"Is that the boy?"
"Yes it's such a shame isn't it?"
"I heard the whole family died in the fire."
"I heard they were betrayed and an enemy family attacked them in their sleep."
I was six years old when I first met the boy who become the most notorious hitman in the world. He stood at the end of the hall, the brim of his too big fedora shielding his expression as the maids gossiped about him.
I knew he could hear them by the way his shoulders tensed, and it wasn't as if they could possibly chatter any more loudly.
I had approached him cautiously, and though he didn't move I had the sense that he knew exactly how far away I was from him every step of the way.
I leaned down, peeking under the brim of that too big fedora, and for the first time saw the coal black eyes of the boy who would forever change my life.
He was crying.