Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 77233 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77233 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
It looked like a scene straight out of a dark comedy—Santa, the quintessential symbol of joy and generosity, now seemingly a captive in a bleak, noir story.
His red hat flopped comically to one side, and his boots, once meant to tread on rooftops, now kicked at the cold air, inches from the ground.
And in front of the car, a man leaned against the side and watched me walk up.
This guy thinks he’s a comedian or something?
A slight smirk played on his lips.
And he was a study in contradictions—his posture relaxed, yet his eyes sharp and assessing.
He wore a faded green jacket, the kind that had seen better days, its fabric worn at the elbows and frayed at the cuffs. His jeans were nondescript, the sort you’d find at any bargain store, torn, comfortably broken in and hanging loosely on his frame.
Yet, encircling his wrist was a Patek Philippe Celestial. A watch that gleamed subtly yet assertively in the muted light of the foggy morning. Its intricate craftsmanship and the celestial display on its face were unmistakable, the kind of detail that only the most affluent could appreciate. Valued at $500,000, this timepiece didn’t just speak of wealth—it whispered of exclusivity and a refined taste that transcended mere monetary value.
His shoes, too, were a paradox—polished leather oxfords.
Expensive watch and shoes, but shabby attire. Why? Is he hiding something?
I stopped next to him and noted that his blond hair added another layer to this enigma. It was neatly styled, yet there was a deliberate carelessness to it, as if he had ruffled it with his hands just before stepping out.
What’s his story? And will I have to kill him?
The Viper Mob had orchestrated my release, but they were not allies. Our interests aligned for now—to destroy Crimson Mob.
But what would happen once that goal was achieved?
Would we part ways, or would the Whisper view me as a threat to be eliminated, just like Francesca had?
I eyed the man cautiously, aware that in this world of shadows and deceit, trust was a luxury I could not afford.
Will the Whisper give me full freedom to handle Crimson Mob as I please? Or will he be sticking his dirty hands in every part of the plan?
The man rose from the car, unfolding himself in a way that made me reassess my initial impression.
Interesting.
He was taller than I had thought, his height becoming more apparent as he stood up straight.
There was a certain breadth to his shoulders too, suggesting that he wasn’t just the slim figure I had pegged him for from a distance. Muscle lined his frame, not in a bulging, show-off kind of way, but with the lean, practical build of someone who knew how to handle himself.
I can still break him in half.
He smiled at me. “Good morning.”
Silent, I watched him.
He whistled. “Dante Ferrara. The Red Reaper.”
I frowned at the old nickname.
“I almost feel like I should pull out a piece of paper to get your autograph.”
This guy definitely thinks he’s funny.
“I’m your welcoming committee.” He held out his hand.
I stared at it. “You have orders to take me to a specific place?”
Frowning, he dropped the hand. “I have orders to take you wherever you want to go.”
“For how long?”
“Well. . .let’s discuss.” He pulled shades out of his jacket pocket, unfolding them with a casual flick of his wrist.
Hmmm.
The sunglasses were another contradiction in his already puzzling appearance. The gold frames were sleek, the lenses dark. They screamed designer.
Meanwhile, the sun was hidden behind a thick layer of clouds.
In my book, that was a telltale sign of someone who couldn’t be trusted.
With the glasses on, he flashed a smile. “My name is Anthony, but, everyone calls me Two-time Tony.”
“Why?”
“I like to cheat on my women, at least twice, before leaving them. It’s a bad habit I’m trying to work through. Anyway. . .” Anthony gave me a dramatic bow. “I am your chauffeur and at your full command.”
I leaned my head to the side. “My chauffeur?”
“Chauffeur, concierge, personal assistant, best friend, you name it. I do it, get it, give it. Whatever.” He tapped his chest. “I’m your guy, Dante.”
“Who sent you?”
His smile faltered a bit, but he recovered quickly. “What do you mean? Sabato ‘the Whisper’ Martelli, of course. I’m here to drive you around, give you anything you need, including women which I bet you are itching for right now. I have several lined up.”
“I’m not interested in women.”
“Oh.” Anthony blinked. “Well. . .I can get you some men, just tell me what you like and—”
“Not men either.”
“Wow.” Anthony held up his hands. “I can’t get you any animals. I love them. I’ve got a dog. In my mind, it’s not right to fuck them.”
I twisted my face in annoyance. “I’m not out for pleasure. I’m out to shed blood.”
Anthony’s lips thinned into a hard line.