Noah had been dead. He had been dead long before the bullet pierced his body. But today he was finally able to kill without any regrets.
It all started with a routine job for him.
Kill Don Marco's daughter and retrieve the deeds from his safe.
No one questioned it—he'd already killed Don Marco and ten of his best men. Noah didn't find that too impressive; with a full clip, it wasn't hard.
He was Mob's best enforcer.
He even had bullets to spare after the job. The problem came when it was time to kill Don Marco's daughter, Isabel. To cut a long story short, he left her alive.
Not because he liked her or anything. It was just that she reminded him of himself in an awkward way. Or rather who he was before he joined the mob.
That all led to the situation he was in now.
Standing over the body of the Ironfield Mob's Underboss, Pierre Radcliffe.
Pierre was an old friend, one Noah always wanted to kill. The air was heavy with the smell of his blood. The red pool dragged across the wooden floor, crawling towards Noah's boots.
For the first time in years, he sat in Pierre's anteroom, and it wasn't a friendly visit. His green eyes wandered just across him to the smooth, white-tiled living room, and on his right was the staircase.
For a few minutes, he was too shocked to move, just standing there staring at the corpse. A few minutes ago, when Pierre let him in, he had thought Noah had too much honor for a cheap shot.
But just because he could fight didn't mean Noah didn't enjoy an easy kill.
Now Pierre's head had been bashed in from behind and he was left lying dead on the floor.
Noah suspected the underboss knew he spared Isabel already and acted with the brutal certainty that Pierre had beaten into his body since he was a child.
Finally, his mind caught up to his body and he made his decision. Killing Pierre was something he dreamed of as a child; he was glad it was finally done. He took the man's gun and went outside.
He had an idea of what would happen as soon as the mob found him here. So he threw the gun into the bush beside the stone steps.
He watched the steps for a few seconds, heart pounding as the plan flashed through his mind, as the spine-chilling future spun in his eyes. Then he went back inside.
There wasn't much time. He walked through the huge house, marvelling at how Pierre could make blood money look so clean. The polished wooden floor, sleek white walls, and modern aesthetic. You'd think Pierre was a reclusive artist and not a murderous thug.
He flicked on the television as he passed the living room and grabbed orange juice from the fridge. There was this cartoon he wanted to watch, one he liked as a kid.
Might as well watch it before I die.
While he watched the show, footsteps echoed from the stairs. He gripped the gun in his jacket. Noah glanced at a picture on a table; it was of Pierre, his late wife, and daughter.
Fia, I think that was her name. Leaving her alive doesn't sound bad, but I need her to call Petrov or Georgie.
Just as he decided to spare her, the little girl came downstairs, hearing her favourite cartoon playing, only to find her father dead on the floor.
Her wretched scream made him cringe and reach for his gun. But he relaxed, glancing at the show in front of him, cracking a small smile at one of the gags. Before Fia could walk closer to her dad, he walked over and grabbed her.
"Let me go!" she screamed, struggling against his grip, her straight brown hair whipping him in the eye as she swung her head.
He dropped her on the couch and pulled out his gun. She shrank into the cushions, whimpering.
Now he felt bad, he sighed. But it was necessary. He raised a portion of his black hair to reveal a scar on his forehead.
"Your dad gave me this a couple of years ago for being irrational. Please don't make me give you something similar, okay?"
Once she nodded, he sat beside her on the couch and continued quietly watching his show. Fia continued glancing from him to her father's body on the floor, tiny body trembling as she sobbed.
"Why… why did you?"
She covered her mouth like she was trying to trap the words. Noah glanced at her, then shrugged.
"You feel noxious, right? Like if you say the words, they'll become true, and you'll truly become an orphan. Your mom passed a few years ago, right? I was at the funeral, didn't wanna be there though."
Fia's cries intensified; she looked like she could fall apart at any moment. Her sobs mixed with the TV's noises, making it heard to focus.
He sighed. "You're around the age that I joined the mob, ten years ago. I lost my parents too, because of your dad and Georgie."
Fia looked up, eyes widening as the realization hit. He didn't expect her to know. He was just creepy Noah to her.
"Take out your phone and call Georgie. Tell him I went crazy, that I killed Pierre and I'm trying to kill you."
Fia's hoarse voice finally returned, filled with confusion.
"You'll die. They'll kill you, Noah."
"Sounds good," he answered, going back to his show. "Just call them. Don't worry, I won't let you get hurt."
"You never make a deal you can't keep," Isabel said, repeating what her father had once told him.
Noah's green eyes turned distant. "I swear."
But before I die, there are three people I have to kill. Pierre, Petrov, and Georgie. One down, two to go.
———
An hour later, the front door of Pierre's house opened slowly. The nozzle of a gun peeked through silently, then it was pushed open fully, and three men fanned out around the place, armed with assault rifles and bulletproof vests.
Three more came in through the backdoor in the kitchen. And Noah was in an empty cupboard, listening as the six men made it through the house. Once he got an accurate gauge of where they were, he made a plan.
There was only one entrance to the kitchen. Once he killed the three in the kitchen, all he had left was the three that would attack from the living room, which was just across.
It would be the mob's best shooters out there, and they were armed better than him. So he would need to hit all his shots to even stand a chance of surviving. Which was perfect.
Because he never missed.
He burst from the cupboard, firing twice. Two skulls split open before they could react. He rolled behind the kitchen island as the third man shredded the floor with bullets, wood chips stinging his face..
Noah tracked the man through the kitchen window's reflection. Then he picked a strainer and threw it left, popping out on the right as the thug eviscerated that strainer with bullets.
Noah's gun rocked his hand once again as he shot, and the thug's blood painted the metal fridge as he fell over.
He got up and hid behind the wall between the kitchen and living room. He had hoped Petrov was one of the three in the kitchen, but luck wasn't on his side.
The other three gunmen flooded the living room and grimaced at the bodies, not daring to cross over into the kitchen.
"Noah, you bastard! Pierre loved you like a son!" Petrov roared from behind the wall. "Is this how you repay him for everything he's done for you?!"
Noah could almost see his face in his mind, and it brought back dark memories.
Petrov was a dying breed of gangster. Slicked-back black hair that was thinning in the middle and a mean face with a couple of treasured scars. He also was one of the crueller people Noah knew.
The memory of one dark night came to mind. The sounds of his mother screaming and Petrov's warnings tortured Noah's ears. The image of a ten-year-old Noah standing in front of his mother's room with a kitchen knife, shaking, too horrified to enter.
Not now.
Killing these guys wouldn't be easy unless they made a mistake, Noah thought while he spoke.
"Where's Georgie, Petrov? You're the last two people on my list. Isaac, you back there? You can kill me after I take them both out. What do you say? You can use Fia as a puppet and become the new Underboss of the mob."
"Fuck you, kid, after all we've done for you," Isaac spat, voice tinged with some regret. "Georgie is coming with a surprise for you. But we can end you painlessly if you tell me where Don Marco's deeds are."
"Sorry, that's not an option. But I have a few bullets I can spare for you."
"Enough of this bullshit, we'll kill him," Petrov snarled. Noah heard something click behind the wall and the sound of Isaac's murmuring protest.
A flashbang?
Then a small cylindrical object clattered against the ground; before it could settle, he shot it. The bullet forced the object back into the air and towards the living room.
"Shit," Isaac cursed as the white light filled the living room. Noah didn't even see the flashbang go off, and it still stung a little.
He came out from behind the wall and found the three of them clutching their eyes. He only took one look at Petrov before he shot the sadistic bastard.
BANG!
He stood there for a moment, gun pointed at Petrov's corpse. The blood splatter behind his head like a halo. It felt nice to finally be done with him—to finally do the right thing.
Not long after he was done killing Isaac and the last thug, he heard tires screeching in front of the house.
Georgie.
He went back to the kitchen, pulling a tied and gagged Fia from a cupboard. Then he pulled her to the door as two people hopped out of a jeep parked in front of the house.
It was Georgie, and that rat Dalton was there too, with a riot shield to protect Georgie. The boss of the Ironfield Mob was a squat and round-bellied man. Someone was someone Noah had never dared to piss off till today.
He watched Georgie drag someone out of the jeep, eyes narrowed in disbelief.
Isabel.
She was supposed to be out of the country. Unless someone told Georgie he never came back with her body.
Her hair was dyed silver-white; her freckled white skin was bruised and bloodied. She watched Noah through the window, eyes filled with regret.
"That complicates things," he muttered. Fia struggled in his hand, muffled screams coming from her when she saw Petrov and Isaac on the floor.
Georgie's voice drew his attention from outside.
"How many people are still alive?" he asked. "Did you hurt Fia?"
"She's okay," Noah shouted back. "Can't say the same about the rest of your captains. Where are the enforcers?"
"Didn't want them to know what we were dealing with," Georgie said back, leaning against the jeep with a somber look in his eyes. "Let's exchange hostages. Then I'll let you live if you tell me where Don Marco's deeds are."
Noah thought about it for a moment. He didn't have a clear shot, and soon Georgie would decide to call in the enforcers and made men.
No reward without risk. Georgie told him that years ago.