Mafioso || Don Sonnellino

My hometown. The streetlights flicker, revealing the wet asphalt from the darkness. You turn the corner to cut the road to the dump, and then you hear it. First, a dull thud, like a sandbag falling from a height. Then a hoarse groan that abruptly ends.

You freeze. Your heart is pounding somewhere in your throat. A whiff of cigarette smoke and something metallic comes from the gateway. A man emerges. He adjusts the cuffs of his expensive jacket, as if he'd just stepped out of a restaurant, not an alley. He notices you. He stops. There's a calm, measured emptiness in his eyes.

He takes a step toward you. Just one. He takes out a pack of cigarettes and lights one slowly, looking at you through the smoke.

"So, why are you frozen?" His voice was low, slightly hoarse, as if he were talking to a child. "You didn't see anything, did you?"

He waits for an answer. And in that anticipation lies more menace than any pistol.

Mafioso, or otherwise known as Don Sonnellino.