Silent Killer

"Reckless decisions brings ruthless consequences."

The alley was a graveyard of shadows, drenched in dread and the metallic stench of fresh blood. The dim glow of a flickering streetlamp cast jagged shapes on the walls, amplifying the horror below. Robert's boot slammed into Jack's face, sending him sprawling onto the damp, filthy concrete.

"Where is my money, Jack?" Robert's voice was low, almost calm—a calm that concealed the storm brewing within.

Jack writhed, clutching his face. Blood seeped from his nose, staining the pavement. "I-I don't know, Robert! I gave it to Michael! He knows where your money is!"

Robert crouched beside him, his lips curling into a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Michael? Funny thing, Jack—Michael's missing. And guess who decided to hand him my thirty grand?"

Jack swallowed hard, his voice trembling. "Jill. Your girlfriend. She told me you wanted Michael to have it! She said you—"

The words were cut short by Robert's fist driving into Jack's stomach. "Jill? My girlfriend? You could've called me, asked me, done *anything* but trust that airhead. But no, you handed my cash to a ghost."

Jack coughed, doubling over. "Please, Robert. I can fix this. Just give me time!"

Robert stood, towering over him like a predator deciding whether the hunt was worth it. "Time?" He pulled a gleaming pistol from his waistband. The sound of the safety clicking off echoed like a death knell. "Sorry, Jack. Time isn't something I can afford."

The gunshot shattered the silence, and Jack's lifeless body collapsed with a thud. Blood pooled beneath him, seeping into the cracks of the concrete. Robert spat on the corpse, his anger still smoldering. "Bloody idiot. Thirty thousand dollars. Gone."

He turned toward his motorcycle, his boots crunching against the gravel. But before he could swing his leg over, the faint sound of footsteps froze him mid-motion.

Robert's hand darted to his gun again. He scanned the shadows, his pulse quickening. "Whoever the hell you are, show yourself! Or I swear, you're dead!"

A gunshot rang out, and searing pain tore through his thigh. Robert crumpled to the ground, clutching his leg as blood oozed between his fingers.

"FUCK! WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?" he roared, his voice bouncing off the brick walls.

A figure emerged from the darkness, moving with deliberate calm. Heavy leather boots echoed ominously as they closed the distance. A steel-toed shoe slammed into Robert's face, pinning his head to the pavement.

"Where is your boss?" The voice was deep, gravelly, and devoid of patience.

Robert gritted his teeth, writhing under the weight. "Boss? What boss?"

The figure pressed harder, forcing a strangled cry from Robert. "Glenn Thomas. The leader of the Black Cats. Where is he?"

Robert's eyes widened in panic. "I don't know! I'm not his fucking secretary! Ask Samuel. He knows where Glenn is."

The figure leaned closer, his shadow swallowing Robert whole. "And where do I find Samuel?"

"Porto Marghera!" Robert screamed, desperation dripping from every word. "He's at Porto Marghera!"

The pressure on his face eased, but the relief was short-lived. A second gunshot ended his misery, leaving the alley soaked in blood and silence once more.

The figure straightened, slipping the gun back into its holster. He pulled a cigarette from his pocket, lighting it with practiced ease. The ember glowed brightly as he inhaled, his eyes glinting with cold determination.

"Glenn," he muttered, exhaling smoke into the icy night air. "You've written your death sentence by robbing my consignment."

Without another glance at the bodies, Mr. Massino slid into a sleek black car parked at the alley's edge. The engine growled to life, and moments later, the alley was empty, save for the two corpses and the faint scent of tobacco lingering in the air.

Three men wearing black leather jackets with a print of a skull of a cat were standing near the motorcycles, talking with each other. One of them, whose name is Henry asked, "Why is Robert not picking up the phone? Idiot must be drunk."

Another guy, named Simon smiled, "Must be pushing his girl. Winter nights make the blood hot." Derek, the third guy smiled, "Impossible. His girl fled a long time ago. Must be tired jumping on that small dick." All of them started laughing. The sound of a bike roaring stopped their laugh and they turned to see a bike coming towards them. The rider took off his helmet and the three guys immediately hushed. His lush black hair shined in the moonlight and his big sweaty biceps pumped hard.

The man pushed the stand on the ground and got off the bike. He looked at them, "Where is the consignment, boys?" Derek said, "Up in the container. It will soon reach Germany as you want." The man smiled, "Good." The man slowly walked upstairs and entered his cabin. Inside his cabin, a gentleman was sitting, sipping coffee. The man smiled, "Glenn. You are late. I am waiting for you for the last five minutes." Glenn smiled, "Only the fools come on time. The smart ones make people wait." The man chuckled, "But, my boss doesn't like waiting for long. He wants your answer."

Glenn lit a cigarette, "You and your boss have already got my answer. No. I won't sell Massino's product to you. Stealing from that goon was already a risky job and now selling his stuff is even more risky. I can't sell it to you." The man opened a briefcase. Stacks of fresh green bills shined in the light. The smell of freshly billed notes spread around the room. "Not even now?" The man smiled. "No. Those notes aren't bigger than my life. I have already promised someone and betraying him is something I can't afford."

The man threw a blank cheque on the table, "Fill your desired amount, Glenn. A deal like this is a once in a lifetime opportunity." Glenn looked at the blank cheque, "It might ease my tension a little bit. But, I will need something even bigger than money." The man smiled, "You will get it. But, I must tell you. Betraying us will be harmful for you." Glenn smiled, "Is there someone richer than your boss?" The man laughed, "Serve us and you will be getting richer everyday. I heard you want to expand." Glenn smiled, "Who doesn't? Life is all about exploring new possibilities." The man pushed the briefcase towards him, "Then, you are on the right path." Glenn and the man shook hands, cementing their deal.

They raised their glasses, the amber of the whisky catching the dim light, laughter and cheers filling the air. Suddenly, a gunshot shattered the moment. Startled, they rushed to the window, their eyes widening as a car sped toward the tower. The vehicle slammed into Glenn's motorcycle, sending it tumbling to the ground, shattering into pieces.

Glenn's expression darkened as he grabbed his gun and bolted for the door. The others hesitated, but the gentleman, ever cautious, chose to remain inside the tower.

Descending the stairs at breakneck speed, Glenn burst onto the scene. His breath caught as he spotted Derek and Simon lying lifeless on the ground, blood pooling around them. Behind a stack of crates, Henry cowered, his body trembling.

"Why are you hiding?" Glenn bellowed, fury igniting in his eyes.

Henry's voice shook. "I don't want to die."

Glenn raised his gun and fired without hesitation. "Bloody cowards I've raised" he spat, disgust evident in his tone.

He surveyed the area, his grip on the gun tightening. Silence engulfed the port. He was about to turn when a fist smashed into his jaw, sending him staggering. The gun slipped from his grasp. Dazed, Glenn reached for it, but a swift kick sent him sprawling to the ground.

Blinking through the haze of pain, he looked up, recognition dawning. "Mr. Massino?"

Mr. Massino loomed over him, fury etched into every line of his face. "YOU BLOODY BASTARD! YOU THINK I'D LET THIS SLIDE?" His voice was thunderous, rage palpable. Without warning, he drew his gun and fired.

The bullet tore through Glenn's leg, a scream ripping from his throat. Desperate, Glenn stretched toward his weapon, but another shot rang out, piercing his arm. Agony seared through him as he collapsed.

"Leave me! I was paid to steal your consignment!" Glenn pleaded, his voice trembling with fear.

Mr. Massino leaned in, his voice a deadly whisper. "Who paid you?"

"Dempsey," Glenn confessed, tears mixing with the sweat dripping down his face.

A chilling smile curled Mr. Massino's lips. "Thanks for the information." He turned and walked to his car.

Relief flickered across Glenn’s face, but it vanished as the car engine roared to life. "No, wait" Glenn's words were cut short as Mr. Massino’s car surged forward, the headlights slicing through the darkness. The impact was brutal, silencing Glenn's pleas.

The car sped away, its taillights disappearing into the night, leaving behind only the stillness of death.

The gentleman slowly raised his head, peering cautiously through the window. His heart pounded so loudly it seemed to echo through the cabin, and beads of sweat trickled down his face. Gradually, his breathing steadied. He wiped the sweat with a trembling hand and turned his gaze to Glenn's lifeless body sprawled on the ground.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a handkerchief and carefully began wiping his fingerprints from the glass. Suddenly, the sharp ring of his phone shattered the silence, making him jump. The glass slipped from his hand and smashed into pieces on the floor.

"Idiot!" he muttered, clutching his chest. He snatched up his phone and glanced at the screen before answering.

"Yes, sir. I've reached the place. I spoke with Glenn, and he agreed to hand over the consignment. But... there's a slight issue."

A pause.

"No, he doesn't want more money. It's just... he's dead."

Another pause.

"Mr. Massino killed him."

The line went dead.

The gentleman slipped his phone back into his pocket, his face expressionless. Without another glance at the scene behind him, he descended the stairs, stepped into his car, and fired up the engine. The vehicle roared to life, and he sped away, vanishing into the dense fog.

Mr. Massino entered his room, his expression calm but unreadable, and headed straight to the sink. The sound of water running filled the room as he meticulously washed his hands, his movements deliberate.

Moments later, the door creaked open, and Mr. Coppola stepped inside. "Where did you go?" he asked, his voice cautious.

Mr. Massino turned off the tap, grabbed a towel, and smiled faintly. "You'll read about it in tomorrow morning's newspaper," he replied, his tone carrying a hint of satisfaction.

Mr. Coppola's face tensed. "I hope you didn't do anything... dangerous."

"Why do you ask?" Massino said, his smile fading.

"Because," Coppola said, his voice dropping to a near whisper, "I don't want things getting messy—not with Sonny marrying Anabelle soon."

Massino's gaze hardened. "It's best if we don't discuss this any further. I did what needed to be done. But, should be done by you and Demmola."

Coppola shifted uncomfortably. "We're sorry for your loss. Truly. But, to be honest, we should be focusing on finer matters rather than sweating over... trivial things."

Massino's jaw tightened. "Tell VPS I'm not here to answer his every question. I've been in this business long before he was even born."

Without waiting for a reply, he turned and strode toward the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him.

Coppola exhaled deeply, running a hand through his hair. "VPS won't like this," he muttered to himself, his voice laced with worry.

Mr. Coppola walked briskly to his room, his face a mask of unease. As soon as he shut the door, he pulled out his phone and dialed Vikram's number. After a few rings, the line connected.

"Yes, Mr. Coppola?" Vikram's voice was calm, almost indifferent.

"Massino's up to something suspicious," Coppola began, his voice low but urgent. He quickly recounted the events in detail.

Vikram scoffed. "Forget that old fool. Whatever he's done, it's not our problem. Sonny is here. Even if Massino gets himself killed, so be it."

Coppola's frown deepened. "You're being too dismissive, Vikram. I don't feel right about this. Massino isn't just reckless—he's dangerous. I'm certain he killed Glenn. And Glenn was a British citizen, murdered on Italian soil. The British Mafia has been our ally for years. Their leader, Thomas Salt, won't take this lightly. You need to talk to him before things spiral out of control."

Vikram sighed, the sound heavy with annoyance. "You're overthinking it. Thomas isn't going to break ties with us over some random nutjob like Massino."

"Don't be so sure," Coppola snapped. "We have more enemies than friends, Vikram. We can't afford to be complacent. For all we know, someone's already whispering poison into Thomas's ears. The British Mafia is a cornerstone of our power. If we lose them, we're finished. Speak to Thomas—immediately. As for Massino, he's old news. We have his son under our control. As long as Sonny remains with us, we can sideline Massino's antics."

There was a brief pause before Vikram replied, his tone resigned. "Fine. I'll speak with Thomas."

The line went dead.

Coppola let out a frustrated grunt and threw his phone onto the bed. "Surrounded by idiots," he muttered to himself. Closing his eyes, he leaned back, his mind racing with thoughts of looming dangers and fractured alliances....