I'm MI6, and you are known for being hard to find, so you were a perfect guinea pig."
"And?"
"And, I need your help." The MI6 needs my help?
"You what?"
"I need you to go undercover and meet someone for me." My eyes widened in shock and I just stared at him.
"I don't know who I can trust besides my own family with this matter, you just met my younger brother and father. The thing is the mafia has many people on the pay roll and with you continuously staying off the grid, you would be the perfect candidate. My boss will pay handsomely." I chew the inside of my cheek in contemplation.
"What Mafia?"
"The Irish,"
"We're in Germany,"
"We believe there is a major event planned to take place and we need information on the when and where. All we know is that there is a pub that is considered Switzerland for the mafias. They don't fight, only make deals. Enhancing shipment and stuff like that. However there has been too much activity lately and it's making us worried."
"What do you expect me to do?" I'm in enough trouble as it is and I just got the job at the gym.
"I need you to become a regular at the pub and just write down, record or remember what they say. If you can record it, that would be most useful but under the circumstances it's understandable if you can only listen in. They will be drunk, at least most nights so they will most likely say things that they wouldn't normally tell."
"You expect me to walk into a pub to eavesdrop on the Irish Mafia? What do you expect me to do in there? Drink beer and get drunk myself? That's not gonna help anything but people will get suspicious if I don't. Listen alright, I don't need anymore trouble and there isn't anything I could possibly due in a pub besides getting drunk, that won't make me look like a cop."
"Go in there and read or something."
"READ? You want me to go into a pub to read?!?" I held my head and took in a deep sigh.
"Pretend to do work and right down what they say, I don't know. That's your job to figure out just go in, get the intel and than meet me at the peer we walked by. Sunday at noon. Don't be late." Without another word he handed me a folder I didn't know he was carrying and walked out. What have I gotten myself into?