C148 Time To Play

The mirror was cracked in the corners, streaked with grime that even the most diligent scrubbing couldn’t erase.

Still, it served its purpose.

The man adjusted the edge of his tie, tilted his head as he smirked at his reflection.

The face staring back at him was sharp, angular, and cold.

It was everything it hadn’t been before.

“Fits like a glove,” he muttered to himself, tracing the curve of his cheekbone with a fingertip. “You really had no idea how much you’d give me, did you, Tad?”

He let out a low chuckle, the sound echoing in the dank, dimly lit room.

The bulb above him swung faintly, casting shifting shadows across the stained walls.

The smell of mildew and stale cigarette smoke hung heavy in the air, but he barely noticed.

He had more important things to think about.

Like all the things he’d done with this face.

And all the things he still planned to do.

His mind drifted back, his grin twisting into something darker.

The memories played like a vivid, horrifying reel, and he savoured every detail.

It had started more than a year ago.

Antonia Virelli had been looking for someone to lure a woman to a party and ensure an “accident” happened.

Simple, clean, and deniable.

The original pick for the job had been his friend...an indecisive, spineless fool who balked at the idea.

“It’s too risky,” the friend had said, shifting nervously. “And what if they trace it back to me?”

Snivelling coward.

He’d stepped in eagerly.

The money was too good to pass up, and he’d harboured his own ambitions.

Antonia, for all her icy aloofness, had flirted just enough to give him ideas.

He’d thought, naïvely, that pulling off this job might get him into her good graces.

And even in between those lily-white legs.

“The things we do for a piece of ass,” he muttered now, shaking his head with mock disapproval.

But there had been no regret then.

Only determination.

He’d followed the target, a woman who hopped from club to club with a confidence that grated on him.

Her entourage of bodyguards made it tricky, but not impossible.

He’d bided his time until he was able to slip a little something into her drink when her focus wavered.

When she started swaying on her feet, it had been almost too easy to convince her to come with him.

He had made ditching her men seem like a game.

The bitch had come with him, giggling like the fool she was

The party he took her to had been chaos waiting to happen.

He’d chosen it specifically for the crowd.

Young, reckless, and armed with more punk than brains.

“Hey,” he’d called out to a group of posturing idiots, their guns gleaming under the harsh lights. “She said you’re all talk. That none of you could hit the broad side of a barn.”

That was all it had taken.

Testosterone and alcohol did the rest.

The first shot rang out, followed by a dozen more.

He’d made sure she was in the crossfire, her body crumpling almost gracefully as a bullet...or two...found its mark.

His job was done.

He’d snapped a picture of her lifeless form, her blood pooling on the grimy floor, and sent it to Antonia with a simple message: "Done."

But his escape hadn’t gone as planned.

He’d heard the vehicles before he saw them.

The men who stormed in weren’t like the drunk fools already spraying bullets in the house.

These were professionals, their movements calculated, their silence unnerving.

He’d barely had time to dive for cover, wedging himself between two bodies and smearing their blood across his face.

He’d played dead as they swept through the room, finishing off anyone still breathing.

Then He had arrived.

Dante fucking Cazador.

He had not known the name then, but the memory of that face...cold, ruthless, and seething with fury...was burned into his mind. Dante hadn’t even flinched as he fired round after round into the corpses.

One of those bullets had torn through his thigh.

It was a hot, searing pain that nearly made him cry out.

He’d bitten down hard, tasting blood, and stayed silent.

Then they’d set the house on fire.

While he had been inside!

The flames had roared to life, licking at the walls and consuming everything in their path.

The heat had been unbearable and the smoke suffocating.

He’d dragged himself through the carnage, his injured leg screaming with every movement.

The bodies around him became obstacles and shields, their burning flesh sticking to his skin as he crawled.

By the time he clawed his way out, his face was unrecognisable.

His face was burnt and warped by the fire.

It had taken months to heal.

Months of excruciating pain, of staring at the grotesque reflection in the mirror and seething with rage.

But the hatred had kept him alive.

Hatred for Dante, for Antonia, for everyone who had played a part in his suffering.

He’d bided his time, learning everything he could about Dante and the Virellis.

He had made money by being a fuck buddy and performer for rich dickheads who get turned on by grotesque appearances like his own was.

He’d used his new identity to amass wealth, exploiting the darkest corners of the internet and investing wisely.

Then he had started his revenge.

And then, a twisted stroke of luck: Tad.

The fool had been ripe for manipulation, desperate and greedy.

It had been fun before he became a pest.

Always lusting after the bitch that Dante was fucking.

He’d killed Tad without hesitation, taking his face and his identity.

“Thanks for the upgrade, buddy,” he muttered now, smirking at his reflection. "Maybe I would fuck the bitch for you as a payment,"

He thought of how he’d orchestrated the death of Dante’s ally, Rafael, luring him to the boxing ring with promises of a lucrative deal.

And Romano? That had been child’s play.

A few carefully placed words, and the old fool had turned against Matteo, believing the Virellis had betrayed him.

Now, he was poised to take everything.

No one would stop him now.

His thoughts were interrupted as a notification lit up his phone.

It was a message from Antonia.

“We need to meet. Immediately.”

He chuckled, slipping the phone into his pocket.

“Impatient, aren’t we?” he said aloud, his voice dripping with mockery. “But who am I to keep the lady waiting?”

He straightened his tie, gave his reflection one last, lingering glance, and strode out of the room.

His boots echoed against the concrete floor as he walked, the sound sharp and deliberate.

“Time to play,” he murmured, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “Let’s see how far you’re willing to go, Antonia.”