Chapter 2
Pelmeni on the Menu
Frost had covered everything in the early morning hours. It crunched under Levi's boot as he trekked steadily through the woods and away from the gravely quiet mansion. He wore a black canvas jacket, buttoned all the way up with the hood pulled over his head. A scarf was wrapped around his neck, yanked up to cover his mouth, but still the cold stung him. It burrowed under his clothes and pried at his bruised ribs. It didn't matter that it was nearing the end of August; Romania's higher terrain was not unaffected from the cold front that passed through.
Levi breathed the air slowly as dawn began to break. It smelled of nothing but frost as all other things-the pines, moss, loam—had been frozen in place. He wasn't a stranger to frigid temperatures, but having come from the humid heat of London two days prior, it was pretty damn cold. Just his luck that he'd be in the country when they had a freak weather change.
He stopped at the crest of a hill and stood for a moment, listening for anything else that may have occupied the forest with him. His silhouette against the backdrop of sky projected a short figure, scarred and battered, but possessed a sort of strength that came from endless abuse and survival.
He stared back from where he had come from, steel toned eyes trying to pierce through the messy shapes of shrubs and trees. Beyond the leaves and branches, the faint glow of the mansion warmed the air, but only silence surrounded him, heavy and thick.
With a gloved hand, he pulled the scarf from his mouth, a plume of air rising from his lips, obscuring his vision only briefly. Images of the massacre he left behind were still present behind his eyes; the feeling of sticky, warm blood splattered on his slacks was a stark contrast to the chill. It was a strange dichotomy of comfort and repulsion he felt for it; both notions leading to a desire for a hot shower to soothe his troubles.
A frown pulled at his lips at the distant thought. It still surprised him at times how detached he could be. Just 50 or so yards away was a wealthy structure accommodating nothing but corpses and gore. Some had families, others a purpose in life with goals and ambitions. The blood had yet to coagulate and dry and all Levi wanted—after bearing down that chaos like the dark reaper he was—was a shower.
You cannot be what you once were.
The fog of his breath dissipated, and he turned forward to see the city lights of Piatra Neamţ, quiet and still in the early morning hours. It would be awakening soon, with people starting their day jobs, and getting their kids to school. Another unfathomable world that Levi had little concept nor care for.
He would have to change into a clean set of clothes before reaching the town. His "career choice" was not exactly acceptable in the eyes of proper society, therefore showing up in blood-stained clothes would draw unwanted attention. As for the degenerate criminal organizations he was familiar with, they wouldn't bat an eye at his appearance. That is, unless they found out they were the target of his attention. The poor bastards behind him learned that lesson the hard way. Getting greedy only ended with the enemy's favored hitman crossing countries to be at their doorstep.
Shouldn't have tried to poach a client from the Russian Mob.
Levi cradled his rifle in one arm, or at least the rifle that was now his. The one he'd taken from a dead man name Cristian after he crushed the guy's throat with his bare hands. The little Romanian organization relied too heavily on guns, having allowed Levi access to the mansion to meet with Cristian after confirming he had no weapons on him. A mistake they would not get the chance to repeat again.
Levi took a shaky breath.
It is strange how certain experiences can have different chemical reactions within one's brain. Some dreadful things can solidify you and leave you calloused and apathetic. Levi did them and never thought about it since. Meanwhile, other experiences seem to become toxic and fester over time on the inside. They would break you down, eating pieces away like a ravenous poison and leave you feeling like a hollow shell. There was never a pattern to it, either. Some days were bad for Levi, while others were just another job.
Working as a hitman for London's Russian Don, Nicholas Lovof, introduced Levi to all manner of things. He had killed men in different ways; some in higher volume, other times just one poor soul. For some strange reason, the crushing of Cristian's throat was sticking with him. Instead of the smooth, cold surface of the rifle, his palms tingled with the sensation of cartilage cracking under his fingers. The memory, accompanied by recollection of the strangled wheezing, prodded his heart to beat faster in his chest.
It had to be done. There's no room for dwelling on it.
Shrugging the thought off and taking another wavering breath, Levi made his way through the forest, following a familiar game trail that led down the hill. He recognized the stone cropping, patch of briars, and downed tree. Soon enough, he came to the edge of the forest and was greeted with a flat uniform field of crops on the other side of a road. A strange sensation came over him as he took in the view, just as the colors of the sky brightened overhead as the sun drew closer to breeching the horizon.
Even in the dim light, the field in front of him was golden with barley, reminding him of Isabel's old senior photos with her sundress in a field full of sunflowers. It stirred a sweet sense of hope, yet the old road, dark beneath his boots, gave him a sense of loss. No cars were using the isolated street, leaving the silence of the forest at his back to blend with that of the field and asphalt. The adrenaline in his system was finally fading, leaving behind a saltiness in his blood as the cold settled deeper, wrapping him in a blanket of… What was it? Homesickness? No. The concept of a home was not something he associated anything with. Perhaps, loneliness?
Levi sighed as he shook the thoughts away. The high that came with the risky, dangerous jobs always had a way of sinking his mood to extreme depths when all was said and done. Never was there a sense of accomplishment or grandeur. No thankfulness of making it out alive as many people claimed to have after escaping death. He was left feeling empty.
Another day, another job. Onto the next one.
What did Furlan call it? Disassociation?
Sure. Whatever.
Turning to the left, Levi strolled along the edge of the woods, making sure to stay away from the road in case a car happened to pass by. While it was unlikely for police to be called to the scene, particularly when the mansion was tucked way from other people and there were no survivors, Levi knew better than to take the chance.
It didn't take long until the dark silhouette of the parked Toyota on the shoulder of the road welcomed him. Going toward the trunk, he popped the lid and started to strip down to his boxer briefs. The brisk air was harsh to his pale skin, sending it in a fit of prickles and tensing his muscles uncomfortably. The ache in his ribs increased and he could see the discoloration of mottled bruising stain his skin. When someone swung an iron fire poker like a bat into your side a few times, it was bound to leave a mark. He found himself surprised that none of his ribs were broken, though the pain in his chest would argue otherwise.
Opening the messenger bag, he hastily pulled out his container of wet wipes and quickly set to scrubbing his skin clean. The abrasive chill of the wipes pulled a hiss from him, encouraging him to not waste time getting any blood and gunpowder residue off. Once reaching a satisfying point, Levi exchanged his clothes for a clean long sleeve cotton shirt, relaxed fitting jeans, and casual shoes. After tugging a hoody over his head, he gazed down at the soiled clothes which sat crumpled in the trunk.
He didn't want to discard them; they were fairly new and just needed a good wash. He had long since perfected getting blood and other bodily fluids from his clothes to extend the life, however, he really needed to get out of the country.
Levi came here to take out Cristian and the top officers of a sister criminal organization. Alone and in their own territory, too. Having no other options, he ended up taking out more members who were unfortunate to be at the mansion tonight. But that was to be expected when he had little opportunity to conduct prior recon to his arrival.
Lovof wanted the job done; quickly and effectively. No room for planning. It wasn't just about killing the man who wronged the Russian Don, it was a demonstration on how little time someone had on this earth if he deemed it null and void.
While no one was left breathing inside the building by the time Levi was done, there were other members of the gang in the local area, and it wouldn't be long before they grew suspicious of unanswered calls before they went to investigate. Levi hoped to be halfway to England by then, which meant no time to clean the clothes.
Sighing, he pulled the fabrics out, closed the lid and grabbed the rifle. Entering the woods once more, he found a decomposing log and shoved the clothes and weapon under the wet, splintered wood, scraping leaves and soil to cover anything still visible.
It wasn't pretty. It wasn't professional. But it would do the job of hiding it for a while.
Going back to the car, he picked out his fake passport and tucked it into his pocket with the matching I.D: 'Alois Michel'.
Levi rolled his eyes. He hadn't meant to grab the new set of identification, courtesy of Furlan, but it was bound to happen at some point. His best friend had recently taken up the hobby of picking names with meanings as an inside joke. Alois Michel was a French one he'd been particularly pleased with.
"It means 'Warrior like a God'. Get it? Because you're so strong and undefeatable?"
Isabel thought it was clever, which only spurred Furlan on more with the next two sets of identification, much to Levi's annoyance. He kept his complaints to himself, though. Just as long as the quality didn't suffer and get him caught, he'd put up with his friend's shenanigans.
The drive to the airport was uneventful. Roads were not as congested as London streets, making it easier for Levi to mentally tune out as the local radio channel played unfamiliar songs. After pulling in the parking garage, he took the time to look at his watch, noting he was two hours early for his flight. Glancing at the rearview mirror, he adjusted it and pulled out a tube of concealer.
It was one of his least favorite things to do. Applying makeup over the paper-thin, skin-toned silicone patch. The material pressed against his cheek and up to his brow, nearly the length of the right side of his face. Try as he might, he could never find one pale enough to seamlessly blend with his skin. While it did well to cover the large scar that marred his face, the blending of foundation and concealer was key to not making it obvious.
Fortunately for Levi, the second skin had held in place after the strenuous fight he just came from, only needing mild touch-ups. Once pleased that the scar was hidden, aside from the bit around his lips and on his eyelid, he pulled out a container of liquid eyedrops and treated his right eye, keeping it moist under the grey-toned contact. Tilting his head forward, he blinked, catching any stray moisture lest it messed up his concealer.
Oh, how he hated the fateful day that caused that injury. If there had been any time to feel grateful for being alive and rejuvenated, it would have been after that confrontation with his jumpy, suicidal mark. Instead, the incident left Levi feeling angry and vengeful, wishing repeatedly he could have stopped the cunt from blowing himself up and having a quick death.
Travelling through countries with an alias and leaving a trail of blood and bodies in his wake made keeping his anonymity a pain in the ass in a normal situation. Pair that up with having a fucked-up scar only made it that more difficult in blending into crowds and not drawing attention. Still, if it wasn't for Isabel's help and her diligent cosmetology tutoring, he wasn't sure he'd be as successful at it as he was today.
Satisfied with his appearance, he hauled himself from the car, grabbed his bag, and made sure to wipe down the surfaces where any prints would linger. Not that he had any record in the system, but it helped to stay persistent. One didn't earn the status of a ghost by being complacent. With a final last look at the Toyota that would likely be hauled to a tow yard within a few weeks, Levi turned on his heels to enter the airport. He was eager to get back to England and out of Romania.
Check in went smoothly. Take off was the same. Landing in London was rough as shit. Fuck wind and turbulence.
His mood soured when he looked out the window to see that the source of the bumpy landing was thanks to the gloomy rain that beat against the double pane. Below the terminal, large puddles were starting to form on the tarmac as people in baggage carts were draped in neon reflective jackets. He had to resist rubbing his eyes as a sigh escaped him, not wanting to mess up the concealer.
How long was this stretch of sleepless nights going for now? Was it day three? Shit. He just wanted a shower and his bed. The ache in his ribs and the exhaustion weighed forcefully on him as the seatbelt sign dinged off above and people began to stand before the plane even had a chance to park.
Levi leaned his cheek on his hand as he stared out at the rain, trying to bite back his frustrations at the people around him. All impatient to go about their lives, crowding one another in the already cramped tube. Each one had somewhere important to be and could not wait until the damn doors to the plane actually opened before they started to file like cattle into the lanes.
Fucking idiots didn't realize that they weren't going anywhere quicker with their impatience.
Closing his eyes, he tried to block out the noise of the crowd and start his countdown until he was back in his flat.
By the time Levi was out the doors of the Arrivals area, he was greeted by a brisk gust of wind and spray from the rain-soaked roof. Ducking his chin into his sweater and tugging the hood over his hair to prevent water on his face, he eyed the shifting cars along the curb picking up loved ones and co-workers. It took only a minute or two before the familiar image of an empty taxi rounded the corner, in which he quickly stepped away from the protection of the wall and lifted a hand.
The rounded black vehicle pulled up alongside him as the rain pelted the metal body. Just as Levi went to reach for the door handle another hand entered his line of sight at the last moment. Body tensing instinctively, he jerked his head to the right where a young man near his age stood flustered at the blatant misunderstanding. That didn't stop Levi's split-second assessment of the man to determine if he was a threat: ring on left hand, t-shirt and jeans beneath a large beige coat, short simple haircut, no bulging beneath clothes meant no weapons.
"Oh, sorry," the man laughed sheepishly, hand retreating in the air while the other was holding the handle of a rolling suitcase. He remained completely oblivious to the evaluation taking place on his body. "I thought they stopped for me. Please, go ahead. We'll just take the next one."
We?
Levi's head shifted a little further to the right until a woman appeared in his sight. Large doe eyes blinked through the rain as a hand tried to block her face from the drops as she looked between them. A soft smile curled her rosy lips and she set a ringed hand on what Levi calculated was her husband's arm.
"Sorry about him," she offered apologetically. "He can get tunnel vision easily. Please go on ahead."
Mood severely taking a blow, at no direct fault of the couple, Levi trained his face to hold back a glare. Not only was he just wanting to get to the flat, but he was standing in the rain, tired and sore, and two strangers just approached without him noticing. While he was known to have a piss poor attitude on a normal day, raw resentment was not common unless someone startled him. No matter if it was Isabel, strangers, or enemy, it set his whole body on edge with alarm bells ringing, and it always took considerable effort to calm down from.
For fuck's sake these people.
Levi shook his head and took a step back from the taxi. "It's fine. Go ahead."
"Oh, are you sure? It's really not a pro—uh sir?"
The woman's voice carried behind him as he walked back to the sidewalk, but he didn't bother turning around as he stuffed his hands in his pockets.
"Thank you!"
He turned around to lean against the wall of the building, just catching the woman's wave before shutting the taxi door. He didn't return it, tucking his face under his hood further.
The cotton fabric helped block the wind, but he was more concerned with the water on his face. He didn't bother stopping in the bathroom to check his make-up after the flight, having intentions of just getting the fuck away from the airport, but he regretted that now. Taking out his cellphone, he subtly turned his camera on with the reverse screen to see his face. One of the silicone patches was starting to lift where his cheeks creased when he talked. Carefully, he pressed the edge down with the pad of his thumb, hoping it would last long enough to get to the flat.
A couple minutes later, an empty cab pulled up after his wave and this time, no other passengers were lingering in his blind spot.
Two hours later, Levi was out of the shower with navy cotton pajama pants on while he brushed his teeth. The fogged mirror and steam blurred his already poor vision, but his muscles felt rejuvenated after the heat. Inky bangs dripped water down his scarred cheek, free from any make-up or patches, and a milky eye stared blankly beneath his eyelid after having the cosmetic contact lens neatly put away to hide his disfigurement.
It was such a simple aesthetic piece that matched his normal eye color, a perfect representation of what he lost. When looking in the mirror, it was easy to remember what he looked like before the explosion when his right eye mimicked life. Now it was just glazed over like a frozen lake, void and full of nothing but darkness.
It was three months after the accident that Isabel and Furlan had chipped in together to get him the cosmetic lens, unaware of the significance the gesture was to him. Having been in a low place, mentally and physically, receiving the gift that offered a hint of what he lost meant the world to him. Even more was knowing that it was not a cheap gift, and his friends did what they could to ensure he had it regardless of the expense.
Foamy spit covered the sink bowl before he splashed water to rinse it out. Toweling his face clean and squeezing the last of the water out of his hair, Levi went into tiny kitchen and put on a kettle. After a few moments of being out of the humid bathroom, a chill returned to Levi, urging him to find his charcoal sweater from the dresser to put over his bare chest.
The bruising on his ribs had darkened considerably since that morning, leaving an ugly blue and purple hue up his side. It was nothing to baulk at, basically equivalent to a scratch in his line of work. His body carried worse scars along his flesh than any bruise could compare to.
After fixing a mug of tea, buttering some toast for a snack, Levi propped himself in a wingback swivel chair next to the window. A small end table sat next to him where he set the plate and his cellphone on as he sipped his tea. The window was tall and narrow between brick walls, being a great source of natural light into the quaint flat. It was large enough to open and step onto the fire escape just outside and had a thriving snake plant on the sill, basking in the waning light. Outside, the rain pattered consistently in a steady downpour as darkness crept over the city earlier than normal thanks to the heavy cloud cover.
Inhaling deeply, Levi felt his eyelids droop as he watched the city lights start to liven the city, the glare of the streetlight just below shining brighter and out of focus thanks to the water drops on the window. Being paranoid, when he moved in, he had taken it upon himself to treat the windows with a mirrored film to make it difficult for anyone to see inside. He'd never be able to relax otherwise.
He was glad to be in the quiet flat, if only to fall back into the usual routine. Checking off the list in his mind, he took note that he would need to get some groceries in the morning, restock on his lavender earl grey tea, drop off the cash for rent with the landlord, and buy a new jacket. He was fond of the one he left in Romania and felt disappointed he couldn't take it with him. There was a chance that it would have gone unnoticed in his bag, just as there was an equal chance a security K9 would have sniffed it out. How stupid would he be if he got arrested because of a piece of clothing he couldn't part with?
A chime of his phone interrupted his internal planning, and he rolled his head to stare at the device. There were only three people who had his phone contact. A 1 in 3 chance it was someone who he loathed to hear from.
Grudgingly, he tilted his head on the backrest and brought the phone up to his face.
Yup. Bad odds.
Unknown
(19:34) SitRep
With his thumb, he typed out his response.
(19:35) Done
Setting the phone back on the table, he let his elbow prop on the arm rest while his hand draped over his stomach. The other hand brought the cup to his lips as he took another sip, knowing that whoever reached out from the organization wouldn't be responding further. It was likely a burner phone and already disconnected seconds after his message was received anyway. That was how it normally went.
Levi would get a task with travel expenses or needed materials paid up front. The latter was not common unless Lovof wanted some unfortunate sap to meet a creative end, instead of an inexpensive bullet or knife. Levi hated having to get specific chemicals or plastic wrap because he knew the mess that would come from that. Those specific jobs ended with Levi scrubbing his skin raw with scalding water until the shower temperature ran cold, if only to numb his nerve endings from crawling with disgust from the filth.
After he completed the job, someone would drop off cash at his door and he would lay low for the next few days or weeks, until another job came up. It was a cruel and monotone cycle, though something he had come to learn to deal with. What was there to complain about when he had his own place that was clean and quiet, and he had the freedom to do what he pleased when not sent to snip off a branch from a metaphorical family tree.
The flat he stayed in was small and relatively comfortable. The front door opened to a closet on the right and a kitchen on the left. There was a small, two burner range set in the counter along with a modest fridge, tiny porcelain sink, and alabaster cabinets. It was cramped with one person, and he'd imagine, impossible to cook with two people in the space. (Not that he ever had guests.) The living room was only separated from the bedroom by a half wall and three steps, with an adequate bathroom attached. A small 42 inch television, his swivel chair, and coffee leather sofa made up his humble living room, though the tv remained unused most days. Tucked in the corner was a set of weights next to a treadmill that looked out a window. Since his accident, he limited his time running in the park and transitioned to most of his workout indoors.
He did his best to meet with Furlan and Isabel when he could. If he was fortunate, he'd manage to hang out once or twice a week, but he mostly stayed alone in the flat. There were risks every time he left his little sanctuary that extended beyond him. It would only take one time for someone he hadn't accounted for to recognize him, follow him to his friends, or even try to take out the Russian's favorite dog. He wasn't the only successful hitman in the game, after all, and Lovof had no shortage of enemies.
The odds were low. Nearly non-existent. But with the international enemies growing, it was never a worry far from his mind that he could bring danger to his friends. Therefore, he did not mind solitude. He did not mind the simple life he carved out in the corner of his world. It was only going to be temporary.
If everything went according to plan, in a couple more years, he would have paid off the debt to Lovof and would not have to worry about Isabel and Furlan being under the Don's thumb any longer.
Sipping the last of his tea, he scoffed.
He wasn't sure why this part of him insisted on being optimistic, when every other part seemed to have shrugged off optimism in place of cold reality. But he didn't overthink it. He allowed himself that moment of indulgence and then continued on, listening to the rain outside.
A week drags by. Then 3 more days.
The ghostly reminder of Cristian's death has finally faded, giving Levi a peace of mind, even if his insomnia is ever present in the evening hours.
His phone stays silent except for a few shared videos and messages from Furlan and Isabel. As is normal at this stage of his life, Levi will judge and question the algorithm of their socials or contribute what he can to the conversation in the group chat. He doesn't have any social media so sharing videos isn't an option. In fact, Levi's awareness with media in general only truly extends to movies and a few television shows. The news channel is not even on his radar, although Furlan is adamant about getting him to change his ways. He's convinced that Levi's choice to live ignorant is only hurting him while Levi cannot fathom why it matters.
The world he lives in is both expansive and small. He is able to travel to different countries and return to his little quaint corner with his friends. Why should he care about what the latest political asshole is doing, freak weather events on the other side of the world, or what celebrity was found in a scandalous position. It's all bullshit and doesn't affect him any.
So far, the debate has ended in a rigid stalemate from both men and Isabel is wise to stay far from the topic.
As another day begins to creep by, restlessness starts to set in. Not the kind that comes with being stagnant for too long, but the sort that feels something looming on the horizon. The type that brings a bitterness on the back of the tongue or the unbalanced pit in his stomach. Somedays, it doesn't feel so much as foreshadowing, rather the anticipation for what is to come.
By the fifth day of the second week, his suspicions are confirmed.
The chime of his phone tugs his attention from dusting the top of his fridge as he stands on the counter to reach. Finishing his task of cleaning it, he hopped down, wiped the counter where his bare feet were on, before walking to his phone.
Furlan
(13:10) Hey mate. Not sure if you're doing anything tonight but I'm making Pelmeni for dinner if you want to come over.
Ah, Pelmeni. The small dumpling dish that was usually served with a sour cream mixture or potatoes. A hearty, savory meal that Levi had tried once before and found appetizing. Any other time, it would sound appealing to entertain Furlan and gorge on some warm dumplings. Except for the fact that Furlan hardly cooked, let alone knew how to make Pelmeni in the first place.
No. Pelmeni was code for a job.
Russian dish, Russian hit.
He should not have been surprised. Lovof rarely let Levi remain idle for long, convinced that if a month passed without a job, Levi would become rusty. That was merely an excuse, yet Levi was not stupid enough to call the Don out on it. Sometimes the jobs were not even hits. Just having Levi rough up some groups getting out of line or running late on payments to the organization. Perhaps, if he was lucky, it would be a simple task this time.
(13:16) Alright. Sounds good to me.
Nothing more needed to be said.
Pulling off the bandana from this neck and hair, Levi went to the bathroom to wash his hands and face before debating on the silicone patch and contact. He usually refrained from going through the trouble of hiding his scar when he visited his friends. It may have seemed trivial to them that they were unbothered by his injuries, but their acceptance gave him a sense of confidence to be noticed as himself without needing to hide. Then again, this was not a social call. Whether he was getting a briefing for a job that needed taking care of tonight or a week from now, Levi did not want to chance being unprepared.
Stingily, he commenced with masking his scar and putting his contact in, then changed his clothes to something nondescript, grabbed his knife and handgun, and left the flat.
Even though Levi was the only one of his friends officially employed by Lovof, it was not unusual for the Don to use Furlan as a middleman. It was done will the full intent of demonstrating power. A blatant threat to Levi that he could always reach his friends should Levi get any ideas.
Understandably, Furlan did not like it. Did not like anything about the obligations Levi shouldered for the Russian boss. Did not like being the reluctant messenger used to send his friend on dangerous jobs, as if putting shared responsibility for what happened to the mark and Levi in his inexperienced hands.
And who could blame him?
Still, Furlan expected it. Had since the first day the two of them confronted the Russian head all those years ago. When he and Levi were just boys; naïve, stupid, and still trying to hold onto the last vestiges of youth. Just trying to do the right thing.
But Hell was paved with good intentions and some days, deals with devils were meant to be struck.
Bless him, for always pretending to be indifferent to it and treating it as nothing more than a favor for Levi. For keeping Levi's secrets from Isabel so she could live in ignorance, even if she was aware of the coerced affiliation to the mafia. For being Levi's unofficial moral support, especially when Furlan had little else to offer.
The cab ride took him down familiar streets, to the acquainted park entrance where it pulled over to let him out. He paid the cash, didn't bother to utter a response to the pleasant driver, and exited the car. Once the vehicle was out of sight, he examined his surroundings, and once content, made his way down the street where he had come from.
Back tracking on foot, instead of being dropped off at the front of Furlan's building was a habit he had taken to lose or confront any unwanted tails. Occasionally, he would weave around the block, down an alley, or through the park to break up any routine that may form.
Eventually, he was on the steps ringing the apartment and waiting for Furlan to answer. The static from the box in the wall broke up the city's bustling noise, pulling Levi's attention from over his shoulder to the door.
Furlan's voice came through with its usual warmth that Levi's always lacked, "Hey, man. That you?"
"Who else?" Levi's response sounded raspy to his own ears, not having said more than a few words to himself in the last few hours. Or was it days since he last spoke out loud?
He tried to refrain from the habit, usually only muttering things under his breath lest he starts to lose his sanity. Someone better put a bullet in his head if he ever gets to the point of having full conversations with himself in his flat. Furlan knows his way around a gun. Maybe he could put Levi out of his misery.
Who was he kidding? He would have better odds of ending it by standing too close to a streetcorner on a bus route than Furlan going through with a mercy killing.
The buzz of the door unlocking shook his bitter train of thought away. Ascending the stairs until he made it to the third floor of the building, Levi was greeted with the door opening to Furlan's grin. It was strained, but well-practiced after so many years that it would be impossible for anyone else to tell the force behind it.
"Come on in. Hope you're hungry."
Levi stepped inside and scanned the apartment, automatically looking for any unwanted visitors or objects out of place. Not that any of the Mitras members came to Furlan's apartment, as their communications was only through phone, but these meetings always set Levi on edge. Taking his shoes and jacket off, he placed them in their usual spot near the door and followed Furlan into the kitchen.
The smell of warm spiced food filled the air the further he walked in until he found the source on the island. Two paper plates with two bags of familiar take-away sat waiting while Furlan went ahead and opened the fridge, listing off the contents.
"I haven't restocked my tea yet, so you'll have to drink something else tonight. Want a beer? Water? I have grapefruit juice too."
"Who drinks grapefruit juice with curry, you delinquent."
Furlan peeked behind him with an offended pout. "Hey-it's surprisingly tasty, you uncultured dick. Give it a try before you start insulting it."
Levi snorted as he sat on one of the stools, feeling the steel of his gun in the back of his waistband. "Give me water. Keep that pink shit for yourself."
"One bland, tasteless water coming right up, Gordon Ramsey."
Levi rolled his eyes and set to separating the food out to the paper plates, already knowing which food was ordered for who.
"So? When's the job needing done?" Levi pressed, wanting to know if he would need to just eat a couple of bites or if he could enjoy the meal. A personal rule of his: never eat before a hit. It was not worth taking a chance of what came with a full belly and a gunfight. The mixture could be catastrophic if the plan ever went downhill.
Furlan seemed to mull over his response as he poured a glass of water and slid it across the counter to Levi. After popping open his bottle of beer he took a sip, then stared at the green glass as if seeing it for the first time.
"Sounds like the job's coming up in a few days, but Lovof didn't give any real details on it."
"Well, what do you know?"
He didn't meet Levi's gaze as he leaned his elbows on the counter across from him, using his thumb to scrape at the label on the bottle as if buying himself a little more time before answering Levi.
"I know Lovof wants to see you tomorrow."
Levi felt his brows knit together as he stared hard at Furlan. "… the hell? Why have you involved if I'm just going to get the details from him? Why not just message me like normal to come in?"
"Does it look like I know how Lovof runs his organization or thinks? Maybe he's doing it to jerk you around for his enjoyment. Wouldn't be the first time, would it?" Furlan shook his head, feeling his voice rise as his frustrations started to peek behind his calm demeanor. His sandy locks tousled across his forehead before he took another sip of his beer and grabbed for the plate Levi prepared for him. "He wants me to let you know it isn't a normal hit and you'll need to get ready to do some—and I quote— 'thorough recon' before it."
"That's vague as fuck."
Furlan shrugged, still in a tiff. "It's all I have. His guy that called me was pretty tightlipped over it and I wasn't going to keep pressing for details just to piss them off."
"No. That's smart." Levi huffed. He didn't want Furlan to take unnecessary risks for Levi's sake.
Taking a bite of his curry, he considered what the job would be and what Lovof's motives were behind the needless act of getting Furlan involved. There had not been any slip-ups on Levi's end of the job in a long time, so no need to make any unspoken, consequential threats. The most recent task with the Romanian group was handled cleanly even though there were more corpses accounted for than intended by the end of it. Practically, collateral damage in that line of work, but nothing for Lovof to get cross over.
"Have you heard from Izzy?" Furlan asked, breaking the emptiness of conversation between them with a change of subject.
Swallowing his food, Levi gave a half shrug. "Just what's in the group chat lately."
"Ah, makes sense. She's been busy stressing while preparing for her last semester of classes. I guess Pharmacology is supposed to be a pain in the ass because of all the memorizing and medication names she must learn. Something about how there's around 20,000 different types of medicine and she has to understand the needs for the certain types or whatever."
"20,000? Who'd know that the FDA were bigger drug dealers than criminals?"
Furlan snorted. "Right? I told Izzy that there was no way they would make her memorize all of those, but she's still worried because the names are hard enough to pronounce. Plus, you know how scatter-brained she can be. Don't be surprised to get a phone call one of these days with her venting a mile-a-minute at you."
"Tsk, she did it to herself. She should've gone to school to be a veterinarian like she wanted. I bet there's less medications to learn, plus she would've actually enjoyed it."
The fork paused halfway to Furlan's mouth as he looked over to Levi with a stern frown and raised brow. "Really, Levi? You know why she didn't do that."
Something uncomfortable settled in his stomach at Furlan's discrete reminder to not unbury that old hatchet. It was almost like a punch in the gut that forced him to mentally realigned his detached attitude toward empathy.
Levi did know why. It was because of him.
Years ago, after a nasty gunshot wound to his hip, the veil was pulled back on what Levi's "job" really was. While Furlan had already known, Isabel was completely taken aback and gave them both an earful. Luckily, because hospitals seemed to frown on treating bleeding hitmen and the Russians had their own doctor on hand, the confrontation with the fiery redhead had taken place in Levi's apartment. No other people, aside from his neighbors, could hear the wrath she was raining down on them.
After that, her focus shifted from helping poor puppies, kittens, and birds to learning to help the twisted thing that Levi had become.
A nursing degree would give her the information and skills to support him. To fix him and take care of him properly rather than the mafia shit-weasels, as she eloquently put it. It was a pointless battle to debate against because she could be just as stubborn as the two men when it came down to it. So, grudgingly, he let her have it. Even if that had inadvertently led to sinking Levi further into debt with Lovof.
Hell was paved with good intentions.
Isabel and Furlan had managed to go to school and get normal work on the side of society that contributed rather than took. Unfortunately, honest living did not offer all that great of pay. Perhaps polite society wanted you to feel rich in knowing you stayed within the lines of morality. A metaphorical good-job, and you should feel a sense of righteousness for making good choices while the pay was shit.
Levi, on the other hand, got paid rather well for just being in the right place at the right time and pulling 4lbs of trigger weight. But not well enough to pay for Isabel's schooling. Not when three-quarters of his pay was staying with the Don as payment for the first debt.
Furlan tried to chip in where he could, and Levi had considered moving to a smaller place in a shittier part of London to contribute more. He refused to let Isabel take out student loans, already sour on the idea of owing anyone debt which they could lord over them.
Try as she might, there was no winning that debate against Levi, meanwhile Furlan was oddly reserved with his opinion on the matter. Levi was determined to find a way to make sure she was successful in her dreams, and to let Furlan and Isabel have a better life. It didn't matter where he stayed. He would manage.
But like a parasite, Lovof was never far, always keeping tabs on his favorite dog. When he had learned of Levi's attempt to move away from the 'luxurious' flat, or better yet out of his territory, he stepped in and increased Levi's pay—with the polite insistence to stay where he was, simultaneously leaving no room for contention.
"No member of the Mitras organization is living in the slums. If I allow my dog to sleep there, what does that say about me and my associates? What you do reflects on me, mal'chik. You'd do well to remember that."
And with the new law in place for Levi, the leash grew shorter and the debt grew larger and another secret was added to the list between the two friends.
Isabel did not need to know that the raise Levi got to help with school only extended the years in servitude to Lovof.
Irony was a bitch sometimes. Isabel wanted to help keep Levi safe and her actions inadvertently led to him working longer with Mitras. Then again, it was inevitable. Whether she wanted to be a nurse or pursue her dream of being a veterinarian, Levi was bound to be in the same situation. It was not like either degree path was inexpensive.
Across from him, Furlan cleared his throat, looking hesitant as his index finger scratched at the laminate countertop. Always fidgeting when the topic involved Mitras or Lovof.
"Er, I wasn't trying to make it sound so pointed, mate. You know she isn't learning to be a nurse because you forced her or anything. She just worries for you. We both do."
"You give yourself too much credit if you think I'd be offended over that. I know what you meant." His fork pushed around some chicken as he shoved his bitter recollection away.
"Yeah," Furlan chuckled lightly. "You're right. Your tolerance to bullshit is remarkably high for someone so short."
A glare landed on him instantly.
"Oops," Furlan raised a hand in mock surrender. "Except for mentions about your stature. Can't forget you're sensitive to that."
"Get bent."
"Aww, is the cutest, poly-pocket assassin getting his feelings hurt?"
"You must really want a fork in your eye, huh? I'm sure we could call Izzy over to practice patching up a breathing human rather than a cadaver."
Furlan barked out a laugh, the teasing lightening the mood between them enough to have Levi's lip twitch up in a small smirk.
"Do you think I could get a cool eyepatch if you stabbed my eye out?"
"If that's what you want. Just let me finish my food first before I use my fork on you."
"Nah, I think I'll pass. An eyepatch doesn't go with my aesthetic. You on the other hand—"
"No."
"Come on," the blond whined, "You'd look so cool with an eyepatch. Like the male version of Kill Bill."
Levi raised a brow. "Which movie is that? Not the one with the zeppelin air ships, is it?"
"No, you're thinking of Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow. Kill Bill is the one with the blonde woman who wields a cool katana and kicks ass in her mission to kill, well… Bill."
"Oh, yeah." Levi vaguely recalls the details. His limited knowledge of movies was only thanks to Furlan and Isabel forcing whatever on the television due to Levi's lack of input. "Still, an eyepatch isn't going to happen."
"You say that, but one day, you'll see that Izzy and I are right about this, and you'll thank us."
"Tsk. Bullshit."
The next morning, Levi meandered down a dormant street in Soho district, only a few blocks away from St. Jame's Park. The steady drizzle of rain and early hours limited the foot traffic to locals heading to work or shoppers stopping at their favorite coffee spot. The buildings on either side were well maintained for being older structures and each was painted in unique fashion to stand out from its connected counterparts. Beneath his neatly polished leather shoes was an uneven patchwork sidewalk that bordered a single lane road. It was not an area Levi usually frequented, filled with too many pedestrians of either locals or tourists sightseeing on their way to Buckingham Palace.
His feet halted at the snug 18th-century, peppercorn black townhouse, with gold stenciled numbers and ledge of greenery hanging over the front entrance. Levi's gaze dropped to the "Closed" sign in the door. As usual, the restaurant hours were only open for dinner; at least for the members of the public that could afford it.
Knocking twice, a figure shifted behind the textured glass, barely a shadow in the dark entryway and distorted window, then unlocked the door to allow him entry.
The burly Russian man in a slim button up and blazer grunted his form of welcoming to Levi as he stepped inside. What was his name again? Anatoly or Andrey? Fuck if Levi knew. The man only spoke Russian and Levi never bothered to try to hold a conversation with anyone other than Lovof.
It had taken a couple of years for him not to need to be shaken down at the door for weapons. Somehow, demonstrating his ability to successfully kill a mark earned him Lovof's trust that Levi would not cut his throat out. He supposed it didn't matter how effective his skills became with each assignment. It created a sense of security that obeying orders would keep the thought of Lovof becoming Levi's next victim out of the realm of possibility. Levi wanted to think that was just wishful thinking on the Mitras leader's end, but a part of him knew the headache after killing him would be substantially worse than just paying off his debt like a good little soldier.
Keeping his dark peacoat on, but drawing off his hood, he walked through the empty, dimly lit dining area toward the back. The modern European décor and sleeping candles on the wooden tables set a charming theme for patrons to enjoy an amorous setting. It was an ideal location for the head of Mitras organization to have a personalized breakfast while conducting discrete meetings.
Of course, there were other locations Nicholas Lovof would summon Levi to. Specifically, a night club, casino, or warehouse. But of the four, the restaurant was Levi's preferred spot, always quiet with fewer strangers around.
Sitting at a wooden booth at the back corner of the room, tucked out of view behind a charismatic bar, was the Russian, already halfway through his plate of swiss rosti with smoked salmon.
The Don of the Mitras organization did not meet Levi's gaze right away as he stopped a few feet from his table, hands tucked in his pockets as he waited patiently. The middle-aged man neatly chewed his food with both fork and knife in hand and resting on either side of the plate; savoring his meal as if it was only him around and not his summoned dog and four gunmen spread out along the walls.
There was a weighty appearance to him with a permanent furrowed brow and set wrinkles creased across his forehead. He had a relatively pompous face, in Levi's humble opinion, with a salt and pepper receded hairline in a slick back hairstyle. Across his upper lip was a thick, groomed mustache, and he had a pair of sunken eyes with a permanent stern look that he finally fixed Levi with.
Setting the silverware down in exchange for a cloth napkin to dab at his lips, Lovof's clothes were not overly lavished, wearing a gray blazer with a red tie over a white shirt. Regardless of Levi's opinion on the man that held the other end of his leash, he was pleased he dressed tolerably. Clean and sophisticated in a way that did not peacock for others. Better than the blokes that dressed as if they had something to prove.
"Dobroye utro, moy mal'chik. YA slyshal, chto Rumyniya khorosho k tebe otnosilas'."
(Good morning, my boy. I hear Romania treated you well.)
Levi gave a curt nod, face as impassive as he could keep it. His understanding of Russian was better than his ability to speak it, but still shit. He hated it when Lovof tried to integrate him further into the organization, even by simply teaching him the language through experience. He made a point to always refuse to give in, hoping that the simple rejection showed he had no interest in sticking around once he no longer owed the man his servitude.
"It was a quick and easy trip, as expected."
Lovof hummed thoughtfully as he raked his gaze across Levi's figure, taking in his black shoes, black slacks, and wool peacoat that dipped below his waist. The top of a grey hood peaked out from behind his nape, an odd addition to the otherwise clean image of the young man, though logical to keep his face dry. Levi was in full work mode. Simple, yet professional clothing, concealed scar, cosmetic contact, knife in his shoe, another hidden in his waistband. Two 9mm handguns resting in the shoulder holster beneath his coat.
It was an image he knew pleased his boss by keeping up the polished representation and yet not drawing anyone's unwanted eye. Not to mention, it made blending into the shadows and a busy background easy when he needed to be unseen.
Picking up his silverware with practiced thick fingers, Lovof returned to his meal, breaking conversation, and ignoring him once more.
Forcing Levi to stand and wait was not anything new. A guest would have been invited to sit down with him. A business partner would have their own elaborate breakfast and a glass of scotch right alongside the Don's.
Levi was nothing more than a tool. A pet. Privileges like those did not extend to his station. He would wait until his boss was ready for him. Not speak unless spoken to.
Never would he claim to be a vain man, especially with the jagged injury to his face. But he was proud. It took a few rough beatings during their first transactions for him to learn to temper his frustration from the disrespect behind a scowl. Over the years, he learned to slip on a bored mask and perfected the skill of mentally slipping away. Setting his jaw and dipping into that cold place in his mind where pain became anger and anger became a warm blanket that you pulled over yourself to barricade what was happening outside of him. It was probably a learned behavior that led to his disassociation, now that he thought about it.
To be honest, Levi was just grateful the man did not think to force him to sit at his feet as he waited, if only to degrade him further. Then again, he supposed that would hurt the image he built of being a feared weapon against rivals. Who would take him seriously if Levi was forced to behave so docilely?
Even if it never came to that level of humiliation, something in the way he would catch Lovof staring at him with a distant look in his eyes gave Levi a sinking feeling that the thought was never far out of reach. It made his skin crawl and encouraged him to remain diligently patient lest he tempt those hidden thoughts from Lovof's mouth. Disobeying any order had a way of backfiring, not only on Levi, but his friends as well. Best to avoid any degradation of rapport between him and his boss.
When the Don ate the last of his salmon, using his fork to drag the pinkish meat across the plate to soak up the last of the sauce, a single fully garbed member of the waitstaff promptly took the plate in exchange for a new glass of scotch and crystal ashtray. As was routine, Lovof procured a cigarette, lighting it and inhaling the spiced smoke. Exhaling the plume out the side of his mouth, his full attention returned to Levi as he leaned back against the booth.
"I'm pleased that your companion continues to be reliable when passing messages along. Diligent that one."
The man was intentionally fishing for a break in Levi's resolve. Internally, he wanted to give in, to demand to know what the fuck Lovof's angle was with Furlan's needless involvement, but he swallowed it down. For all he knew, Lovof could be gauging Levi's devotion to his friend.
It was no secret that Levi's loyalty to his companions was his motive for being there, and perhaps Lovof saw that as a liability. To have his greatest weapon hold allegiance to people outside of the organization. He viewed Isabel and Furlan a threat with potential to disrupt his hold on the leash.
So, of course he wanted to remind Levi of his place. To make an example that his friends were never far out of reach, and not above following his orders. It was a reminder that did not need reiterating, always in the forefront of Levi's mind.
"He said you have a new job," Levi subtly redirected.
Lovof brought his glass to his lips with the cigarette pinched between two fingers. The amber liquid hardly brushed across the bristles of his trimmed mustache while his eyes never left Levi's. After setting the expensive Glencairn glass on the table he decided to indulge his operative.
"Have you heard of a fable about a place called Paradis?"
"Not much into fairytales."
"No, I suppose not with your upbringing."
That's a redundant comment but whatever, Levi deadpanned mentally.
Lovof continued, either not picking up on Levi's annoyance or blatantly ignoring it. "I won't bore you with the details then. You're clearly not interested, and I don't feel generous enough to tell you a bedtime story.
The task I have for you is unique to your usual work. It will take finesse and careful planning throughout the entirety of the process to be successful. I feel you are up for the new challenge, mal'chik, and expect it to go smoothly."
Before Levi has a chance to ask for more details, one of the men pushed off the wall to his left and walked over with a manilla envelope. Taking it in hand, Levi glanced over to his boss who watched him with an unblinking stare as he sucked on his cigarette filter, causing the embers at the end to brighten.
Tucking away the uneasy prickling of his skin, he opened the envelope and pulled out three pieces of paper. The first was an enlarged picture of what looked like carved granite in the shape of a shield with a crest of some sort marked on the inside. It was mounted in a glass box and the photo caught a glare off the surface, making it difficult to see the finer details.
The second paper had information of an event with the address, date, and time. Below it was a list of various objects ranging from small items to paintings, to historic weapons to a piece of car twisted into an abstract statue from some famous driver who died in the wreck.
The final page was a picture of a well-groomed man with a pronounced jawline, hazel eyes, and shoulder length blond hair that rested over a neat suit. He was an attractive man, Levi would admit, but he was not certain what he had to do with the statue.
Maybe Lovof wanted him to use the rock to bash the man's head in? Levi wouldn't exactly call that finesse, as his boss mentioned, but he had dealt messier kills. Although, it would be a shame if that was the case. The man looked like he had soft hair.
Confused, Levi met Lovof's gaze. Not surprised by the puzzlement of his subordinate, the Don snubbed out the half-smoked cigarette to elaborate further.
"Those are the details to an exclusive auction you will be attending in a few days. I need you to retrieve the shield statuette without anyone tracing it back here. Particularly, that man there."
So, he was not killing the blond? For once, Levi was not feeling grateful for Lovof's short and sweet explanation, and he caught himself wishing the man would be more generous with the info.
"Is the… shield," he tried to refrain from offending Lovof by calling it a rock, "the only objective? I'm not targeting this person in addition to getting it?"
Lovof looked amused as his mustache lifted to a smirk. "That's correct. I'll need you to demonstrate restraint with this particular job and exercise discretion. Do you think you can handle it?"
Levi gave a dismissive shrug. "I can find a way to get on the list."
The smirk disappeared quickly, replaced by a disapproval frown. "No, no, that won't do. I don't care if you planned to use an alias, I want as little crumbs to lead back to me as possible. You'll need to find a way in without fake identification and get out with the statuette while not being seen."
More questions started to pop up in his mind, but he refrained from asking them. Another rule he learned was too many questions would result in punishment, treated as if he was backtalking the head of Mitras. His job was to complete the work with the information Lovof deemed obligatory, nothing more. Still, he could not keep from wondering the obvious.
He was not a thief—at least not in the professional sense. Sure, he was light-fingered from early childhood, but stealing an object during an auction with a posh crowd and high security was a far cry from pickpocketing. His area of expertise was knowing the fatal points on the body that would result in a quick death. Where he could shoot someone and have them live for an extended amount of time to pull information from them. What angle to cut so it would alter the arterial spray and leave minimal mess.
Why was Lovof having him change strategies now? Why was it important that he remain anonymous to anyone at the auction? It was not as if Lovof's status as head of the Mitras organization was broadcasted to normal society. Like Levi, he did well in keeping out of the unwanted view of the law, having another legal business with the Lang Company as a cover for his wealth and illicit affairs.
Sensing that Levi was trying to piece information together instead of asking him, must have caused Lovof to feel charitable. Or perhaps he was just in a good mood and wanted to hold a conversation with the otherwise quiet assassin.
"You see, mal'chik, the person that owns the shield now is someone I've been working to build a contract with. Lord Tybur is a powerful man whom I hold in high regard. Unfortunately, he is an emerging mogul in his own right and wants to make the greatest profit possible with the statuette. Apparently, after this recent announcement of another finding regarding Paradis, he sees the opportunity to catch the highest price for his collectable. I can't blame him for it. I'd do the same thing in his position. But that doesn't keep me from wanting it less.
I'm sure you can understand that if Tybur and I had already made a business deal, I'd be rightfully offended that he wouldn't just sell the statuette to me. It would be a disrespectful gesture in the face of a blooming partnership. If that was the case, you and Iwould be having a more familiar job description right now instead.
As it happens, negotiations are still on going and he needs to remain alive in order for the transactions to go through. At the same time, I have no desire to pay a fortune when I can have you fetch it for me without Lord Tybur being the wiser."
Ah, now it made more sense.
Levi recalled hearing a few months back about Lord Tybur inheriting his father's legacy. He was from an old, powerful family with ties to the government and military in a way that many wealthy families wished to have. From the sounds of it, the Lord was busy making changes that renewed the Tybur presence in the higher circles after his predecessor had begun to grow complacent prior to his death. Of course, Lovof would see an opportunity there to open a trades deal or something to expand his organization. Whether it was for the Lang Company or Mitras, however, Levi was not sure, nor did he really give a fuck.
If he had to guess, though, he would assume it was for the Lang Company seeing as it was a true legal corporation and surely the young Lord would want to avoid tangling in illegal undertakings. Perhaps, if he was aware of the Mitras dealings that Lovof oversaw, he would be more inclined to sell the stupid rock to the Russian instead of at an auction where he would earn top value.
Maybe little Tybur is recovering from losing so much wealth, Levi huffed sarcastically.
Something he learned while working with Nicholas Lovof was the structure and inner workings of the upper class. Rich toffs, lords and ladies, dukes, and whatever else the fuckers called themselves, were born into established wealth with vast land and grand homes. The heirs to the riches usually had a rude wake up call when nearly half the fortune went to the state following the death of a family member.
It was common for the younger generation who inherited it to want to keep the land and structure, yet they hungered for more funds to sustain the image rather than downsize on capital. Typically, out of vanity and greed. Indulgences that Levi did not understand. Not when his experience with hunger was more personal—regularly partnered with survival.
He heard some heirs eventually were forced to part with their property, others made dealings with those better off to lease or sustain what they had. Few were desperate enough to make transactions with illegal organizations in exchange for money to keep their homes maintained and lawn manicured. Lovof had used the desperation of those to his advantage in garnering trades, a time or two.
However, from what he heard, Lord Tybur was not in such a situation, and it was only further confirmed by Lovof's desire to remain in his good graces rather than bulldoze what he wanted out of the deal.
His boss mentioned the finding of something else regarding the Paradis, being the reason for the shield being put to auction. If it was something that passed down the family line through generations, there was a chance that Tybur saw its value rising exponentially with the new discovery. Money signs being stacked on something that held only a smidge of sentimental value now. Maybe Tybur shared Levi's opinion on it being a useless eroded rock and not worth keeping any longer.
Slipping the papers back into the envelope, he rolled it tightly and put it in the inner pocket of his coat. While he would prefer to stand there to get any other details on the strange assignment, he was starting to sweat.
"I'll make sure I'm discrete with it."
Lovof's gaze never wavered as Levi smoothed out the front of his coat, eyes locked on his chest before drifting to his face. "Because this is a delicate task, I will hold off on discussing the expenses to cross off your debt until after completion of the job. Make a note of your efforts and we can negotiate from there."
Levi barely held back an eyeroll. God, he hated negotiating with the Russian. For one, he was never good at it, lacking the patience and charisma to persuade a favorable outcome. That was better suited for Furlan than Levi. The second reason was Lovof being so easy to take offence if Levi stood his ground. Some days he could get away with it. Others ended in a painful reminder of his place.
Instead of voicing his frustrations, he gave another curt nod. "Is there anything else?"
A sharp smile curled as the Russian spun the Glencairn glass between his fingers in a circle, the subtle scraping of the bottom against the woodgrain table filling the pause. "That's all, moy mal'chik. Do not let me down."
Levi promptly turned and exited the dining room, feeling the heat of Lovof's gaze sear across his back until he was out the door. Yanking his hood over his head, he inhaled deeply, filling his chest with the cool air outside before slowly exhaling. He stared down the sidewalk he came down and started walking.
When he connected to another street and turned right, he pulled out his phone to send a message. Unlocking it, the background of the trio at the park reflected back with Isabel closest to the camera during a sunny spring day. Second guessing himself after a pause, Levi changed his mind and put it back in his pocket. After a few more steps, he thought better on it and pulled the phone out before hesitating.
The phone went back into his pocket.
Fuck.
After ten more minutes, Levi came upon a street with two lanes of traffic and waited for the familiar image of a cab. Waving one down, he slid into the back seat and directed the driver to his usual drop off spot a few streets from his flat.
Hunching into the seat, he kept his hood up as he stared out the window at passing buildings and pedestrians with umbrellas. A cyclist sped by the window on the right as they stopped at a light, nearly startling Levi at the unexpected blur in his blind spot. Gritting his teeth, he tried to force himself to relax, still feeling on edge about the entire morning.
Where did he start with planning for a fucking heist?
Pulling out his phone, he unlocked the screen as the cab lurched forward as traffic started moving. His thumb opened the message icon and opened the chat thread with Furlan. Maybe it would be beneficial to have his problem-solving abilities teamed with the tech-nerd.
It would hardly be the first time I needed Furlan's help with something, he tried to reason.
Anytime he pulled on his friend to collaborate, he felt a sting of guilt. Even though Furlan insisted he wanted to help where he could—knowing Levi was against directly aiding Mitras—he would occasionally get the chance to be a part of it. Generally, it was limited to forging false documents and creating fake profiles in the database with his I.T. skills. Skills that apparently would not be needed this time around.
Regardless, Leve was at a loss on where to begin planning but hoped that Furlan could maybe pull up blueprints or have an idea of what sort of security systems would be in use at the location. At least that was a start.
Sighing, Levi quickly typed out a message and hit send. Laying the phone in his lap, he waited patiently, and it was only seconds later that it chimed. Opening it, he was greeted with an excited response from his best friend.
Furlan
(09:12am)
For sure, man! I got you! You can come by whenever today, I'm off work.
He felt his lip twitch at Furlan's eagerness to help him. He just hoped he didn't come to regret it.
I should just throw out there, in case I didn't yet, that this is a long story. My style of writing is not exactly brief and I really enjoy delving into the details and characters if it hasn't been clear yet. If you like adventure, heists, slow burns, treasure-hunting, conspiracy, Ackerbond, and implication of reincarnation, then I'm sure you won't have an issue with this story.
Also, TWs are going to be as follows: rape/non-con, violence and gore (canon-typical), language, slurs, implications of self-harm and sex trafficking (chapter 5), mental health topics such as panic attacks, anxiety, and dissociation. I will try to upload per chapter in the A/N's at the bottom but may forget so here's your warning now.
Anywho, thanks for stopping by and reading it! I originally posted the story on Ao3 and decided to share it here too. Let me know what you think! I will try to churn out weekly updates.