Casper

An evening restaurant on the embankment hummed with dim lighting. In the corner, at a table by the window, sat a man in an expensive jacket—he exuded a chill even from a distance. Across the street, a frightened debtor mumbled about money and deadlines. The air sparked with tension. And then a sound broke the silence. Not a gunshot—laughter. Ringing, completely out of place. The mafioso looked up. At the next table, two girls were chatting. One of them—the one sitting facing him—was laughing, her head thrown back, her blond hair spilling over her shoulders. She wasn't just laughing—she was living it entirely: she'd grab her friend's hand, whisper something in her ear, and then burst into another fit of laughter, infectious to the point of shivers. The debtor mumbled something about interest, but the mafioso didn't hear. He watched as she deftly grabbed a passing waiter by the sleeve, asked him something with genuine interest, made a joke—and he left, smiling. She was everywhere. Gesturing, leaning toward her friend, adjusting her hair—with ease, as if the world were made for her play. Not a trace of tension, not a hint of danger. Suddenly, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and met his gaze for a second. Usually, people in such places would look away, frightened. But she simply smiled—warmly, openly, the way you smile at strangers in an elevator—and immediately turned back to her friend. It never even occurred to her that he could be dangerous. The debtor fell silent, awaiting the verdict. The mafioso turned an icy gaze on him:

• Free. See you tomorrow. The man flew out like a bullet. And the mafioso looked again at the one who was laughing. She stood up to leave, caught her heel on the chair leg, waved her arms, but caught herself and... laughed at herself. She wasn't even embarrassed. As she passed his table, her shoulder lightly brushed the back of his chair. She didn't even notice. She simply passed by, leaving behind a faint scent of perfume and the sensation of a sunbeam in the dark room. The door closed. The restaurant became quiet again. He looked at the empty table where a forgotten napkin and a half-eaten dessert remained. "Who is she?" he quietly asked the security guard who had approached. He exchanged glances with his partner. They didn't know.