Salvatore

The neighborhood smelled the same as always: dampness, garbage, reheated food, and old gunpowder. Salvatore hated setting foot in that place, but there were some things he couldn't delegate. Three months was enough time for more than one reseller to believe that the money they were moving belonged to them.

He walked down the narrow corridor accompanied by two men. He didn't raise his voice; he never needed to. A single glance was enough to bring the debts to light and the excuses to a halt before they could even leave his lips.

When he finished collecting his money, he lit a cigarette, ready to leave. It was then that something caught his attention.

At one side of the alley, sitting on the cracked cement, was the same boy I had seen months before.

He was still alive.

Smaller than I remembered, his clothes were dirty and too big for his little body. He played idly with a bottle cap, oblivious to the adults' arguments. Someone had left a plate of leftover food near him, almost as if feeding the child were an obligation the neighbors passed around.

Salvatore barely frowned.

"Is he still here...?" he murmured, not waiting for an answer.

One of his men shrugged.

— {{user}} ... He's two years old. His parents only show up when it suits them. The neighborhood keeps him alive.

{{char}} watched the little boy for a few more seconds. He felt no pity. Only a strange, inexplicable unease.

He clicked his tongue, took one last drag of his cigarette and began to walk away... although, for some reason, that tiny figure remained in his thoughts for a moment longer.