Pampered By The Ruthless Mafia

Christopher's POV

The bastardo knows why I'm here and what I want. He has information I need to get for my boss. Luciano is "the leader of the Italian mafia." I just work alongside him as his top assassin.

While I'm not a blood member of the family, he treats me as such because we've been best friends since we were kids.

We respect each other, and although I don't tell him this, he is the only family I truly have and trust.

"Now are you going to tell me what I want to hear, Rick, or are you just going to keep losing fingers?" I don't usually do torture; I just kill the target and collect payment. But when it comes to Luciano, I step in and assist when asked to.

"I-I- don't know anything. I swear, p-p-please have mercy. I have a family." The man begged-oh, I just love when they beg. As if I'm going to listen. I enjoy what I do.

I take pleasure in punishing and ending the lives of others. I turn to my left and look at Luciano, and he begins to speak, "Now, Ricky, you know I don't like liars. I know you stole information about my shipments and sold it to the Russians. I'm not stupid."

Luciano was livid and you could hear it in his voice. I, on the other hand, could care less about his shipments. I'm just here for the kill.

"Come on, Rick, the faster we get through this, the faster I can put an end to your miserable life," I said it with an all too wide smile just to freak him out more. His eyes told me everything. I could read him like a book. I knew who he gave the information to, but I wanted to see if he would tell Luciano.

Of course he wouldn't, and I was beginning to get bored, so I took that as my cue to kill him. I brought out my gun and shot him between the eyes.

Luciano turned to me angrier than ever, "WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO THAT FOR? I NEEDED THE INFORMATION HE HAD YOU FUCKN IDIOT!" My face remained neutral, and I didn't say a word; I just took a folded piece of paper from my back pocket and handed it to him. He eyed it suspiciously. "What the hell is that?" I rolled my eyes.

"Just fuckn take it." He opened it and looked at the messy writing on it. "The Bekinstos?" I shook my head and began to walk away. "How the hell did you get this?" I continued walking and didn't respond. I got to my car and headed to my place. As soon as I walked in, I grabbed my other phone, which I keep in a safe behind the painting in the living room.

As a side job, I do freelance, as I like to put it. Throughout my whole life, I've been building a reputation that started when I was born. I was known as the devil's son; my father was just as bad as me. He raised me to be a cold son of a bitch. I never liked him and don't have fond memories from the beatings to the verbal manipulation. I loathed that man with my whole essence.

I killed him when I was 17, so from then on people talk and said I was the "Il mietitore" (The Reaper) I don't like the name much but hey, as long as they fear me and show

respect. I don't care what the hell they call me.

Looking down at my phone, I see 3 new messages from different people stating that they have a "job" for me. The jobs range from kidnapping and bringing said target to a location and collecting money, all the way to just taking out a target. I don't ask questions; I just get half now, half after, and then I give them a Polaroid picture for proof, just to remind them of what they did.

On my phone are 3 different numbers. 2 are asking for kidnappings, and 1 is asking to take out a hit. I usually don't meet people in person just for precaution; even if they had something planned, they wouldn't get far.

So I chose to text back the person that wants a hit taken out; those are the quickest, and I don't feel like doing much work tonight. The message says they want to take out a 5'6 blue-eyed brunette living in the east side apartment 1104.

I ask for the money to be wired to an encrypted account I always use. Sure enough, minutes later I receive payment, but I notice it's in full. So I ask, "You trust me enough to not run with the money, ragazzo?" (Boy)

"Not so much trust, let's just say I've heard enough to know you won't disappoint." "consider it done."

And with that, I put my phone down and began digging for information on my next target. And from what I can tell by looking up the tenants of said building on the east side, I have a name and a little more information that I don't care for because in a few hours this person will be no more. Alima Smith will be just another name on a gravestone.