COLD(RUTHLESS PLAYER #1)

Prologue

London 1987

“Cosa dicono le autorità?” (What are the authorities saying?) The older man asked in quick Italian, it wasn't phrased as a question, more like an order. He was a man who was used to giving orders and expecting nothing less than obedience.

He was a tall, broad-chested man, his age somewhere between his early forties and late fifties. His suit and long coat were all black. His equally dark fedora shrouded half his face in shadows.

The other man had just come back from checking the scene of the accident, where the cops were busy conducting their investigation. He was the opposite of his boss, two decades or so younger, his height not more than 5 feet 9, maybe 5 ten, and he answered the question in English.

“They are saying the accident was caused by brake failure, Sofia and one of the kids are dead. The other child has been taken to the hospital by the paramedics.”

The older man nodded with satisfaction, it was for the best that she died before he could do the deed himself. She had gotten what she deserved in the end. The child that died with her could have made a good capo; nowadays, there aren't good enforcers; he could have taught him everything and made him into a fearsome man. But no worries he had his heir. The surviving child would inherit everything, including his rightful place as Don, when his time came, and he was dead.

“Santorini, make preparations and get the baby from the hospital; call the pilot, and order him to refuel tonight. We leave in the morning.”

“Sì Don, mi occuperò di tutto".(Yes, Don, I'll take care of everything.)

                           ***

Present day, Two years ago,

NY CITY.

The hospital was empty of all movement, as it was with most hospitals around this time, except in cases of emergencies. It was midnight, after all. Fortunately, there weren't any such cases. Alessandro had planned this, had timed his visit when it was late, and the hospital staff were exhausted and sleepy and weren't paying much attention.

He got out of the elevator on silent feet and bypassed the nurse's station—where one of the two nurses manning the station was deeply asleep, the other distracted over the phone. He walked unhurried, almost leisurely, through the narrow hallway of the second floor completely at ease, sure he wouldn't be caught.

There was no reason for him to be alarmed, just yet. If anyone came upon him the only thing they would see is that he belonged. No one would question him, not dressed as he was, he read the name tag with the name of Doctor Benjamin again.

Tonight Alessandro was just a doctor checking up on his patient. As a doctor, his patient's health is a priority; checking up on patients is what doctors do. He grinned darkly; he almost believed that bullshits himself.

Alessandro was no doctor. That's for sure, he was the opposite of a doctor. Doctors heal wounds, patch up people, bandage them up, and save lives. He? He inflicts pain, cuts, and makes men bleed and cry like babies, tortures them, and if he wants to take their lives, that's who he was and who he still is. Alessandro mentally counted down room numbers watching out for the room he was looking for.

When he came across it, he casually surveyed his surroundings before he quietly walked into the room and closed the door behind him. Like he had every right to be there. He moved on silent feet until he was standing over the prone body on the bed.