Ella's footsteps broke the silence. She sat down at the table across from me, but I continued to eat my breakfast without looking up from my plate.

"Good morning," she said.

I couldn't tell that the morning was good. At all. I woke up—although the one hour didn't feel like sleep at all—pretty mad.

Mad at Ella, indeed.

I was mad that weeks after I got shot, she made me smile. I was mad that she distracted me from everything important. Mad, because she made me create a chaos of food on the floor. I was mad that she messed with my mind so very often since she appeared in my life.

But now, I had to focus on the crucial stuff. I wanted her, I got her. And that should have been all.

"O-okay," she mumbled, and after that, only the sound of her fork and knife over her plate was heard.

"I have a meeting at lunch in the office room."

Before I could continue, she said, "Okay. I won't interrupt." Well, at least she knew what I was going to say.

I didn't wait for her to finish breakfast and went back to my room. Which didn't make anything any less irritating while I kept thinking how peaceful she looked when she fell asleep on the couch—pretty exhausted, yet in peace. And how good I felt her in my arms while I was carrying her to her bed, and even for a moment, fuck these damn moments, I thought to bring her into my bed.

Fuck off these moments, and fuck off this girl!

***

Just at noon, I went out to meet my guest—the only damn reason I got back to this residence. He was a man, apparently aged about sixty, with greyish hair and prescription glasses, under which one could see quite a few wrinkles, but with a confident gait, radiating nothing but self-confidence.

"General Mitchell," he presented himself, extending his hand.

"Axton Dark," I answered, shaking his hand.

Of course, he knew who I was. Obviously, he had had contact with my father that I didn't know about and now, my uncle put me in touch with him. Although I still wasn't enthusiastic about this meeting at all, I knew how people like him—especially those with this high rank— expected others to treat them. So, I had to show respect since he respected my relatives.

"A beautiful house. Let's take a look inside."

"Of course. Over there," I replied, pointing to the front door.

General Mitchell went ahead, and I followed him.

I let the general take a quick tour around the living room, and then we entered the office room—spacious and sophisticated enough, with a quiet background noise coming from the small fireplace. The annoying sunlight that filtered through the curtains and reflected on the machagony furniture didn't match my mood, but that was me. Obviously, General Mitchell liked precisely that—he passed around the massive wooden table with the leather chairs and settled in one of the armchairs by the windows.

I sat across from him and opened a cigar box.

"Regius Corona?" he asked.

"Double Corona. Limited edition."

"Good taste," General Mitchell replied, taking a cigar and enjoying the sight of it. "Have you visited Nicaragua?"

"I buy my cigars only in person from the factory."

"I don't understand today's youth. Most would rather lie on the couch and shop online." He slid the cigar under his nose, taking in the aroma.

"I guess I don't fit in with today's youth."

"Like father, like son."

"More or less."

"I'll save it for later," General Mitchell said, tucking the cigar into his shirt pocket.

"Please be my guest—light one," I said, handing him another one. "You couldn't appreciate the taste of the scotch well without a cigar."

I clamped my cigar between my teeth to free my hands and poured a glass of scotch for me and my guest.

"Now that's a real pleasure. I'll have to buy some of these, too," the General said, exhaling the smoke. "Plus, I've never been to Nicaragua, so I can arrange a productive trip. Although if my wife finds out I will give forty thousand for a single cigar, she'll cut my hands off."

"Fifty-two," I corrected him.

"Are you married, Axton?"

"Not in this life."

"What's the point of all of this, then, boy? If you have no offspring to bequeath it all to?" The general's words were accompanied by a hand waving through the space.

If the conversation's direction wasn't ridiculous, I could have said it was fun.

I leaned back and inhaled deeply from the cigar. "Don't get me wrong, General Mitchell, but I don't plan to bring any children into this fucking world. And I doubt you took this long way to discuss my life views."

"Don't blame the old man for trying to get to know you. Your father talked with so much pride about you. Not to mention Giovanni's words. But okay, let's get down to business. I hear you're having some trouble with Grayson Hall."

"I wouldn't exactly describe it as troubles. There's a simple solution. But my uncle is worried that Grayson has a solid back right now."

"He's not wrong. Over his head, Grayson has an umbrella from the police to politics. Many internal and international interests are intertwined with his."

"If you are to advise me not to fight back, let's stop here and not waste each other's time anymore."

"On the contrary. I am here to offer you my assistance. As long as you are under my preservation, you will be guaranteed that no one will dare turn against you. And I will clear your way to Grayson Hall as far as I can. Only a few conditions are to be met."

It was not hard to follow the context. "Are you blackmailing me?"

"You're hard to talk to, boy. Why do you keep running from power when you have it in your hands?"

"Because I will never allow myself to depend on anyone, that's why."

"I offer you partnership. And trust me, I don't make this kind of offers often. You are an exception only because of your uncle and in the name of your father's memory."

"Let's hear the other side of your offer."

"Something very minor. To cover the costs. I think one percent sounds reasonable."

"To have some spare money for cigars, right?"

"Exactly. And machine guns."

"Machine guns?"

"Machine guns. For now. Fifty-fifty. I guarantee double price. We have a solid channel to Eastern Europe where distribution takes place. But right now we lack good production. Your factories have long been in our sights."

It seemed that General Mitchell needed me more than I needed him. That was interesting, and something that I couldn't deny piqued my interest. "I see. Alright. Here is my offer: no weapons; two and a half percent, only to keep this connection for now."

"What makes you think you are in a position to set conditions, boy?"

"General Mitchell, I don't set any conditions. I propose a... How did you put it? A reasonable price to begin our partnership. If you don't like it, we can shake our hands and take our ways. In both cases,"—I closed the box with the seven remaining cigars—"take these until you get to your trip to Nicaragua."

The general smirked under his well-shaped mustache. "I like you, Axton Dark." He then repeated with a high voice. "I like you. But be aware that this arrogance someday may kill you."

It was not the first time I received a death threat. Not the last one, for sure. But I had a massive advantage right now. My mother was Chiara Ricci. I was a Ricci. And I doubted the general would start a war with the Italian mafia only to pleasure himself to kill off my arrogance.

That was a good turn. I liked to manage things my way, and I always did that.