Actor

Damien

"Bro, you can't leave tonight, you have so much to do—script reading, photo shoot, and later you need to visit your family's house. How could you think of taking a mission as Agent P?" Mike exclaimed, making my ears ring this early in the morning.

"That's why I have you, right? Make it happen, make excuses. I'm taking that mission. The bastard in question is the prosecutor responsible for my mother's case. Even though the evidence I gathered never got to him, he clearly had a hand in it disappearing. I can't let him go," I said icily.

It had been a year since I assumed the identity of Don Vincenzo De Luca, a famous celebrity actor and mafia prince. He wasn't too famous, probably a C-list—yes, I knew these things now. He was my twin brother, who died along with my mother.

I looked at Mike, and his eyes instantly turned cold.

"Well, if it's for my aunt, then I'll do it. I'll push up your schedule for as long as you need, but at most, we both know they'll only give us two hours. Though, you are not that popular, you're still in high demand," Mike said with a smile at the end. I wanted to wipe it off. He loved the life of fame more than I did. I bet he would switch places with me in an instant if given the chance, but honestly, I wouldn't care less about this career.

I stood up, grabbed the car keys from the table.

"W-What are you doing? I said I'll try, meaning I'm going to negotiate right now. Why are you leaving already?" Mike whined, frantically running after me.

I paused at the door. "And I said I can't let go of that prosecutor. He's been spotted recently. I have his location, and it'll be an easy kill. I'll be back before whatever I have to do. Just hold the fort until then." I opened the door without hesitation.

The minute I stepped outside, all eyes were on me. I froze, then, with a radiant smile, I said, "Good morning."

"Eeek, Don Vincenzo just said good morning!"

"He's so handsome."

"And good-natured."

"Can he be my husband?"

"Of course not! I heard he's married, but his wife is keeping a low profile."

All these words kept floating in my ears, and I couldn't block them out. There were days I regretted taking up Don's identity, and this was one of them. I hated loud noises early in the morning, but here, I had to tolerate them. But that was not the worst of it.

The worst of it—the thing I loathed completely, no matter what, and I wouldn't change even for being in character—was physical contact.

"Eeek, can we get a picture?" Damn, I knew this would come. I hated it the most when the crew and staff acted like groupies.

Smiling brightly, I said, "Pictures will be taken when filming is over. Then, everyone will get a signed picture of me that day."

"Really?"

"Eeek!"

"That's a better bargain," one of them said, and I politely waved goodbye to them before shutting the door, my smile turning upside down as I turned to a smirking Mike.

"Damn, you are a brilliant actor. It's no wonder Don Vincenzo has been hitting the charts more and more," he said smugly.

"Shut up. Make a thousand copies of any of the pictures we took in advance, then forge my signature for me," I said, making my way to the dressing table, grabbing a cap and mask before making my way to the window.

It worked every time—taking pictures in advance, then wearing that outfit on the day and having people believe I took the time to pose as a parting gift after filming. It's not that I wanted to be devious, but my many identities forced my hand. Besides, I was mafia—have you ever seen a mafia taking pictures for other people? Posing in front of them?

"Eh? Again? I'm tired of repeating your signature. It's so hard making me twist my hand so much," he complained.

I paused. "Then sign one and make a copy of it," I said.

"You know I can't. If I do and it's found out, we could both lose our jobs," he said reprimanding me.

"Jobs we don't need," I replied nonchalantly, trying to open the window.

"Tch, don't act like you have money," he scoffed.

"I surely have enough to feed the both of us," I said, finally getting the stubborn window open. It was stuck, like they had purposely made it that way, and I wouldn't blame them, given the suicide rate around here.

"Tsk, I have expensive taste, cousin. You can't. And what the hell are you doing with that window?!" he exclaimed, loud as usual.

I turned and threw a dagger at him, which he dodged by instinct.

"You're lucky that they have soundproofing in this room," I said.

"Yeah, yeah, I shouldn't have shouted, but you're not going through there, are you?" he asked, rubbing his nose and temples.

"What do you think?" I scoffed and jumped out.

"What? Wait, that's dangerous!" he shouted after me, but it was too late. I was already making my way down from the 10th floor to the 7th floor. The building was tall and made of glass, but luckily it had rails on the side, and I used them to reduce my speed and adjust my trajectory to land safely.

...

I got back just in time for the interview. There were still 30 minutes left. Mike had gone out to appease the people waiting for me, so I had to do my own makeup. I was still wearing my mask from my work as Agent P. Just as I was taking it off, the door clicked.

Suddenly, the door opened, and I thought it was Mike, so I let my guard down. Then I heard heels clicking, and I immediately threw my face mask into one of the drawers. Before I could turn around, you would never guess who showed up in the reflection of my mirror—Cleopatra. And what the hell was she wearing?!