"When we promised to love each other till death do us part, I never thought death would come so soon."
They call her Justice and it's probably because she takes the law into her own hands, dishing out whatever she wants to whoever she wants. At just...
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Fuck Dunkin' Donuts.
Out of all the fancy establishments Nevio Vignale could've taken me to, he's decided on Dunkin' Donuts. For a man whose father owns half of Chicago, I would've expected something a little more sophisticated. I mean, I don't even like donuts. They're like a bad imitation of cake made out of stale bread and runny icing.
"Prisoners on death row get to choose their last meal." I curse underneath my breath, hiding behind a plastic menu. If only this laminated piece of paper was big enough to hide my shame and embarrassment. In the span of a couples hours (give or take a few) my entire world has been turned on its axis. "And I sure as hell didn't choose Dunkin' Donuts. Let's go to Blue Lobster or whatever the hell it's called."
I should've killed Nevio when I had the chance. Now I'm stuck sitting at a overcrowded table with him and his best friend. Needless to say, I'm a third fucking wheel.
"It's called Red Lobster, Chameleon." Nevio narrows his dark eyes at me, giving me a glance that says he's superior to everyone in this room. "And Patch likes breakfast. He's the one who chose this place."
"I don't like breakfast, I love breakfast." Patch smiles widely, looking as giddy as a clown. I could just knock that grin right off his pretty little face. He looks so harmless, but I know that he's a monster, an even worse one than I am.
"I hope you choke on your pancakes." I mutter underneath my breath, feeling the reality of my situation sink in. There's no way this is going to end good and I'm not sure if I can escape. I've been stripped of my weapons, and even if it isn't in plain view, I know Nevio is carrying a gun or two. If I get up, I'm going to be dead meat.
Deciding to not waste what could be my last moments on Earth, I order a vanilla milkshake. That's the only semi-interesting thing on this menu, and if I'm going to die, I'd like it to be because of a massive brain freeze.
"Who hired you to kill me?" Nevio asks this question for himself, neglecting his wingman the honor of asking it on his behalf.
"What's it matter?" I shrug, breathing through my nose. "You seem like the kind of man who has a lot of enemies. I'm sure it doesn't come as a surprise that there's a lot of people who want you dead."
"No, it doesn't." He agrees noncommittally, narrowing his eyes at me. They've gotten darker than the chocolate brown they once were. They're almost black now. "But not many people have the money to pay someone like you to kill me."
He says someone like me, as if it's a bad thing. Well, I guess it is. I'm not exactly a model citizen, more like a model criminal.
