“Ugh.” I wouldn’t take Alex back if he were the last man on Earth.
CHAPTER TWO
Theo
This motherfucker thinks he’s slick. I don’t care who his brother is.
He fucked with the wrong one.
Mitch knows the rules. He was born into this shit the same as I was.
What I’m about to do could fuel a war, but I don’t give a fuck. The message I send has to be clear. Nobody fucks with the Bolero Crime Family and walks away breathing.
He glances back over his shoulder, sensing that he’s being followed, but not by whom. He’s too drunk and fucked up at this point to truly notice, anyway.
I’ve been following the dumb bastard all night. Watching him go from bar to bar, consuming too much alcohol. Snorting cocaine and anything else he can crush.
He’s a loser and has only survived this long because of his last name, but it can no longer protect him.
I’m no longer interested in the truce between our families.
Not when he doesn’t abide by the contract.
I’m going to enjoy watching him take his last breath.
I’m good at what I do. Became a made man on my tenth birthday.
My father put a gun in my hand and told me to make him proud, and I did. He put me to work as a soldier. I had to earn my spot like the rest of his men.
Working my way up the ranks taught me everything. How to survive. To work smart, not hard. To never make decisions based on emotions. Emotions are for the weak.
I flick my cigarette to the ground, snuff it out, and tuck it in my pocket.
Rule number one. Never leave any evidence. Not physical or digital. My cell is back at my apartment. I’m dressed like a common thug. Black hoodie and mask that covers my head and face. Protects my identity. Black leather gloves that hide the tattoos on my hands.
Even if a camera captures my image, there’s nothing to identify me. No proof. I blend into the shadows on nights like these. Nights when I hunt.
Killing is an art.
Mitch’s body is going to be my canvas and his blood my paint.
My brush––my knife.
The dumb fuck stumbles down an alley fumbling with his zipper to take a piss.
He leans against the back of a building for support and pisses on his own shoes.
Like I said. He’s pathetic.
An embarrassment.
I slam his head against the dark concrete.
“What the fuck?” He rubs a hand over his bleeding nose as he turns around.
I pull off my mask and stuff it in my pocket. I want him to look me in the eye when he takes his last breath.
“Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”
