2. Alek
ALEK
Every house with anyone important inside it has cameras at every corner of it. Almost every corner.
There are always little cracks where they miss that someone can sneak in and around and right into the lion’s den. It’s what I do for a living these days. Weasel my way around a house in the cover of darkness, looking for a blind spot to tiptoe my way in.
Dressed in all black from my booted feet to my face, I’m a shadow in the bushes and barely a speck on any camera that might be there to see me. I’m used to this, and tonight is no different than any other job I’ve done.
With my tactical rifle strapped to my back, I avoid the cameras until I make it to the back of the house. By the time they realize I’m there, it’ll be too late.
The grass presses down under my feet, and I smell the floral scent of flowers planted in a garden bed overhanging the window a few yards away. The cold near Spring breeze brings it toward me and it beckons to me to come closer. Just a little closer.
I step forward a little bit more. I need to be at least another yard closer to the window anyway to land my shot with accuracy, and break through the window.
My eyes catch the flickers of movement from behind partially drawn curtains.
There behind the window, casting light from an overhead chandelier, sit a family having their dinner. Two young boys on the left, a woman on the right, and a man at the head of the table, facing the window.
They talk, they laugh and they smile.
Soon, that’ll be just memories for them.
I pull my gun off my back and turn the safety off. After putting the round in the magazine with a soft click, I line up the rifle on my shoulder.
There’s no room for mistakes. Not because of the importance of the mission, but because of how easily lined up this all is.
Sitting and eating his food, the man my gun is aimed at has no idea that he’s about to be the bloodiest meat in the entire room. He sits with his shoulders straight, neck and head held high. Every little bit of him so confident in this moment.
He probably thinks he’s invincible—they all seem to—but he’s on another level entirely.
I watch him and every movement he makes. I watch him lift a glass to his mouth, take a sip and set it back down.
I watch him make eye contact with his wife, and I see the disappointment in his gaze. I don’t move my own over to see what the look on her face is. I can guess it.
Tired. Sad. Burdened.
She won’t have to worry about that for long. She’ll be going through another kind of burden entirely in just another second.
One. Two.
My finger rests on the trigger. I take a breath. Pull.
The first bullet is simply to shatter the window to pieces. They go clattering about and there’s a split second of time between the first and second bullet that allows for the man at the head of the table to look up directly where the bullet had come from.
His eyes meet mine in the darkness, I can see him, but I know he can’t see me. All he’ll see is the blackness of the night from which his death comes to him.
The second bullet rings out in a quick explosion from the gun and tears through the front of his skull in less than a second.
Blood splatters all along the table and he’s gone before anyone else at the table can process what’s happened. The bullet out of the back of his head and into the China cabinet.
His wide eyes fade from the living and my job is done.
I slick the safety back on the gun, strap it to my back and turn around.
As I walk away, I hear the screaming begin. The children and his wife. Their screams are different. His wife’s screams are of disbelief and horror, but the children…they’re simply shocked. They have no real understanding of what has just happened, but they witnessed it regardless.
I could have chosen a different time, but not a better one. There is no better time to kill a corrupt Politian. In front of his family seems cruel and inhumane.
It is.
So are the polices that he enforced and supported.
I’m simply trading one immoral act for another, I recognize that, but perhaps the world will be a better place as a whole, for the deadly actions of one man, taking down a man who may have killed hundreds of thousands.
Or not.
Perhaps nothing will really change, and his death will simply be used to make matters worse.
I wipe the sweat from my brow as I disappear into the trees and come out on the other side to a car waiting there for me.
“Is it done?” the driver asks.
“It’s done,” I reply simply.
The driver reaches into the glove compartment and pulls out a yellow envelope, tossing it back to me.
“I never want to see you again.”
I nod, saying nothing else as I take the rest of my payment. I keep my mouth shut as I’m driven several miles away, and dropped off on the side of the road. I walk the remaining way to the entrance to the underground in San Damiano.
The closer I get to the place I’ve called home the last few months, the heavier the gun feels on my back.
I need a fucking drink.
I need to get out of this clothing.
As I get to the cellar entrance, I pull the mask down from my face and suck in a breath of fresh air before going down.
It’s eerily quiet down here for this time of night.
The night is when most of us get out work done.
Whether it’s killing, getting intel, or preparing for a group mission, it’s all done under the cover of the night.
Day time is for playing our parts in the other world.
The world above our heads where we’re expected to pick a side and behave.
“Aleksandr,” a voice from the left of me as I’m heading to my makeshift room.
I intend on ignoring it, but I realize it’s Jake, and I owe him some money.
“I got your money,” I tell him, reaching into the envelope and pulling out a stack more than I actually owe him.
“It’s not about that,” Jake insists. “Got somewhere here who needs to talk to you.”
I turn to look at him, and see another man walking up just behind him. He’s built like a brick house. About the same height as me, but broad, muscular, and square jawed.
“Not right now,” I insist. “You know I don’t talk after a job.”
Jake shakes his head. “I tried to tell him that, but…”
The unnamed man steps forward past Jake, and I realize who he is as the light shines on his face.
Tommaso Dresvanni.
“I think you’ll find yourself more amendable to changes,” Tommaso says as he glares at me with all the intensity of the sun.
“Tommaso,” I say slowly.
He blinks. “How the fuck do you know me?” he asks, then chuckles. “Guess that’s a stupid question. Aleksandr.”
I growl under my breath. “You told him my real name?” I ask Jake, who looks a bit panicked.
“Look, this is between the two of you.” He takes the money I still have in my hand and then steps backward.
“Just don’t kill each other down here. Or if you do, try not to make a mess.” Jake points at us.
Tommaso steps even closer, and I feel the pure heat rolling off his body.
“I need to know everything you know about the Bianchis,” he insists.
I stare at him. “Why exactly do you think I’m willing to tell you?” I ask him.
“Jake and Travi owe me. They told me you’re the man to talk to,” he explains.
I eye him from head to toe. Dark t-shirt that clings to his chest, leather jacket, designer jeans, but scuffed boots. A gun clip on his hip. He’s bigger than me…but I’m the one with the bigger gun right now.
“That’s Jake and Travi. I do not owe you,” I tell him point blank and turn to continue walking.
I hear him walking after me.
“You got nothing to lose tellin’ me, but an awful lot to lose by refusing,” he threatens me.
I put a hand on my gun at my back and turn to look at him again. “I know why you want to know, and I don’t care. I just killed a man in front of his family. I’m going to my room to get a drink, and you will not be coming with me.”
Tommaso seems to eye me now and I scoff and turn back to walking.
He doesn’t get the message and continues following me.
“The kind of man who would do that don’t seem the type to turn down a little information exchange for an ally,” he tells me.
I get to my door and shove it open with my boot.
“You might be an ally to this group, but you’re not mine,” I remind him. “I have no reason to trust you.”
He steps into the small room along with me. One single chair, a twin bed, and a small table where a bottle of scotch sits half empty.
“Get out,” I say, cold and low.
“Not until you talk to me,” Tommaso disagrees.
I grab the bottle of scotch off the table and head back for the door. “Fine, you stay in here then. It is only my own room after all, so what the hell say do I have?” I sneer and head back out of the door.
I open the bottle of scotch and take several heavy drinks of it as I walk down the hallway. I can feel Tommaso following me and I swing back around.
“You take one more fucking step, and I’ll fucking kill you right here and now. I’m not in the bloody mood!” I snarl and snap at him like my jaws are that of a ravenous animal.
Tommaso puts his hands up, but his eyes darken. “I will find you, and you will talk to me.” His threat sends a shiver up my spine and I fight that feeling back.
“Go ahead and try to make me,” I spit at him before taking another drink and turning down the hallway.
This time, he doesn’t follow me.
My head is fuzzy, dizzy—just like I need it. Everything is floating all around me, and the bottle of scotch is nearly empty. I’m leaning against a wall in the underground, still in the damn black outfit. It’s too tight, too warm. I need to get it off, but that would mean going back to my room.
Perhaps Tommaso has given up on finding me now. Through the maze that is the tunnels I head back to my bedroom one woozy step at a time.
The taste of alcohol is fresh in my mouth and permeates every single inch of me. I can hardly smell the dank musty smell of the hallways.
I brush a hand through my long hair, having lost the hat that was covering it somewhere in the tunnels, and push open my bedroom door again. Expecting nothing but four concrete walls and my bag of clothing.
Instead, I see him sitting there.
“Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me,” I breath out.
“Did you think I was goin’ anywhere?” Tommaso asks me as he pushes up from the bed.
I growl and smash the near empty bottle on the side of the table, leaving just the neck of the bottle with a jagged sharp edge in my hand.
“I’ll fucking kill you if you come at me with that,” he tells me, his eyes burning holes into my head as his hands clench into fists.
“I’m not here to play games,” he insists.
I let go of the bottle neck and it clatters to the floor. I’m not usually so hot headed. When I’m sober.
“I’m not here for you,” I reply, my words slurring.
“Look at you, you’re a fuckin’ mess,” he motions toward me. “You’re who’s supposed to get me information on the Bianchis?”
I step to the side, set my gun down, and start to pull off my shirt, revealing a thin and scarred torso that’s glistening with sweat. I sigh at the cool air rushing around my body.
“I came here to change, I’m going to,” I tell him, wobbling a bit on my feet.
Tommaso grabs my shirt from my hand and tosses it to the floor in irritation.
“All I need from you is to know what the Bianchis are planning. Where they have their men stationed. If they have any moles in our family,” Tommaso explains.
I start to undo my pants. I’m not embarrassed even in the slightest. Even as his eyes shift down to watch my hands for a split second.
“For fucks sake, keep your clothing on!” he growls at me in return. “Or can’t you? Are you too drunk to even understand what you’re doing?”
“I’m not too drunk for anything,” I tell him, my slurring doesn’t exactly help me.
Suddenly, Tommaso grabs me by the shoulders and slams me against the wall beside the door. The cold concrete wall is hard and harsh against the back of my shoulders.
“You’re hopeless. How can you even do your job?” he asks me with a strangled laugh. “I can’t believe they sent me to you.”
I reach up and grab him by the throat. His neck thick and tattooed.
“You are crossing a line,” I whisper, low and dark in my throat.
I squeeze at his neck tighter and watch as a spark of something ignites in his eyes, hot and bright.
He let’s go of me and takes several steps back.
“You will tell me what I need to know,” he says and strikes me across the face. “When you’re not shitfaced.”
The strike across my face causes my dizzy head to go black for a second, and then I blink back into consciousness.
“You motherfucker,” I mumble.
“Drunk fucking bitch,” he murmurs.
I step closer to him and grab him by the front of his shirt, pulling him even closer, until our noses are almost touching.
“Aleksandr. You will call me Aleksandr, and nothing else,” I tell him, looking right into his eyes.
I can feel his heart beating hard in his chest, and mine is too. The room is hot, and my skin beads with even more sweat.
“Get your hands off me or you’ll find out why Jake and Travi owe me,” Tommaso says with a low growl that causes goosebumps to form on the back of my neck.
I let go of his shirt and take a step back. My pants halfway undone, and a noticeable bulge that I try to ignore. My eyes shift down and I see that Tommaso is in the same state.
We’re like nasty savage animals.
A part of me begs me to clear the distance between us and do what I want to do, even though it makes no sense, but I don’t.
“Get the fuck out of here,” I point toward the door. “I will not tell you anything, Tommaso.”
His fists clench and he takes a step toward the door.
“You will. Don’t tell you I didn’t warn you,” he whispers just near my ear before disappearing out of the door.
I’m left panting softly for breath just inside the doorway. My head spinning and stomach tightening.
“Son of a bitch,” I mumble to myself before slamming the door closed and locking it. It won’t stop anyone who really wants in from getting in, but it’ll do for now.
My cock is aching.
Without even thinking I unzip my pants and I’m suddenly fisting my dick. I lean against the cold wall with my face nearly pressed up against it and stroke myself over and over again.
Everything is a blur, a disgusting and aggravating blur. The images in my head of carnal lust are confusing even to me in this moment, but they bring me over the edge faster than anything else has lately.
I spill over my own hand with several bucks of my hips and my breath leaving me. The last face in my mind his.
“Fuck.”