Adriano Moretti POV

"Damnit!" I yelled, throwing my new iPhone into the wall. I heard the sound of the phone breaking but didn't care enough to go see to it.

"Moretti, what's wrong?" My right-hand man, Santiago, asked me.

I ran a hand down my cheek harshly. "Luca just called and said Alessandro got his ass killed. God, what do these Russians have that I don't?!" I yelled.

I saw Santiago flinch at my volume but he still spoke. "Well, for starters, they have qualified assassins. We can't just throw out random guys from here. We need to hire somebody. Maybe that Red Streak guy?"

"Hell no. We need somebody who can actually succeed. Red Streak made up his name himself, the only streak he has in the brown one in his pants. The kid sucks." I slammed my hand down onto my desk, frustrated. Then it hit me. A name I remember.

"Psycho." I said to myself.

"What'd you say, Adriano? I couldn't hear you?"

"Psycho." I said a little louder, my mood lifting.

"Hey! It's not nice to call people that, man."

"No, you idiot! Psycho, the assassin." I snapped.

His face turned up into confusion. Then the corners of his eyes crinkles and his mouth turned up.

"That was a good one, Adriano. Good one, indeed." He chuckled.

"I'm not joking." I said sternly.

His face goes back to confusion. "But Adriano, Psycho isn't real. It's some made up guy. Nobody can kill six mafia leaders in one night without getting a scratch on them."

"He is real. I know it."

"Fine, but how would we even get him?"

"You're going to have to do a hell of a lot of digging."

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Psycho POV

My business phone vibrated on the coffee table inside the living room and caught my attention. I wiped my hands clean with the stained red rag and walked out of the kitchen.

Once I neared the small table, I picked up the phone and read the message.

Adriano Moretti. Where have I heard that name before? Hm. I was just in the middle of finishing my last job but just setting another one up wouldn't hurt.

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