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My heartbeat picks up as I stare at the two bracelets encircling the other person’s wrist. One is a wide silver cuff, and the other a black leather band. I bought both with my pocket money five years ago and gave them to him. I didn't know he actually wore them.
A pair of black pants and a red dress, obviously discarded in a hurry, are lying on the floor in the middle of the room. A man in a white shirt is sitting at the edge of the bed, while a blonde-haired woman is kneeling between his legs, sucking his dick. The room they are in is . . . my bedroom. And the woman who’s currently choking on her bodyguard’s dick is my dear wife.
But the most important training I ever received was to never show weakness. Never cry when someone can see, and never show if their words hurt you. In a tank full of sharks, I can’t allow myself to bleed, or they would eat me alive.
‘There are ruthless people, and then there is Salvatore Ajello.’
He appears to be in his late twenties or early thirties, has dark hair, and is wearing a black suit without a jacket. Tall. Athletic. Women would probably find him handsome, but then again, nothing overly special. The only out-of-the-ordinary thing about him is a black leather glove on his left hand. As he enters the coffee shop’s patio, heading in my direction, I notice that he has a slight limp in his gait. It’s very subtle, and I wouldn’t have spotted it if I wasn’t so focused on him.
“I don’t use bodyguards, Mr. Rossi.” His lips curve upward, and there is something extremely disturbing in his smile. It’s not that it seems fake. I’ve grown accustomed to fake smiles. That’s how our society works, apparently. People smile sweetly one moment, then stab you in the back the next. This, however, seems as if he knows what a smile should look like and mimics it instead. But there’s nothing behind his smile. No emotion. No scheme. It’s trained. Like a dancer must learn steps to the music, this man has learned to smile for a conversation, when needed. Only the movement is that of
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As he stands up, he places his hands on the tabletop, and I notice that the last two fingers on his gloved hand are in a slightly unnatural position, as if he can’t fully extend them.
