? Different ?
Mission Day. The Deal with the Veraccis.
Late afternoon draped the city in a dull amber haze, the kind that stretched shadows long and heavy, casting a weary stillness over the streets. Alex and Dante made their way toward the abandoned industrial zone where the Veraccis' deal was set to unfold—a place forgotten by the city, swallowed by rust and weeds.
Dante walked with his usual swagger, eyes half-lidded as though this were just another aimless stroll. Beside him, Alex was all stiffness and silence, his gaze fixed ahead, jaw tight with thought.
“Dang,” Dante said, flashing a sideways grin, “you really got promoted early on, buddy. The boss gave you the details, and you told me about them.”
Alex gave a brief chuckle, one without warmth. “It was a coincidence. I bumped into him when I got home early yesterday.”
“I’m kidding,” Dante said, brushing it off with a shrug. “I want you to fit in too. We can even have fun during this kind of stuff, y’know?”
“I never will,” Alex replied, flat and unyielding. There was no smile this time—only seriousness, carved into the lines of his face.
Dante glanced at him, his expression softening. “Hey. Sorry about the job loss. Really. Old man Harris is the one who lost you, not the other way around.”
Alex dropped his gaze to the pavement. The mention of Harris stung. He pictured the old man behind the counter, stooped and proud, and wondered if he was pacing the shop in silence, waiting for a boy who wouldn't return. He’d left him alone. And for what? Pride? A wound that hadn’t stopped throbbing since that accusation.
“I’ll find something else,” Alex murmured. Dominick’s words echoed faintly in his mind—Good job keeping your pride. I respect you for that.
He was soft-hearted, yes—but not spineless. Not when it came to honor.
Dante offered a crooked smile. “Wanna clean shoes with me in the meantime?”
“Thank you, Dante,” Alex said, glancing over at him with genuine warmth. “I probably will, once I run out of savings. I’ll start looking around the shops first. But I won’t go back to the Guilder street bar. Not where Lucia works. Night shifts are hell, and... there are memories there I’d rather not wake.”
“I see,” Dante said quietly.
There was silence then, but not an uncomfortable one. Alex found himself smiling—not because things were well, but because Dante had changed. Just weeks ago, he’d been a boy who pickpocketed strangers and laughed as he ran. He was still wrapped in the mob’s world, still fond of its shadows—but he had, at least, stopped stealing.
“But I’m excited about this one for a reason,” Dante said suddenly, his voice brightening. “Vince is gonna be there.”
“Dominick said he trusts him a lot. I’ve never met him.”
“Oh, you’ll love this one,” Dante said with a grin. “He’s the boss’s childhood friend, his right hand, his most trusted man.”
His tone shifted, lighter, livelier. “But he’s nothing like Dominick.”
Alex raised an eyebrow. “I won’t love a criminal. Never.”
“Trust me,” Dante insisted, grinning wider. “Vince is different. You know how the boss has that evil aura, cold dictator, puppet-master thing going on? Vince doesn’t. He’s... you’ll see. I’ll let you find out for yourself.”
Alex gave no reply at first, only let the words settle. The city was stirring now, distant carriages rattling and boots tapping across stone. He looked ahead, past the misted shapes of cranes and smokestacks swallowed by distance.
“I just hope no one gets hurt in this deal,” he said at last, his voice soft but firm.
Dante didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.
They kept walking. The city faded behind them, and ahead, something darker waited.
Half an hour later, the two boys arrived. The place looked exactly as Dominick had sketched it.
An entrance to the north, another to the south, walls enclosing the perimeter like the ribs of a forgotten beast. Two warehouses, one near each gate. Not a soul in sight.
“He didn’t miss a detail,” Alex murmured.
“As you'd expect of the boss,” Dante replied.
Then Dante turned to face him fully, brows raised. “So... did you memorize the signals I showed you yesterday?”
“Yes.”
“Show me again.”
Alex straightened. He placed both palms lightly on the sides of his neck.
“Ambush.”
He scratched his ear, then turned his face slightly to the left.
“My face is pointing toward the threat.”
He crossed his thumbs and opened his hands, spreading his fingers like wings.
“A crew.”
Then, unclenching his hands, he raised a single extended finger.
“Only one person.”
Finally, he adjusted the collar of his shirt with a small tug.
“Clear.”
He let out a quiet breath. “I hope I’ll only use the last one.”
Dante grinned and patted his shoulder playfully. “Good job! You’re a fast learner.”
Alex hesitated, then said, “It feels... cool. Dominick, and the way he operates. He’s not a brute.”
“True,” Dante said. “We could’ve gone with basic signs—circles or X's or something—but they’re too easy to catch. If anyone recognizes them, we’re done. He doesn’t even let his men in on these.”
“Still... aren’t these a little hard to see from a distance?”
“Vince has a hawk’s eye,” Dante said. “As long as you’re in full view, he’ll see you. Doesn’t matter how far.”
“I see.”
Dante clapped his hands. “Alright. For now, we’re just two strays hanging around. Act like we’re wasting time—lost kids, maybe. Still early. When the sun drops, we’ll take our spots.”
Alex nodded. “Got it.”
Somewhere in the back alleys of the quarter, Mr. Harris’s boots splashed through shallow puddles, his breath ragged, coat damp with fog. He turned every crooked corner with urgency, scanning the shadows.
“Alex!” he called again, sharp and hoarse. “Kid!”
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
No answer.
He slowed near a boarded-up storefront, one hand bracing against the wall as he caught his breath. His chest rose and fell like a man who hadn’t realized until now how fast he was moving.
“Damn…” he muttered, voice fraying at the edges.
“Two days,” he said to no one. “Two days, and I still can’t find him.”
He stared down the empty lane. “Didn’t ask where he lived. Don’t know his family. I don’t know anything.”
The fog muffled his voice. Far off, a bell tolled the hour—slow, distant.
He ran a hand over his mouth, jaw tightening.
“I fired him like it was nothing. Like he was a man. Like he could just... take it and move on.”
The silence pushed in.
"But he’s just a boy."
The words left him hollow.
“Just a boy,” he said again, quieter this time, as if hearing it reshaped the weight of what he’d done.
His voice broke.
He swore under his breath and dragged a rough hand down his face, weariness settling in his bones.
“What kind of man am I,” he whispered, “asking him to be the bigger man… when it was me—me—who was supposed to protect him. To trust him.”
He looked up into the fog, eyes stinging. “Kid! Please!”
But the alleys offered no reply.
Only the sound of his boots, trudging forward, and the echo of regret behind him—thin and unshakable, following every step.
The sun was setting, bleeding slow gold across the broken windows and rusted beams of the industrial zone.
In the open yard, Alex and Dante sat tossing pebbles at cracked tiles, their hands idle but their eyes sharp—scanning the stillness now and then, waiting for motion that never came.
Dante stretched and let out a yawn. “Finally,” he muttered. “Sun’s going down. Let’s take positions. Remember. Vince and his men will be on time. If you see anyone before, they are the Veraccis.”
“They’ll come around this time if they’re planning anything.” Dante placed a steady hand on his friend’s shoulder. “If things go bad—if gunshots break out—don’t be a hero. Duck, and I’ll come get you.”
Alex gave a faint shake of the head. “Don’t worry about me, Dante. Stay safe.”
A nod passed between them. Without another word, they split.
Dante headed north, to the warehouse near the first entrance. Alex turned south, toward the twin structure he had surveyed hours earlier. The buildings were empty. They’d checked thoroughly, and no one had entered since.
Alex climbed to the second floor and took position beside a grime-smudged window overlooking the gate. The angle was perfect—clear visibility, and just enough light for Vince to spot him. Across the grounds,
Dante would be doing the same.
He had done this kind of thing before.
Alex had not.
He stood there, breathing slow, his shoulders square. Alert. Still. But his thoughts began to stray.
"Old man Harris... Around this time, you would be sweeping."
...
"I hope you are fine."
The Red Corner district was boiling.
Garbage fires smoldered low in nearby barrels, the smoke rising in lazy trails. Between the broken fences and the shattered crates of what once might’ve been a market square, two gangs faced each other like drawn blades.
The Wolves were holding their ground. Lino shifted from foot to foot, scanning the alley. Tonno, broad-shouldered and sweating, stood like a shield in front of the trembling Pinch, who clutched at his coat with both hands. None of them were speaking, but their faces told it all—nerves, fear, tension.
Only two stood untouched by the atmosphere, statues of calm in the eye of a rising storm.
Zack. Mira.
Zack stood tall, loose-limbed and easy. Beside him, Mira barely seemed to register the opposition at all. Her hands remained in the pockets of her coat, shoulders relaxed, expression blank with boredom.
To the Wolves, she looked half-asleep. To their enemies, she looked terrifying.
Across from them was a larger gang—older, scrappier, louder. They hooted and hollered, feeding off their own numbers.
“Oh, these are the Wolves?”
“Lame name!”
“You’ll pay for yesterday, Zack!”
The crowd split like a curtain for the stars of the show. Two boys emerged to wild cheers and slaps on the back.
One had a jagged scar down the side of his neck and fire in his eyes—Vito.
The other walked with a lazy smile, like the fight was already over—Jax.
“Get them, Invincible Jax!”
“Make this quick, Vito! I got stuff to do later !”
Vito lifted a hand. “Alright, relax, all of you! This won’t take long. Don’t get your hopes up!”
But Jax wasn’t laughing. His smile thinned as he locked eyes with Mira and Zack. “No,” he said, quietly. “These ones are different. I feel it.”
Vito turned to truly look.
Zack’s grin had settled, calm and dangerous. His stance was loose, but not careless—coiled.
Mira hadn’t moved, but something in her posture, the balance in her hips, the coolness in her eyes… it sent a chill down Vito’s spine.
Behind them, Lino whispered, “Amazing… these two aren’t intimidated at all…”
Tonno nodded slowly. “They’ll win, right?”
Pinch, still gripping his sleeve, piped up, “Of course!”
“Alright,” Vito said, lifting his chin. “Jax, last time you picked. This time, I want the smirking one.”
Jax shrugged. “Huh? So I get the girl—?”
The crowd gasped at her swing, not letting him finish.
Jax staggered a half-step back, his forearm up in time to block—barely. The impact echoed up his bones.
His grin flickered. “That’s what I get for disrespecting you… you must be the tomboy, Mira.”
She tilted her head slightly. “Good block,” she said, deadpan. “Let’s see if you’re better at anything else.”
The crowd exploded.
“What kind of speed was that?!”
“Her footwork—damn!”
Zack hadn’t moved, but his eyes were locked on Vito, sharp and watchful. Just in case. Then he spoke, casual but cutting through the noise like a knife.
“The lady chooses, tough guys.”
He turned to Mira, who had not broken her stance.
“Which one you want?”
Mira didn’t hesitate. She turned her back on Jax and stepped in front of Vito, eyes steady.
“You picked Zack?” she said coolly. “You’ll have me.”
Vito barked a laugh, cracking his knuckles. “Gladly.”
Zack ambled over to Jax, rolling his shoulders.
“Well,” he said, flashing teeth. “You’re stuck with me, then.”
Jax’s smile returned, wider now. “I hope you’re as good as her, Zack, the maniac.”
The crowd surged around them, voices rising like a tide.
And then—
The first punch flew.
The alley became thunder.
The sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving behind a dusky glow that clung to the sky’s edges. Shadows lengthened across the ruined buildings, the last traces of warmth fading from the air.
Alex remained at the window, eyes sharp, his breath shallow. Across the lot, in the warehouse near the north entrance, he knew Dante was watching too—both of them still, waiting, alert.
Then, from the corner of his eye, Alex spotted movement near the south gate.
A figure stepped in. Alone.
Alex ducked down at once, careful not to make a sound.
"A Veracci henchman ?" he thought.
"Are they just scouting? Or..."
He froze. The man was carrying a large suitcase—and heading straight into the building Alex was in.
Panic prickled beneath his skin. His breath quickened.
"Okay... okay... calm down. I'm just a stray. I’m not suspicious. I’ll hide—just look like I’m napping."
Moving quickly, Alex slid behind the crate where he’d been sitting earlier. He curled onto his side, back against the cold floor, and shut his eyes tight, forcing his limbs to loosen.
Footsteps echoed up the stairwell. Slow. Steady.
"They don’t know Dominick uses kids," Alex reminded himself. "I should be fine."
But the steps were getting closer.
He heard them pause—then change direction, wandering the floor in quiet, deliberate strides. They circled... then drew near.
Closer.
Right next to him.
Alex’s pulse thundered in his ears. He held his breath.
Then—a hand on his shoulder.
“You. Wake up.”
Alex flinched, eyes snapping open. He blinked like he’d just come to, dazed and slow.
The man standing over him looked to be in his late twenties. Pale, wiry, carrying the suitcase still in one hand. His expression wasn’t cruel, just cautious.
“You shouldn’t be here,” the man said flatly. “It’s dangerous.”
Alex forced a shrug, still trying to play the part. “What? There’s nothing here.”
“For now,” the man replied. “Go sleep somewhere else tonight.”
Alex nodded stiffly, swallowing the fear in his throat. “Alright…”
He rose to his feet and walked down the stairs—deliberate, quiet.
Behind him, the man turned and ascended to the rooftop.
The door creaked shut.
Alex halted.
He waited a beat—then another.
When he was sure, he crept back up the stairs, slipping into his spot near the window once more. His hands trembled slightly, heart pounding against his ribs like a drum.
"Dangerous," Alex thought. "An ambush?"
Thank you for reading, as always :)
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