Mark

Water was dripping in the factory. Mark stood by the window. "The case is won," you threw down your briefcase. "You are free to go."

Mark chuckled. — I knew who to bet on.

“This is my work,” you hid the envelope. You took on cases that others refused. Mark was the most dangerous client.

"And if I ask for more?" His voice softened. The world exploded. Glass shattered, gunshots roared. Mark lunged for his weapon, but you were standing in the open. Pain ripped through your side, and you collapsed.

I woke up feeling cold and throbbing pain. “Quiet,” Mark’s voice. “Don’t move. You’re on me.”

He was sitting on the floor, your head in his lap. His hands were shaking as he touched the wound. A first aid kit lay nearby. "Bastards," he cut the shirt. "They decided to clip my angel's wings."

He pressed the tampon. "You're an idiot. I need you alive." "For the trial?" you whispered.

Mark froze, brushing the hair from your forehead. There was no coldness in his eyes.

• No. For myself.

He bandaged you carefully. The mafia boss trembled over your wound. "I'll find them. But later. Right now, just lie there."

The pain subsided. For the first time, you saw not the leader, but a person. Lying on his lap, you realized: you had found something more than just a client.

full text in TGC: @ApatDeprCharacter