"In other news, you'll be happy to know that Patrick and Maryam have agreed to our terms to never talk about the 'bald stranger' again."
"Mm."
Agent 47 slit the window blinds, letting stripes of sunlight seep into the safe house. The rundown apartment turned off any well self-respecting person, and the landlord was more than happy to stuff his pockets with dirty money. It was down a seldom crossed road, tucked in a place that the sun only graced its face when it set. "And it's certain that the targets will be exposed tomorrow?"
His laptop faintly picked up the office's air-conditioning on the other end, giving the apartment an illusion of breeze. "Absolutely. Marco Abiatti's plane will arrive tomorrow, and they won't want to waste any time for the meeting. It'll be the only time in a while that Don Vincenzo will leave his estate."
Diana could only imagine his thoughts. Though blank-faced, Agent 47 was likely not too happy. Staying in one place too long made him restless, and there was proper concern regarding the assassination of an Agosti caporegime a few days ago. But as far as anyone knew, not a trace of Romeo's killer existed, and Diana caught wind that they weren't even sure if Romeo had died or fled.
"Is the briefing ready?" he asked.
"Indeed." Diana filled her screen with several tabs of information: articles, forums, government intel, and reconnaissance reports. "After you killed Giuseppe Guillano, his syndicate fractured and split into two powerful families. Our client, the Antonellis, is one of them. Almost a decade ago, they lost all influence in Sicily and were forced back to Rome. The other family that split off, the Agostis, is responsible. They waged a violent gang war that only ended when an assassin called Chitter killed both dons.
"Following that, both families agreed to a truce to rebuild, and each of them expanded their power up to today. Although the ceasefire is technically still in effect, the Antonellis and Agostis have run a Cold War against each other, sending spies and foreign hires to stay up to date on each of their plans.
"Amid everything was Romeo De Falco, an Agosti caporegime sent to scout out under-construction Antonelli territory. Instead, he happened upon their youngest daughter, Giulietta, and the rest was history. Seeing their attempted eloping as an invasion spurred by the Agostis, the Antonellis have hired us to end things once and for all.
"Your targets—Vincenzo 'Vinny' Agosti, the don; Pietro Carbone, their longtime consigliere, who formerly served under Giuseppe; and Giovanni Guerra, the ambitious and recently promoted underboss—make up the rank of the Agostis, and maintain an indomitable hold over Sicily's criminal underbelly. The local authorities are in their pockets, and they are looking to establish connections in the government via Marco Abiatti."
Agent 47 rose, heading for the exit.
"The families are on the brink of war, and Don Vincenzo has fortified his territory. Abiatti will be arriving tomorrow with a host of guards at the Agosti estate. That will be your chance to infiltrate, but for now, you still have ample time to prepare. After all, the Agostis have no idea who to look for..." Diana trailed off, watching her agent leave the apartment. "47?"
...
"Abu, where are we on the machines?"
"Up and running, Surtr!" 'Father Life' entered a few codes into the nearby monitor, and the two metal chairs buzzed with life. Attachments with glowing red lights curled around the headrest, opening themselves for a cranium. Abu himself went to one chair, settling into its leather cushions.
Surtr came next, eyeing the psychiatrist and his manic grin. A scar took part of his scalp, where the chip had been planted through. To any normal person, this was an entirely different individual from the one who healed and saved hundreds of others.
Myung's information was solid, as usual. Agent 47 was in Sicily, and now was an excellent opportunity to deepen the connection into his mind. He removed his coat, sinking into the adjacent seat. The red lights clouded his vision, and the attachments clamped over his skull.
"Xenia, take notes as usual." With that, he jumped into Agent 47's mind.
He took them to Gontranno again—it seemed to have the best effect on the hitman. His little garden had spread beyond its boundaries, carpeting the courtyard with beautiful white lilies. It was warm; serene, save for a faint gust of wind. Someone led him down a trodden path by his wrist. It wasn't the Angel.
47 recognized his slow gait, wading toward a familiar garden shed. "Father Vittorio..."
The wiry priest glanced behind him, smiling the warm smile he always held—full of faith that anyone could change their ways.
Once they reached the shed, Vittorio slid the door open, but instead of gardening tools and a rack that once held his inventory of weapons, it led into the cramped space of a confession booth. "Come, child," Vittorio said. "Step inside. I trust you will make the right choice; I always have."
47 did as told.
Surtr shuffled his feet in a walking motion, taking it slow and steady. He grinned, hearing Xenia's faint voice come through. "We've surpassed the last trial's range."
Abu was right. Let him be the mechanic, and Surtr be the pilot. However unsatisfying it was to be told that his presence interfered with the process, he would suck it up for this. Talking to 47 never got anywhere, anyway.
He moved Agent 47 to the streets, where he bumped into passersby and left unfixed creases in his suit. Surtr knew Diana was raising her voice on the mic, but his control persevered.
He led 47 into a church; the goal of today's trial. Surtr could barely contain his excitement—the pride of having finally cracked a case.
And with their biggest threat soon to be under his beck and call, they could move on to Ragnarök.
But there was a ferocious popping. It was akin to firecrackers. Surtr looked in its direction; he had no answer this time.
The popping began again. Those weren't firecrackers.
"47..." A faint voice cried. He recognized her.
Abu, still in the form of Vittorio, rose from his seat, dissipating slowly. "What the hell?" He spun toward someone who wasn't there and called out a name. Then he was gone, and it was dark in the booth.
The scent of mahogany filled the air. When Agent 47 opened his eyes, he was still inside of a confession booth. He tapped his earpiece. "Diana?" He stepped through the curtain, finding himself in a church. A small group of people alongside the priest rose from the pews, eyes glued to the entrance.
Thank god. Diana breathed a quick sigh of relief. "You're in the local church. The Agosti mob has surrounded the place, killing everything that moves—you need to get out, now."
As she said that, the doors burst open, and the popping was louder than ever. Screams filled the air, then quieted.
"Wh-What is this...?" The old priest stood among the row of dead that, moments ago, were in serene prayer. He stood his ground against the squad of gunmen as they fanned out. "This is a house of God! Stop this! Please!" The priest recognized their leader, and they locked eyes. "Whatever ails you, violence will not solve it!"
"Ciao, Father." A blonde, whose muscles made creases in his suit, was armed with a gold-engraved revolver. He huffed smoke in the priest's face, speaking the moment he took his cigar out. "A friend of ours warned us that a foreign assassin is here in town. He killed Romeo De Falco, and now he's after the Don. We also just learned that he's in your church."
Agent 47 hid behind a doorway to the back. He watched the mafiosos spread out, poking in the confession booth and wherever any human could have hid. The blonde walked past the hapless priest, ignorant to his pleas.
"Diana, what happened?"
"You went unresponsive; walked all the way from the safe house to the nearest church, then into the confession booth. It's the same as Copenhagen, but you were mobile this time. I couldn't do anything to snap you out of it..."
Father Vittorio was still in his mind. The Angel had found a different strategy—one that worked. But whoever he spoke with did not expect the intrusion. "There's nothing you could've done. How does the mafia know about me?"
"I haven't any idea. I'll be reporting this to the Board, but right now you need to exfiltrate the city."
47 focused on the blonde leader. "That's Giovanni, is it not?"
"Indeed. Are you thinking...?"
"Don Vincenzo has given us an opportunity." As a couple of mafiosos approached the hall, he fled further back.
Diana went quiet. "Very well... I'm here whenever you need me. Good luck, 47."
...
"How hard is it for you to just do what I say?!" They were in the virtual world: Surtr, Xenia, and the one responsible for the disaster. He paced in a circle, mind racing as he spoke. "The only way nothing will go wrong, is if you people just listened to me! Is that too much to ask? You followed me because I'm going to give you everything you want. The least you could do is listen! It's common sense! Any soul with a lick of logic and reason would understand!"
"I wanted to remove the biggest threat to our operation!" Madelyn held her arms, mustering a bit of a scowl. "You had him under your total control, and if you had kept him there—"
"Oh, sure, maybe if our usage of Hush's device was optimized, beyond a prototype, and if the link was fully connected, maybe that would be possible!" Surtr sighed, sitting beside Madelyn. The latter couldn't bear to look him in the eyes. "You think Agent 47 is the biggest threat?" he asked in a much softer tone.
"Yes... Even if Myung can dissuade the Board from interfering with us, I know Diana. If she believes in something, she's not giving up without a fight. Savi didn't understand, and she died for it. Her superiors don't control her; they're merely her guides. And now that she has that... weapon at her disposal, she could easily take care of every. I know you said you had them handled, but... I just don't see how. Just look at the people he's killed!"
Surtr took a breath, releasing the tension in his shoulders. "Madelyn, listen. I'm sorry for yelling. I understand your concerns. But we need to trust each other if our dream is to be realized. You also must realize exactly what Agent 47 is."
She turned slowly to him. Once again, he was the tender old man she first saw him as. It was always impossible to read him. "What do you mean?"
"It's true that Agent 47 is our biggest threat, but she is the one wielding the weapon. And unlike a weapon, she has morals. She's open to dialogue, and has a number of old friends who share her values. She'll want to listen to what we have to say."
"And if she doesn't?"
Surtr grinned. "By then, the chip will have done its magic, and Clera's own dream will come true."
Location: Sicily, Italy
Targets: The Godfather, The Consigliere, The Underboss
"Whoever was in here, the Don really wanted them dead."
"Yeah. Never thought he'd have us shoot up a church of all places..."
"Hey, we left the Father alive. God'll forgive us!"
The two mafiosos laughed, flicking the light switch to the sacristy. It was still dark. The first one flicked it a few more times, then shrugged. "Guess it's burnt out."
The second gangster pulled his phone out for its flashlight and went further inside. He scanned the sacristy; some chairs against the wall, a rack of vestments, an assortment of trinkets stored in the shelves and counters, a small altar. He aimed the light up. "Nah, they didn't even bother putting a bulb in there!"
Covered by darkness, someone ducked around him an arm's length away.
The first also used his phone, catching his partner in the light. "Christ... well, I'll check around the room. See if he's in the drawers or anything." He stepped inside, leaving the entrance unattended. "You keep watch at the door."
Someone slipped out of the room.
"You got it," the second said, heading over.
In the nave, the mafia had spread like fire. They manned the altar, kicked around the furnishings, and brandished their guns. They stepped over the slaughtered civilians and walked around the priest, who was on his knees in prayer. Two of them stood guard at the exit. In the middle of it all was Giovannia Guerra, giving everything repeated glance overs. "Gregario, head upstairs with your boys. See if the mark is there."
The bandana-bearing caporegime came into view, motioning for his group to follow. Although that cleared up a number of obstacles, it was still an open area with many gangsters. And unlike the ferry, they were on high alert. He considered a disguise, but they'd definitely find the unconscious body.
"47," Diana spoke, "floor plans of the church show an unused roof hatch. It's on the second floor toward the back of the building. I doubt the mafia knows about it."
47 gripped his silenced Silverballer.
A window pane shattered, drawing everyone's eyes. "What the hell was what?" Giovanni said. "Sam, Paulie, get outside and check if he's there!"
Two hurried for the exit. Giovanni walked over to the shards of glass, wondering if he could find whatever broke them—a rock, perhaps.
That left a mafioso approaching the confession booths, one checking the dead bodies, another at the church organ, and another standing beside Giovanni with a wandering gaze.
The first gangster stepped inside the first booth. The body guy's gaze lingered for a moment in 47's direction. When his attention was elsewhere, Giovanni's guard faced the whole nave. He turned away, but the booth guy stepped out.
"I don't think anyone's in sacristy!" a faint voice called out behind him.
The booth guy walked inside the other. The body person moved to another pile, kneeling down. Giovanni's guard was turned to the entrance. Bullet casing in his pocket, Agent 47 made his move.
He latched onto a column next to the confession booth and climbed. He etched his fingers and feet into the decorative engravings, pulling himself up to the second floor. Upon reaching it, he jumped off, catching the railing. 47 pulled himself over just as Giovanni headed back to his original spot.
Spotting Gregario on the other platform, 47 jumped to the back row of pews just as footsteps approached.
Sirens blared in the distance. "Cops are coming!" one shouted. "Do we keep looking?"
47 peeked out, checking that the mafiosos focused on Giovanni. He snuck down the aisle, right behind the gangsters and with the cover of the railings. Keeping his steps light, 47 made it through the doorway.
The news did not faze Giovanni. "We look until we are sure that the Don is safe! I'll deal with the police."
"Got it."
Agent 47 nudged the hatch loose, welcoming the orange and purple skies of sunset. Stepping onto the sloped roof, 47 shut it behind him and scaled to the flat surface higher up. Glancing around, he spotted more dead civilians littering the church's grounds. The Agostis lingered, digging through every nook and cranny that could have hid someone.
From the streets ahead, a dozen police cars came into view, sirens in uproar. They skidded to a stop, forming a line a distance from the church. The officers stepped out, guns drawn and aimed at the entrance. One, a three-starred commissioner, walked ahead of the line.
Agent 47 scaled down a side of the church hidden by an old tree, and currently devoid of patrols. The moment his feet hit the floor, he ran beyond the church grounds.
Giovanni was outside, and he moved past his own line of men. The two neared each other with a deep glare, stopping a few feet apart.
"It's good to see you, Giovanni!" Commissioner Santino said. "We got the call, and I came as soon as I could."
"Yeah? We already turned the church into swiss cheese, and we could have patched the holes and made it a fortress in the time it took you!" Santino's grin faded, realizing what mood of his they'd be dealing with today. "Remember: a crazy guy walked into the church and started shooting all these poor, innocent people. We tried to stop him, but he fled the scene. I want a perimeter set up now!"
Santino nodded a knowing nod. "I'll inform the station. But... you haven't gotten him?" He looked ahead at the church. When the Agostis wanted someone dead, they never held back.
So, much to his surprise, Giovanni didn't answer with his usual gusto. "If we did, we'd be back at the mansion waiting for dinner. Get your men off their asses and hurry!"
The commissioner retreated to his men, shouting a few orders. Within time, the officers drove off, and it was like they were never here.
Giovanni waited on his phone. "Don, you sure the intel was good? We've turned the church inside out, but no baldie."
"It has to be. Our friend wouldn't tell us this without good reason. If he's not in the church, he can't be far away."
"I'm already on top of it. Commissioner Santino is gonna do his thing. Everything is under control."
"I hope so. We must take care of this before we take our revenge on those damned Antonellis. Hiring foreign assassins... how far they've fallen."
"It's a disgrace of honor, is what it is. I'll call you back when I have more news."
"Please do. The entire future of this family rests on your shoulders."
Giovanni felt his throat go dry at that.
The phone clicked, and Vincenzo Agosti let out a sigh. The grey bunker walls dampened his flow more than he thought they would. He needed the windows into the open skies; views stretching from his beautiful garden to the city of Sicily. What better motivator was there than seeing everything that belonged to you?
"Did Giovanni get him?" Coming behind him was a wrinkly old man, balding on the top of his head but with a rim of grey on the sides. Pietro Carbone was someone who had seen it all and knew a winning side when he saw it—hence why he stuck with the Agostis when the Guillano outfit split.
Vincenzo scratched his sideburn, sitting at his temporary office desk; another grievance. Rather than the polished oak, it was a rusty metal desk that would dent if he kicked hard enough. "He wasn't at the church—or he escaped, I don't know. Giovanni and his squad have found zero traces of him."
Pietro clicked his tongue. "I hope he can keep his cool. He gets frustrated when things don't go his way, and it puts a strain on everybody around him. And maybe you shouldn't pressure him."
The Don shrugged. "I'm not wrong. If what our friend said about this assassin is true, this is the defining mission of my leadership. It's me or him."
A knock on the iron door dismantled the tension. The two turned to see a plain-clothed woman walking past the two guards. Vincenzo smiled at his daughter-in-law. "Lucia! What brings you here?"
She grinned back. "It's nothing, really. I was wondering if Angelo sent any messages?"
Vincenzo's smile faltered into one of pity. "I'm afraid not..."
Lucia gave a slight nod, half-expecting the answer. "I see... Thank you."
"I can't apologize enough for Angelo's behavior. Now he's even ignoring me! His father! And how could he not love a woman who makes an osso buco like you do?" He snorted. "Speaking of, is the kitchen to your liking?"
She nodded. "I haven't even started cooking yet, but you can expect dinner within a few hours."
...
"All civilians are to immediately shelter-in-place." A loudspeaker boomed across the blocks, coming from the police helicopter above. "Lock all doors and stay alert. A dangerous criminal is on the loose."
The streets vacated in record time, leaving this part of Sicily akin to a ghost town. Only sirens and the helicopter filled the air. The only cars on the road belonged to the police or the Agostis.
"We're looking for a Caucasian male. Bald. 188 centimeters tall. He is armed and dangerous," the radio repeated.
"Set up a perimeter with the church at the center; standard search formations." Commissioner Santino said, hunched over a map with his crew. "Nobody is getting in or out. Whoever this bastard is, we're finding him. There's only so many bald people to go around."
The officers gave their agreements and organized themselves.
Further away, Giovanni walked amid his men. "I don't know how it was possible, but you fucked up at the church! Our guy went under all of your noses, and the Don is still in danger! It'll be your heads if he's attacked! Get under every rock you can; flush him out!"
The mafiosos grumbled, but got in their vehicles, speeding in separate directions.
"47, I've picked up a call that Giovanni made to Don Vincenzo. I can't discern where he currently is, but he's no longer at his mansion..."
He'd have to cross that bridge later. From his safe house, Agent 47 watched the mishmash of police and all-black cars pass. They escorted pedestrians still out in the open into shelter. A group of officers walked down the alcove that hid the apartment building. They approached the entrance.
"Diana, get me intel on an officer. Preferably one who's low on the pecking order."
"On it."
Agent 47 didn't pack much; the Agency laptop, a few boxes of ammunition, and his bible. Leaving his room, he heard the landlord on the floor below talking with the police. Footsteps hit the staircase, making the solid wooden thud familiar to each step.
47 ran into the utility room.
The building's lights blew out. "Christ, you can't even keep the lights on in this shitty place, huh?" one officer said.
"Lights on, everybody, let's go," their sergeant ordered. One by one, their flashlights flicked on, and they headed up the stairs.
"Are we sure about this?" another officer asked. "This entire operation, I mean. The Agostis are just using us to get heat off their backs."
"What, you don't think some bald guy survived the church shooting, blindsided over a dozen blood-thirsty gangsters, and escaped the place surrounded by them?" the first joked.
They entered the second-floor hallway.
"Quiet, people," the sergeant said. "Whatever your opinion is, this is Commissioner Santino's order. We either find the perp, or we don't. Now, the landlord said the utility room was up here. I want the lights back on, stat."
"Roger that." The officers didn't have to look long, though; it was next to the staircase. Upon opening the door, they found it completely empty.
As the lights came back on, Agent 47 passed the nervous landlord and left the apartment. His earpiece came to life. "I have a Simone Alfonsi for you, a police receptionist who isn't even on the Agostis' payroll. He's still at the station—though that's beyond the perimeter."
"What about his home address?"
"Nearby. His wife and child are there."
"That's all I need. Tell me where they are."
Diana read out the information while he kept away from the open streets. Every time the police sirens grew faint, they seemed to come back at full volume. Agent 47 to the alleyways and small streets caught between the buildings. When the helicopter flew overhead, he stuck under a store's awning until it disappeared.
Through the windows of each building, he saw the civilians glued to the TV or their phones—all reading the same headlines: a shooter who massacred the church, and is still at large.
A police siren drew close and did not dissipate like the rest. 47 peeked down a turn, spotting the car which stopped in front of the alleyway. The cops inside stepped out, approaching the passage.
A voice bounced from the path that 47 came from. Judging by the lax tone of their conversation, they were mafia. That left only one road for him to go.
That took him to a homeless camp; trashed tents and supplies all lined up against the sides. The tenants, frustrated or terrified, clutched what belongings they could. 47 could hear the search ahead, and he instinctively kept himself low.
The search parties were in the main area of the encampment, a large space with high walls on two sides. The space felt cramped thanks to the tents and garbage littering the alley. Mafiosos tore through, throwing furnishings and paraphernalia outside. Their owners watched in horror at the mounting piles of debris.
"Stay right where we can see you! And don't even think about running!" Giovanni shouted to the homeless. "Whoever has information on a tall, bald man with a tattoo on the back of his neck will get a generous tip from the Agostis!"
Despite the enticing offer, nobody bit. He groaned. "Useless heads..."
Gregario glanced in his direction from a tent, shaking his head. "I don't like this. The longer we take, the more Giovanni will lose it." He turned back to make sure for the umpteenth time that his two mafiosos were still close behind him, a habit he developed after the ferry.
"Serves him right, I'd say. Cocky bastard..." one said, picking through a homeless man's bag. "Is the priest gonna squeal?"
"No," the other answered, "he knows better. But we reminded him just to be safe."
Gregario sighed. "Well, we can mark this tent clear. Let's get to the next one." With that, the three left.
Agent 47 crawled inside through a loose flap, heading to a corner where a portable stove was tucked away. He took the gas canister. With the number of mafia searching the camp, he needed a distraction to make his exit. Fortunately, their search methods proved beneficial.
"Giovanni! The hell's going on here?" The police finally entered the scene. They met at one of the few clearings in the alley, yet were still cramped. "I thought I told you we'd handle the homeless!"
He released a silent breath, leaning back on a pile of garbage. "I know what you said, Commissioner, but your officers are fucking useless! All of them flipping Sicily upside-down, and still no sign of our guy!"
Agent 47 planted himself against the tent walls, staying low and using the high tents and trash piles as cover. He made it to the stack that Giovanni leaned on, close enough to make out the cursive engravings on his ring. 47 had considered killing him here, but there were too many people for a clean assassination.
Santino's brow twitched. "With all due respect, Giovanni, we have no information on the perp other than the physical description you gave. For all we know, he might as well not exist!"
"Don't give me that bullshit! We know for a fact he's real. Pietro is never wrong."
"Yeah? Maybe he is right, then. The guy who best fits is your masked buddy, Gregario. How do you know he's not your assassin? He was close with that weasel, Romeo, wasn't he?"
"Mortacci tua..." Giovanni's hand swung next to his holster, making the officers flinch. Their reaction prompted a similar response from the mafiosos beside him. "A money-eating pig like you doesn't get to talk about my men like that!"
"Don't look down at me. I may be on the payroll, but I don't need to stand here and eat your bullshit. You aren't the Don."
"Figlio di puttana!" Giovanni's yell scratched his throat and put a dent in Santino's fearless demeanor. He stomped toward the officers, getting in Santino's face. "Pray for your families that you find him!" That shut them up.
Before long, though, an explosion of orange rose into the air.
A cacophony of screams followed. Following the smoke, they all realized that a pile of junk that the mafia compiled had caught fire. The two forces put their focus on organizing themselves for the time.
The homeless people fled. Despite the mafiosos' shouts and physical attempts to stop them, the homeless were driven by fear. None of them noticed the bald hitman among the escapees.
...
"Police in Sicily are passing a shelter-in-place order. They are searching for a perpetrator responsible for the church shooting, leaving a yet to be disclosed number of fatalities. Authorities have not yet found the suspect, and everybody is advised to lock their doors and windows and remain vigilant."
"Dad's going to come home late," Letizia Alfonsi said with a sigh. She looked at her son, glued to his phone as usual. "Make sure your window is locked, Amadeo. I'll check the rest of the entrances."
"Yeah, I will."
She let the living room TV keep playing, going to the front door and checking for the fifth time that it was indeed locked. She went to the backdoor to do the same. Amadeo went upstairs to his room.
But instead of the window, he sat himself at his computer and beamed in delight that his game had finished downloading. In seconds, he bore a headset and became lost in the gameplay.
Having climbed from the porch, Agent 47 carefully pushed the window open. He set foot on the floor and closed it behind him, unsure if the kid would catch on. But he was too engrossed in the oddly familiar stealth game.
"Amadeo?" the mother called from downstairs. "Is your window locked?" She walked up and to his room. "Amadeo!"
He rolled his eyes, laying the headset aside. "Yeah, it's locked," he said, going over to lock it.
Agent 47 emerged from the master bedroom now that the coast was clear. He couldn't discern their words, but he figured Letizia was lecturing her son. Keeping his steps light, he walked downstairs and past the cozy living room. He found her phone on the dining table, still in the messaging app with her husband's number.
For Simone Alfonsi, though most of the station was on a manhunt, had figured today would be easygoing. Much to his wife's insistence, he retained his desk position and the safety that came with it. And to be honest, it was much less stressful.
So when he got a call from his wife that had a male speaker saying, "If you want to see your wife and child alive again, come home. Alone," he lost all serenity.
Agent 47 put the phone on mute and hid it between the sofa cushions in the living room. He left through the front door, locking it behind him with the house key. He raised his Silverballer and shot the street light, letting darkness engulf the outside. Then he waited.
At the perimeter, Simone showed his badge and meekly explained that he was going to help search a residential block. He drove straight to his house, growing paler the closer he got.
Although the street light wasn't working, the lights inside were still on. He focused on the windows, hoping to see any hint of his family. Simone was so drawn to the lights that he did not notice the man huddled in the next house doorway.
He parked his car and went up to the entrance. While digging for his keys, an arm wrapped around his neck and brought the officer to the floor. Agent 47 dragged him to his vehicle, tightening his grip until Simone passed out.
47 pulled him inside the car, then hopped in its driver's seat to take it out of the house's view. He parked at a house where its lights were off, indicating an absent owner. With no witnesses likely to come by, Agent 47 took Simone's outfit and radio.
As he did so, he caught the last of Commissioner Santino's orders. "All units, if you've completed your search zones, return to the square for new instructions..."
Night was setting, and Giovanni had resorted to smoking. The church, the cafes, the restaurants, the homeless camps... They'd gone in a full loop and wound up at the town square again. Every time his men checked in to report, he burnt through another cigarette. "Nothing, nothing, nothing! Where the hell is he?"
"Sir?" Gregario and his squad returned from their search, none of them enthusiastic. "We finished sweeping the west end. We found nothing."
Giovanni ran a hand over his face. "Of course you fucking didn't. You didn't even see Chitter coming when she carved your face like a pumpkin. Why would today be any different?"
Gregario's hands clenched, his rubber gloves rubbing against the handle of his gun. His guards glanced nervously at each other.
"No luck on your end?" Commissioner Santino approached, and the exasperated look on his face said it all. "The perp is one of two things: a damn ghost, or a non-existent scapegoat that Pietro sent you on a wild goose chase for."
"I know he's out there! He must be in one of the residential buildings, or, or he went back to a place we already checked!"
The police, tired and antsy, filed into the square with the looming threat against their families still fresh in their minds. Agent 47, comfy in Simone's uniform, joined them. They quietly gathered on one side behind Santino. The mafia followed suit, taking up Giovanni's side of the square. Everyone returned with the same result.
Finally, Santino asked what everybody was thinking. "Are you sure this assassin even exists?"
Giovanni's head shook slightly. "Of course. A reliable friend of ours warned Pietro. Pietro believes it's legitimate, and he's never wrong."
"But have you even seen the guy?" The silence was telling. "We've flipped every stone and pebble. We've checked the public buildings. We cracked down on the homeless, even with your meddling. There's nobody here!"
"Then widen the search! Double check everything! The Don's life depends on me, and I can't allow a day to pass knowing there's a threat."
"Maybe he's dead in the church somewhere after your scorched earth tactic. Or Pietro's age is getting to him—ever thought of that? Maybe he wanted all of you gone from the manor so he could get his hands on Don Vincenzo and—"
Giovanni cocked his gun. "Not another word, Santino." The commissioner backed away, and the officers' hands drifted to their own weaponry. This action drew the same response from the mafia. "Pietro is ready to poison himself at a moment's notice before giving up anything about the family."
Santino swallowed his pride, seeing the tension teeter over the edge. He was willing to let things be until the police radio came alive. "All units, I have a confirmed visual on the suspect. He is in disguise and posing as a mafioso. He is wearing a bandana concealing the most of his face."
In an instant, eyes traveled from one place to another, resting on the only person who fit the bill.
"Gregario?" Giovanni said in disbelief.
His stance shifted into wariness, and the two guards at his side huddled closer to him. "That's bullshit!" he yelled back.
"So it wasn't our damn fault!" Santino said, stepping forward again. "The reason we can't find your guy is because he's posing as one of your own!"
"It isn't him! We've been together since the church!" one of Gregario's guards said.
"Tell your men to back off!" Giovanni said.
"You threaten my and my men's families, blame it all on us, and now you wanna stop us from finishing what you started?" Santino grabbed his radio. "All units, apprehend that son of a bitch!"
The mafia clamored ahead. "Keep your hands off of Gregario!"
Giovanni stepped in. "Cancel that order, Commissioner!"
Toward the back of the police and under the veil of night, Agent 47 screwed the silencer off of his Silverballer.
Three shots rang out. There was an immediate shift on both sides.
"Shots fired! Shots fired!"
"Get to cover! They're firing at us!"
"Get Giovanni out of here!"
Gregario pushed him down just as the night lit up with muzzle flashes. Bullets flew past the air, striking concrete and metal. Car alarms rang in succession as each side let their gunpowder loose.
"Fucking—I'll kill you, Santino!" Giovanni yelled. He raised his revolver, firing blindly into the dark.
"Come on, we have to go!" Gregario pulled on his shoulder, staying low on the ground. "Sam! Paulie! Cover us!"
They were on the move. 47 also kept low, moving where he knew cover laid in the form of cars and outdoor furnishings. He slid closer against a fountain, hearing bits of its rock platter into the water.
Gregario and others were ushering him to a car further back. Giovanni's muzzle flashes were smaller as a result. 47 jumped into the fountain, keeping his gun above water as he circled forward.
They reached the car. Gregario let go of him for a second to open the car. Giovanni rose tall, needing to get one last line in. "Don Vincenzo will hear of this! Mark my words!"
Setting up at the fountain base, Agent 47 took aim. He fired.
Gregario shoved him into the middle seat and shut the door. "Drive!"
Paulie slammed the gas, and the tires screamed as the vehicle lurched forward. Bullets pelted the hood. A window shattered, and Sam cursed. They pulled onto the street. The gunshots grew fainter and fainter.
Gregario breathed a sigh of relief. "Everyone okay? Sam?"
"Just grazed. I'll be fine."
Gregario put a hand on Giovanni's shoulder. "How about you?"
They drove under a street lamp, and the trail of red on his face reflected the light. He slumped over, blood running from the bullet wound placed between his eyes.
"Giovanni Guerra confirmed killed, and just in time, too. I've pinpointed the current locations of your other two targets." He hopped in a police car, turning the engine on. "They're at a seemingly remote destination, but records show that it's the location of an underground bomb shelter constructed by the Agosti family during World War II. It's likely been repurposed by the mafia as a safe house. I'm sending you the coordinates now."
Glancing at his laptop, 47 sped away from the gunfight. His drive took him through a repeating pattern of dim, orange street lights and the night. One after the other, sandwiched between the old, sunbaked buildings.
Most of the police and mafia converged at the square, making for an easy exfiltration. He eventually made it to the perimeter, where several officers and their vehicles formed a barrier. One waved at 47, and he waved back, showing off his uniform in the light.
The officer said something to the others, and they backed up their vehicles for him to go.
...
"Don... Gregario just called." Vincenzo frowned; the last time Pietro bore that face was after learning that Chitter slew the Dons. And before that, when Giuseppe Guillano was found murdered in his home. "Giovanni is dead."
Vincenzo reclined in his seat, holding a silent breath. Despite spending his life in the business, hearing such news never got old. "The assassin got to him?"
Pietro hesitated, then shook his head. "No. The police killed him." Vincenzo's eyes widened at that. "Giovanni got into a fight with the commissioner, and it became heated. One side fired, and a gunfight ensued. Giovanni was killed."
The Don rested on his fist, fiddling his fingers as if he held a cigar. "The police, huh?"
"Don..." They noticed Lucia standing at the door, face scrunched up with worry.
"Lucia, what are you doing here?" Pietro moved to escort her away, but Vincenzo waved him off.
"Did you have something to say?"
She dipped her head in acknowledgement of his goodwill. Actually getting the words to leave her throat, though, proved difficult. "Are you sure this wasn't a mistake?" she finally choked out. "We don't even know if this 'assassin' exists... The only people in the church were the father and the civilians."
"But the letter—"
"Maybe he was mistaken? Nobody is that good..."
Pietro's frown ended her argument there, but the words landed. Vincenzo looked between his loyal consigliere and daughter-in-law. As alarming as the letter was, Lucia was right. Besides, with the shootout in town, they already had too much heat. "Perhaps I was too hasty in my judgment."
"But Don—!" Pietro said, only to be quieted by the raise of his hand.
Vincenzo sighed. "Ah, che palle, what a mess. Pietro, have the boys reorganize and come back to the manor. I'll return once it's secure. Then we'll need to patch things up with the police. Also, double check our friend's information when you have time."
His displeasure was clear, yet he nodded anyway. "Are you absolutely sure?"
"Well, we're alive, aren't we?" Rising from his seat, he let out his recognizable laughter. "Today has been terrible! I should never have sent our mad dog out without a leash! The only thing that can make this all better is some dinner, and you know I can't think on an empty stomach."
Now that the air seemed lighter, Lucia could smile. "Your favorite osso buco is ready, Don. I'll see you at the dinner table."
Pietro rolled his eyes, but couldn't help the smirk. "I suppose you're right about us being alive—even if Giovanni can't say the same. It's a damn miracle that I've lasted this long in the business..."
"Hey." Vincenzo patted his shoulder. "Don't jinx it." They shared laughter.
Pietro left the office early to get the work done. The sooner he could secure things with the primary force, the better he would feel. His first order of business was establishing the new chain of command, and only one person came to mind. He sandwiched the phone between his head and shoulder. "Gregario, you're in charge now. Return to the manor and secure it for the Don."
In his hands, he held a letter against a book and wrote his response to the original sender. Pietro passed the dozen guards stationed in the bunker, nodding to the one at the entrance. The guard let him pass, and he ascended the stairs into the crispy air of outside.
Pietro took a breath. "Bring our dead back and leave the police alone. That was all Giovanni's fault, none of yours. I'll patch things up tomorrow."
He walked towards the car, nodding to himself as Gregario spoke. He always hated nighttime purely for the cover it provided to would-be intruders. It was irrational to think someone else was here; he knew that, but still...
Moving everything to one hand so he could take the keys out, Pietro paled. He could have sworn he saw a face in the window's reflection. He saw things correctly. The figure closed in. Pietro's nerves skyrocketed. Before he could scream, a thin wire spun around his neck, bringing him to the floor.
Agent 47 tightened the wire for several minutes. He watched the old man kick and squirm, cough and choke, and scratch and pull at the fiber. He heard the breath leave his mouth, and his movements die into slight twitches.
"That was Pietro Carbone, the family's longtime consigliere. He handled most of the Agostis' affairs, legal and illicit. And now he is eliminated—good work."
After dragging him into nearby shrubbery, he stood at the entrance, hesitant about intruding. Pietro was wise; a narrow enclosure was much more difficult to infiltrate than a mansion crawling with people. The entrance door was shut with a sliding hatch at the head level. "The Don is just inside. I'm pulling up the schematics right now; I'll see if there's another way in."
47 went closer to the door, where he sniffed a delicious scent wafting from inside. Someone inside was preparing a meal. Agent 47 returned to Pietro's body and dug a hand into his mouth. He felt around the upper jaw, rubbing each molar and giving each a wiggle. He eventually found a loose tooth, pulling it out to the moonlight. 47 cracked it like an egg, revealing a black capsule inside.
"A false tooth containing a cyanide pill... Good memory, 47. I've also found a point of interest: a ventilation shaft leading above ground. If you walk around the entrance and search through the dirt, you should find it. However, thin as it is, you can only climb down one path."
Agent 47 began his search and asked, "Is there a designated kitchen in the plans?"
"I'm afraid not. None of the rooms are labeled."
He found the grate protected by a metal cap, locked in place with a padlock. As he picked it, he sniffed the air and smelled the same aroma. "Do all the rooms have vents?"
"No, it only connects to a few."
"Which rooms close to the entrance have a vent?"
"Only one. It's accessible through another room connected to the main hall."
"That's where I need to go." The padlock fell loose, and 47 lifted the grate away, staring into the black abyss. "Tell me the directions." Lighter in hand, he carefully crept inside.
With Diana's help, he navigated his way around the twists and turns. Through one vent grille, he made out a lively table of mafiosos. At the end of it was a bearded, smoke-breathing man who joked and laughed heartily with the family. "That is Don Vincenzo Agosti," Diana said, "the domineering head of the Agosti mafia, a renowned figure in the criminal underworld, and the biggest rival to the Antonellis."
"Your cooking is a thing of art as always, Lucia!" he said, chowing down on a slice of bruschetta. "I can't wait for your osso buco!"
"You don't need to tell me twice," she said. "You've been on about that for days. And I don't want to be thrown into water with cinder blocks on my feet."
Vincenzo laughed at that, patting her shoulder. She mustered a smile, heading back into the adjacent makeshift kitchen.
Agent 47 crawled to the end of the shaft, now facing the grille. This led into the kitchen, where he saw Lucia humming off-tone. For every moment that any of her limbs weren't busy, she tapped the counter or bounced her legs repeatedly. Her smile kept faltering, and each time, she took a breath to renew her energy.
Lucia finished plating another dish and headed out.
47 pushed the grille open. He emerged above some overhead drawers, first freeing himself from the claustrophobic shaft. He shifted his body into a crouch, the ceiling just barely touching his head. 47 closed the grille, hopping down.
The mafia's light-hearted atmosphere bled into the kitchen, where it meshed with the stove's whirring fan and a running sink. Agent 47 looked to the next plate to be readied: crosscut veal shanks braised with vegetables, white wine, broth, and garnished with gremolata. The osso buco.
47 popped the capsule open and spread its contents over the plate.
He then headed for the sink, pulling open its cabinets where bottles of cleaning chemicals sat. He pushed them aside, ducking into the space before closing it behind him.
As they clicked into place, Lucia's footsteps entered the kitchen. She checked on the rest of the food, then grabbed the osso buco and headed back out.
Don Vincenzo and the mafiosos cheered at the sight. "It smells squisito!" he cried. "My worries always melt away during a feast. As you all grow up, I hope you understand this. Food brings everybody together and conveys long-lasting life."
She placed it in front of him, winking at the envious mafiosos. The Don always got the best plate first.
Vincenzo dug in, melting from pleasure at the very first bite. He continued attacking the dish with the utmost respect and love he could show. He prolonged the taste of each fork, taking in all the special ingredients she put in.
But there was a new sensation. One that he tried to hide, as it threatened to dampen the one positive part of his day. But the pulses continued. His forehead felt like it was imploding. His chewing slowed. Vincenzo smiled at the now somewhat concerned Lucia. "I'm sorry, my dear... My head is killing me."
"Aw..." She knelt beside him, hand behind his back. "Maybe it's from the stress?"
He grew pale before her eyes. A part of her knew something was terribly wrong. "Yeah... maybe." Vincenzo exhaled, and his eyes rolled on the back of his head.
Lucia screamed. He slumped to the side, crashing onto the floor. His body broke into a spasm. "Don!" The mafiosos rose at once, jumping to aid their Don with overlapping shouts. They knelt at his side, nobody knowing what to do.
One mafioso ran out the door, yelling gibberish with the only audible words being "The Don's dying!" He went further down the bunker, spreading word.
The guard at the main entrance was the first to hear it. He ran inside the dining room, where he joined the others in trying to help. Lucia stood away, breath disordered and panicking. Some mafiosos already cornered her, believing she had something to do with it.
Agent 47 peeked out. Everybody's attention was on the Don. He walked around the table and freely through the door. With the main entrance unprotected, 47 simply unlatched and walked through it. As he closed it behind him, the mafiosos deeper inside rounded the hall, the Don being their top priority.
The first thing people did was call Pietro, but he never picked up. It took half an hour for them to get a doctor to their remote location. But even as he arrived, they all knew that the worst had happened.
The doctor merely confirmed it. Don Vincenzo Agosti was dead.
Agent 47 was on the streets with Pietro's car. His destination was not the airport like usual, but a familiar home: Gontranno.
POLICE SHOOTOUT WITH SICILIAN MAFIA; DON VINCENZO AGOSTI DEAD
A church shooting committed by the Agosti crime family is only one of several confusing events that happened all in one day.
The grand city of Sicily has been shaken to its core the other day. What should have been a peaceful evening was interrupted by a shooting at the local church, leaving nine people dead. According to authorities, the Agosti mafia, a powerful crime family that has lurked Italy for decades, carried out the attack.
A shelter-in-place order was placed in the city while authorities tracked down the attackers. Sicilian police and the mafia later got into a mass shootout, leaving around 17 people on both sides dead. It is unknown why the mafia launched these brutal assaults—Italian crime families are known for their cautious playbook.
There is, however, one emerging theory. The next day, it was announced that Don Vincenzo Agosti was assassinated alongside his close associate. Police found the bodies in an abandoned bomb shelter, though it was devoid of the mafia.
There is heavy speculation that the rivaling Antonelli family was behind these events.
Commissioner Santino is being hailed as a hero for defending Sicily from these violent attacks...
LILIA ROGERS OFFICIALLY DIVORCES PRESIDENT ROGERS
After weeks of speculation and rumors, the First Lady, Lilia Rogers, has confirmed that she is divorcing her husband. Both have refused to comment on the matter, but it is widely believed that it has to do with the Surtr Leaks.
The Surtr Leaks played what is possibly a recording between President Rogers and former Supreme Justice Sandra Blanc. The recording implicates the two in a romantic relationship. This is even further compounded by the accompanying "Free Bird" document leaked, detailing a covered up retrieval of the Gold Codes that were supposedly found without incident.
This scandal is only one of many that has come out during the Rogers Administration. His biggest opponent in the upcoming presidential debates is Senator Bud Davis, who has capitalized on the leaks. Polls dictate a landslide victory in his favor, as Garton Rogers goes down as history's most disapproved president.
The political future of America appears set in stone, as rallies have seen crowds invade and chant Bud's slogan, "Don't be a stick in the mud, vote Bud!"
LAMBROS TOBACCO TO CELEBRATE 25TH ANNIVERSARY WITH LUXURY
Originating in Athens, Greece, the billion-dollar corporation of Lambros Tobacco, ran by Jonas Lambros, is close to celebrating its 25th year anniversary. And, despite the unfavorable view towards luxurious spending that has been exasperated by the Surtr Leaks, the company has no plans of being discrete.
Jonas Lambros has revealed a total renovation of his $750 million mansion, with 20-foot tall statues of the Greek pantheon at the entrance. Jonas has been in the spotlight even before the Surtr Leaks, during which he flaunted his wealth and exuberant lifestyle on social media. This has become especially controversial after conspiracy theories surrounding his inheritance.
Jonas Lambros inherited the company at a young age after an accident killed his parents and older brother. His uncle, Silas Lambros, operated as regent until Jonas became of age. Silas has never commented on the incident, leading to theories that he raised Jonas to be a puppet and bask in the company fortune...
According to the Agency, a low-ranking handler was responsible for the leak. He was a former Agosti mobster who still held some loyalty to the family and sacrificed his life in the ICA for them. They already dealt with the 'traitor,' and as far as the Board was concerned, the case was closed.
But Diana didn't buy it. Not after the trance that turned Agent 47 into a marionette. Not while Myung and Clera were high in the org chart.
And so she arrived in Sicily. By the time her flight made it, it was almost midnight, and her body tugged at her eyelids for sleep. But she still had plenty of time before the appointment, and she had to stay awake for what came next.
Diana bought a coffee, then called a taxi to take her to the outer grounds of Sicily. When she had 47 arrange a meeting, she wasn't too surprised that he chose Gontranno.
After paying the taxi and watching it drive off, she stood before the towering wooden doors and took a breath. She knocked, putting a tear into the ambient crickets.
Slow footsteps crunched on leaves, then clacked on pavement. There was a rusted twist from the knob inside. The door jutted open, revealing the old priest. His gray hair diminished at the top and bore a simple pair of glasses.
"Hello, I'm—"
"Diana?" He smiled warmly to her momentary bewilderment, as she expected to be using a pseudonym. "He's mentioned you a lot."
"My... is that so?" She never really thought about what Agent 47 got up to in Gontranno. She knew he tried using this place to leave his life of killing behind, only to come full circle after slaying Sergei Zavorotko in this very sanctuary. Yet, he still bothered to think about her.
Father Vittorio let go of the door. "Come on in."
Diana gladly followed the priest. "Thank you for providing shelter to Lucia. I know this was on rather short notice."
He waved off her concern. "Gontranno is open to all who seek healing. 47 was one, but he was not the first, nor is he the last."
It was strange, hearing someone unrelated to the Agency or the government talk about him so casually. If 47 never went back to the ICA... she could only wonder what life he'd have led. "On a tangent, what has hesaid about me?"
Vittorio went quiet in thought, digging through his memories all those years ago. "He talked about your voice. How that's all he knew about you."
"Well... I suppose I shouldn't be surprised."
"But he would also tell me how he missed hearing it." Vittorio noticed her reaction and continued. "Your role in his life may have been insignificant from your view, but it affected him. Every time he talked about you, he sounded different." They entered a garden, passing the old shed where Agent 47 once lived. "And now, the path he chose brought you closer."
"It doesn't bother you?" Diana asked, eyeing the homely garden. "The path he chose to walk; or that I'm on that same road?"
"There is no one right path, just as there is no one true religion. And ultimately, I've learned that I'm not the one who decides where others shall walk." Rather than the garden, he focused on certain areas in the church. He still remembered where the bodies of Sergei's men laid, and the bloodbath of that night. With a breath, he said, "He knows what God will do with him. That is the key aspect I feel. Not all people know righteousness from sin, and as long as you can tell the two apart, the path you walk belongs to you."
Diana was admittedly unsure when 47 suggested this place over any other, but the unease had gone away. "I see why he took to you."
After a little more walking, they came upon a camera set-up around two chairs. They were on, but had no film to record with. A nearby lantern provided the lighting.
Coming from the darkness was Agent 47. Instead of his suit, he dressed in jeans and a jacket with a lanyard labeled with GNN. Diana wore a similarly inconspicuous garb with her own lanyard.
"Your friend is here, my son," Vittorio said, though with a hint of melancholy. "Although I cannot condone everything, I know you're no longer lost."
47 nodded, and through the shade, Diana could have sworn she saw the beginnings of a smile. "Thank you, father."
Vittorio went inside, where he told the church's current refugee that her "interviewers" were ready. He then call the nearby orphanage to see if their day went fine. He turned in for the night soon after.
Coming from the sanctuary was a woman hidden behind a white plastic mask. She covered herself with a dark hood, keeping her frigid hands in her pockets. She reminded herself that these people only knew her as 'Ilaria,' her mother's name. Lucia Agosti appreciated that the journalists kept their crew small. One bald cameraman and a speaker.
When Lucia stepped into the light, Diana greeted her with a smile. "Thank you for agreeing to meet us," she said, offering a hand to shake.
Lucia reciprocated. "Of course. There's so much happening with the local mafias that the media doesn't show. Living in constant fear and paranoia—a mafia husband who doesn't love me... I can't live this life anymore. And the public needs to know what's happening behind the curtain."
"Well said," Diana sat first, motioning for Lucia to do the same. "Let's start from the beginning..."
The interview went as planned. Lucia described everything that they pretty much knew. How a certain caporegime eloped with the Antonellis' only daughter on a ferry, only to disappear. The rising tension in the Agostis leading up to the fateful day. How Don Vincenzo abruptly had her and the important ranks and guards evacuated to the bunker.
Her tone became grave as she tried to explain what had happened inside. "Pietro left earlier to recall their troops. I was cooking dinner like Vincenzo ordered me to. I made a plate of osso buco, his favorite. There was nothing amiss, but when I gave it to him, he complained about a headache some minutes after eating. Then he..." She shook her head. "All the higher-ups died that day. I barely convinced the soldiers of my innocence."
Lucia stared into the stars. "As soon as word spread that the Agosti ranks were dead, there was chaos. Many caporegimes showed their true selves, wanting to become the next Don. Then the Antonelli family came in. They filled the power gap and easily made Sicily part of their turf. You won't hear about this in the media, but Valerio Antonelli is in Vincenzo's mansion as we speak, probably sipping a cup of negroni."
She took Diana's nodding as a sign to continue. "But... I know exactly who did in the Agostis."
"Really?" Diana said, leaning in with intrigue.
"It was an assassin named Chitter. Only she could pull this off; going right under everyone's noses and leaving her targets dead without a trace. She's the one who killed the previous dons in the late 1900s, and I'm sure it was her."
"And how do you know?"
"The day Vincenzo died, his consigliere, Pietro Carbone, received a message from a longtime friend of his. It was a warning that a deadly assassin was in Sicily, and was going to kill him. He described the assassin as codenamed 'Agent 47,' a 188 centimeter tall bald male. Everyone, including me, fell for Chitter's tricks—she's known to use different disguises and identities... After hearing that Giovanni was killed by the police, I was sure it was a false alarm. But I was wrong."
"Who is this friend of Vincenzo's?"
"There were two names—or rather, one alias and one name. The first one was called 'Dollmaker,' and he's involved with people that supposedly had direct knowledge of the assassin. The sender's name was Spanish, I think. We did business with him a lot, but I don't recall the specifics of Vincenzo's dealings. As for his name..." She uttered it, and Diana and 47 recognized him immediately.
The rest of the interview continued briefly. Diana asked her filler questions to make it more convincing. Lucia explained how she was charmed into the family by the Agostis' only son, only to realize too late the trap she fell into. She described the gruesome crimes of the Agostis, and their corruption of the police.
They concluded with shaking hands and an exchange of pleasantries. Then Lucia left, never to be seen in Sicily again.
Diana still sat, and Agent 47 stood beside her. "Raul Mejías. The human trafficker," he said. "What now?"
She took a breath. Part of her hoped to hear the low-ranking handler's name come out of Lucia's mouth; that she was overthinking things, and the Agency was not compromised. Diana rose to meet 47. "Now, we pay an off-the-books visit to his mansion."