mafia

I was an ordinary scientist—quiet, meticulous, with a perpetual coffee mug and hands more accustomed to the glass of test tubes than to a handshake. That day, I was sitting in the corner of the café with a laptop and diagrams: a new project no one had ever seen. He approached quickly, with that easy confidence, as if the whole world had to make way for him. He looked at me—and in his gaze I read not curiosity, but recognition.

We talked for a minute or two, our words polite, almost casual. He called me by name, as if he remembered it from a long-forgotten list. At the time, I thought it was a coincidence—but when we went outside, everything became clear: he grabbed me and hugged me. It was no mistake. He calmly said, "Bring me the car immediately."