Chapter 34

(December 17th – Friday)

This year has been a constant reminder of why Renato doesn't like to work using Mafia Land's network. He'll always appreciate the 'Hitman's Hall' as it was the place where he received his first contracts when he was nothing more than a no-name hitman with only the security blanket that it is Mafia Land's neutrality to fall back.

Still. Sometimes he can't help but hate Mafia Land's lacking information requirement. That added with their policy of accepting all contracts can make things troublesome really fast. He's one to easily concede that he likes Mafia bars as the gossip is always quick to get. However, trying to use it as his only source to get some specific information is a completely different thing. He'd use his own contacts, but he wants to keep a low profile now with the Second Mafia War going on. After all, a powerful freelance like him can't be seen favoring one side over the other.

He has enough attempts to his life as it is. And they lost their appeal after their first fifteen tries. Now, they're just plain annoying.

But what can he do but play detective? He's already accepted the contracts. And while he admits in the confines of his mind, he shouldn't have just given a city's name with the difficulty of above medium as his only prerequisites, he's not above taking his annoyance on whoever looking at him the wrong way.

He also kind of regrets choosing Spain without having taken the political underworld background into account, even if he needed to be there because of the chance of him meeting an important source of information about Ozora's abilities. Adding the fact that since Italy won the World Cup many people are more than a little sore with Italians, a hit and a kneecapping with a chance to annoy soccer fans sounded like a vacation at the time.

However, the supposedly difficult hit, which consisted in killing an old man so his son could succeed him, was only a bit tricky and that's mostly because he had to enter a secured place filled to the brim with guards and make it look like an accident. A disappointment, really. Not really that hard to accomplish if one knows how to plan and is stealthy enough, something he excels at.

The kneecapping with a medium level of difficulty ended with him running away from an explosion and his mark with first-degree burns. All because the document with the details forgot to mention his target was a paranoid Sun flame user bastard and had had three different people on his tail already attempting to intimidate him.

He would have liked very much to kill the moron but he was required to leave him alive. Alas, not all dreams can become true. He had to settle for activating the cellular death until both of his legs were suffering from necrosis. It didn't lift his mood and the temptation to grab the orb Ozora gave him, which is still inside his suitcase and has not been touched since he's put it there, has only grown, especially after a week and a half surrounded by incompetence. But this is supposed to be a time away from the little Sky and he's determined to complete it.

He's actually kind of relieved he doesn't have any of the withdrawal symptoms he thought he would suffer. Even if he sometimes does find himself staring blankly into space, doing nothing more than enjoying the calmness in his flames. He begrudgingly admits missing Ozora's presence, which is strange if one considers not even three months back he couldn't stand more than two hours at his side.

However, he has firsthand experience in trying to be forced into harmonization by other Skies (The downsides of being known as a Strong Sun), so he knows the little Sky hasn't been doing that. Also, he's heard of many instances in which Skies and Elements simply hit it off right away and, instead of taking them the usual years, they harmonize a couple of weeks after they meet—The Mist Guardian of the Vongola heir, a thirteen years old boy, is a clear example of the later.

… And he really doesn't like where his thoughts are going and what they speak of his future.

With an irritated sigh, he stands up and grabs his jacket and fedora from the perch next to the door.

At least the bars in Spain have a good stock. After the week he's had, he really needs a drink.

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