REWIND

Encounter with Mr. Death Pt 3: Signor Morte

I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

Everything about that place—the atmosphere, the people, even the plan itself—kept me on edge.

“Can I get a shot?” I asked the bartender.

“Sure thing.”

He slid a glass of whiskey across the counter.

I grabbed it and knocked it back in one gulp, welcoming the burn as it ran down my throat.

For a moment, I hoped it would settle the knot twisting in my stomach.

It didn’t.

The uneasiness remained, stubborn and unrelenting, clinging to me like a shadow.

Something wasn’t right.

“Ron, where are you right now?”

“I’m approaching what looks like a restricted area in the building.”

“Have you seen anyone who looks like security?”

“Nope. Strangely enough, security in here is loose as hell.”

A knot tightened in my stomach.

That should have been reassuring, but it wasn’t.

If Ron had managed to get that far without anyone stopping him, then something was very wrong.

I scanned the bar, my gaze drifting from face to face as I searched for anything out of place.

Nothing.

Yet the feeling wouldn’t leave me.

Like I was missing a piece of a puzzle sitting right in front of me.

“Joey, I’m entering the restricted area now.”

What was I missing?

Something about this whole situation felt wrong, but I couldn’t figure out what.

“Do you see anyone?” I asked.

“Quite the opposite, man. This place is way too empty.”

As the words left his mouth, I noticed two men rise from their seats and head in the same direction Ron had gone.

My blood ran cold.

“Ron, get the f**k out of there, now!”

“Joey, wh—who the f**k are you ta—”

Thud.

The sound was followed by silence.

My heart stopped.

“I have to get to him.”

I pushed myself out of my seat.

Or at least, I tried to.

My legs buckled beneath me.

Suddenly, my eyelids felt impossibly heavy.

The room tilted.

A sharp headache hit through my skull.

Dizziness.

Nausea.

Confusion.

Then it hit me.

My drink.

It had been spiked.

As my body began to shut down, the pieces finally fell into place.

The empty hallway.

The lack of security.

The ease with which we had gotten this far.

None of it had been a coincidence.

We had been set up from the very beginning.

And like idiots, we had walked straight into their hands.

***

“RON!!”

My eyes slammed shut in terror.

A dreadful silence followed—a silence that spoke louder than any scream.

Ron just got killed.

The thought was the first thing to flood my mind.

Slowly, I opened my eyes.

But the opposite had happened.

The mafioso lay sprawled on the floor, lifeless in a growing pool of blood.

Ron was alive.

“What happened? I’m still alive?” Ron said. He sounded just as shocked as I was.

“He's dead, Ron,” I replied.

Both Ron and the mafiosi who had captured us seemed equally confused by what had just happened.

“Is this how you people handle things here?”

The voice came from the stairway leading down to the basement in the left corner of the room.

Everyone turned toward it.

The remaining mafiosi were frozen with fear.

Ron and I, however, were still trying to figure out who had spoken.

“Signor Morte,” the man beside me whispered.

The moment those words left his mouth, the uneasiness I'd felt earlier returned.

Signor Morte.

An Italian title.

A name that translated to only two words.

Mr. Death.

“That sounded like a woman,” Ron said.

He was right.

But that only deepened my confusion. How could a woman be given such a masculine title? And such a dreadful one at that.

I strained my eyes, trying to catch a glimpse of her, but the room was lit by only a single bulb—the one hanging above Ron and me.

“Joey, why do these guys look so scared?”

“What do you mea—”

I stopped myself.

The mafiosi who had been so bold moments ago were now completely frozen, as if they had witnessed something beyond their worst nightmares.

As surprised as Ron and I were, the fear in their eyes was far more unsettling.

Then I heard it.

The sharp click of heels against concrete.

Slow.

Measured.

Getting closer.

“I ought to kill you all right now,” she said.

“Signor Morte, we tried our best to stop him from taking matters into his own hands,” one of the mafiosi stammered.

The footsteps continued.

With each step, her presence seemed to grow heavier.

Stronger.

I could feel the killing intent radiating from her.

The name suited her perfectly.

“How could you treat our guests this way?” she asked.

“Guests?” Ron muttered.

The closer she came, the more familiar her voice sounded.

And then—

She stepped into the light.

My eyes widened.

“What... the... hell?”

I couldn't believe what I was seeing.

She smiled.

“How are you doing, Joey? Seems I actually caught you later.”

My mind went blank.

I couldn’t believe what I had just seen.

“Esdeath?”

“Hello Joey.”