"And what do you intend to bring as proof?"
The sparse grass bent under the weight of a cigarette that had been tossed to the ground.
"Whatever I want to."
Usually, renowned mafia leaders didn't allow this sort of disrespect. Then again, renowned mafia leaders didn't usually hire amateur assassins. Or assassins in general. There were plenty of guys that could get the job done.
But there was something about this kid.
Moriarty--or that's what he said his name was--ground out his cigarette and grinned. Leonardo was used to that grin, but the guards he had stationed around him weren't. The sound of hands flying up to rest upon the metal of the guns in their waistbands was deafening.
"I'll. . .catch you later," he said.
Leonardo signaled to his right-hand man, Sebastian. A knife went flying through the air, aiming to make contact with the back of the kid's neck.
But before anyone knew what had happened, Moriarty had twisted and grabbed the knife from midair.
He grinned that bone-chilling psychopathic grin once more, and then he was gone.
However, as Leonardo moved to leave, a piece of paper lying on the ground caught his eye. It was nestled neatly between two stalks of long, untamed grass.
"Be careful what you wish for.
£80,000"
Leonardo shoved the paper in his pocket and chuckled darkly.
"Alright, boys, we're going to the bank!"