I

  I passed the brute at the door and went down the stairs into the bar—one that, according to Morgan, might provide valuable information. The interior felt more like a club than a regular pub: card tables and pool tables filled the space.

  I took a seat at the bar island, glanced around, and spoke to the bartender.

  “Martini.”

  He nodded and disappeared into the back. While waiting, I studied the patrons more carefully and quickly realized the core issue—I didn’t belong here. Everyone was grouped up or clearly a regular. That alone put me in an uncomfortable position. Still, I kept my posture confident, hoping not to be perceived as a threat.

  After a while, I got a sense of the room. Aside from a few small, unimportant groups, two figures stood out. At the largest table sat the best-dressed man in the bar, acting like a textbook gang leader. Far more interesting, however, was a woman sitting off to the side, cigarette in hand, her features deliberately obscured.

  I’d been watching for a few more minutes when the “leader” suddenly approached me.

  “New around here?”

  “No,” I replied, slightly tense. “Just curious about the place.”

  “And why’s that, if I may ask?”

  “I got fired,” I said—choosing honesty for once, not wanting to mess things up.

  He smiled faintly.

  “Then I might have a solution to your problem. Interested?”

  “Depends on the details.”

  “How about a game, then?”

  With no better option, I joined them. During the game, the leader spoke mostly between the lines, but still let slip a surprising amount—names of subordinates, job details, the general hierarchy.

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  “So,” he asked after the round—one he lost badly despite his good mood—“did you enjoy the game?”

  “I did,” I admitted. “But I’ll need time to think about your offer. That won’t be a problem, will it?”

  “Not at all. Just make sure you decide soon.”

  “Then I’ll call it a night,” I said, placing money on the table. “Until next time, gentlemen.”

  As I stood up, cold metal pressed against my temple. The smell of cigarettes hit me. I froze.

  “Sloppy work, Horst,” a woman said coldly. “You played this like a child.”

  Then she turned to me.

  “And now… you’ll play against a better opponent.”

  II

  I was patrolling the area when the man who had been standing at the entrance approached me.

  “The boss wants to see you.”

  I immediately knew things had gone wrong. With no real choice—and worried sick about Susan—I followed him. I stayed in the middle of the street, hoping one of the cops might notice me.

  Inside, they seated me at a large round table, right next to Susan. Across from us sat a young, silver-haired woman, cigarette in hand.

  “Gun off your belt,” she said calmly. “I know it’s there.”

  I complied, placing the pistol aside. For some reason, she didn’t mention the machete I was still carrying.

  “Charlie Freeman. Susan Miller,” she said. “You’d cause me serious trouble—but…” She paused. “I have my informants. I’m a merciful woman, so I’ll give you a chance at redemption. Why not join us?”

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” Susan snapped. “The mafia? We’re not touching that kind of work.”

  “You really believe the person you work for now is better than me?” the woman asked, locking eyes with her. “At least we take care of our people. Don’t we?”

  The click of a magazine being loaded answered instead. Time was up.

  Then, from outside, came a massive explosion.

  III

  The entire building shook. Nearly every table flipped over—except the heaviest ones.

  “What the hell is happening?!” the leader shouted. “Horst! What’s going on out there?!”

  He never answered. The power went out completely.

  “Shit…” the woman hissed. “They’ve got us. Move!”

  In the chaos, someone grabbed my arm. At first I couldn’t see who—until Susan pulled me behind the bar.

  “You okay?” she whispered.

  “Yeah.”

  We waited, praying no one would remember us in the madness. When the center of the room began to clear, we ran for the exit.

  Halfway there, an intense light blinded us.

  “On the ground!” someone shouted from the doorway, followed by gunfire—mostly blind.

  I dropped instantly, rolling aside. Absolute chaos erupted. Bullets flew everywhere. More lights flooded the room, and flashes of light-blue uniforms appeared.

  “Charlie…?”

  I turned. Susan stood in front of me, covered in blood, barely conscious. A second later, she collapsed.

  Without thinking, I picked her up and ran. I crossed several side streets before reaching the main square.

  That’s where I fell to my knees.

  Mounted on the monument’s blade was the mafia leader’s head, crowned. Beneath it was the mark III, encircled in blood.