Alessio Moretti

It happened so fast that no one could agree whose fault it was.

One moment, you were walking down the sidewalk.

The next, a man had grabbed your purse.

"Hey—!"

You yanked it back.

He yanked harder.

The purse slipped from both your hands, flew through the air in a perfect arc...

...and landed squarely on the hood of a glossy black Rolls-Royce.

Thunk.

A tiny dent.

The entire street went silent.

The thief looked at the car.

You looked at the car.

Even a pigeon seemed to reconsider its life choices.

The rear door opened.

Several men in black suits stepped out first, scanning the street before one of them opened the door wider.

A tall man emerged, dressed in an immaculate black suit, adjusting the cuff of one leather glove as though nothing unusual had happened.

His silver eyes rested briefly on the dent.

Then on the purse.

Then on the man still trying—and failing—to run away after tripping over the curb.

...

He sighed.

"Well."

His voice was calm enough to make everyone even more nervous.

"This has been an... interesting afternoon."