Page 3 of Inherting the Mafia

When I reached my block, I stopped in at the corner market to grab something for dinner. I didn't really feel like cooking tonight, but I also couldn't spend a lot of money.

I lived a sparse life, but I knew it would get better. In the meantime, I needed a loaf of bread to go with the jar of peanut butter I had waiting for me at home. Luckily, tomorrow was payday from one of my jobs and that meant an upgrade in my dining fare. I might splurge and buy some instant ramen.

I carefully fit the loaf of bread into my backpack and then slid the pack onto my back. If these guys were waiting for me outside my apartment, I needed my hands free so I could run.

Yes, yes, people used their legs when they ran. I got that. What I did was something calledParkour, which was the art of moving from one point to another in the fastest and most efficient way possible. It involved a range of movements like running, jumping, climbing, vaulting, and rolling.

I was very good at it.

I left the corner store and walked around to the alley at the back of the building. I had to stand on the edge of the dumpster to reach the metal fire escape stairs.

Being short sucked.

Once I had a hold of the bottom rung of the stairs, I pulled it down and climbed up to the first landing. It was easy to climb up to the rooftop after that. I hurried over to the far side, the one that faced my apartment, and then crouched down so I could scan the street below.

It didn't take me long to spot the people watching my apartment. For one, this was not the best neighborhood in the city. No one with a car that fancy lived around here. And for two, the idiot in the driver's seat was smoking up a storm. There was a small pile of cigarette butts on the pavement right outside his window, telling me that they had been parked there for awhile.

Where did they get these guys? Didn't they know anything about stakeouts? The idea was to hide in plain sight, not stick out like a sore thumb.

They'd never make it on these streets fulltime.

I shook my head as I pushed away from the edge of the roof and made my way back to the fire escape. Unfortunately, my apartment was on the other side of the street. I'd need to go down, walk a couple of blocks so I could cross the street without being seen by my stalkers, and then climb back up to get to my place...or I could just fuck with them.

That sounded more fun.

I climbed down the fire escape and went back to the market. This would dip into my budget, but not that much. I purchased two cups of coffee and then grabbed a handful of sugar and creamer packets.

I kept to the shadows as I made my way down the block to the fancy black car. I could hear the low murmur of voices as I drew closer, but I couldn't quite make out what they were saying.

I scurried up the side of the car to the passenger window and knocked on the glass. The two men inside jumped, their eyes widening when they saw me. The guy in the passenger seat slowly rolled his window down.

"I know stakeouts can suck, so I brought you some coffee," I said as I handed him the coffees and packets. I then bent down so I could look at the driver. "Don't forget to clean up your cigarette butts before you leave. It's rude to leave your garbage for someone else to clean up."

With that, I stood up and made my way across the street to my apartment building. I smirked to myself when the murmuring I had heard earlier grew louder.

I still didn't know why they were watching me. I probably should have asked, but I was too tired. Working three jobs took it out of me after awhile. Luckily, I had the next two days off from two of my jobs, which meant I could sleep in tomorrow morning.

I was so looking forward to that.

I made my way inside my building and then up the stairs to my fifth floor studio apartment. One of the things about living in a cheap building was that they didn't tend to repair things, like elevators. Damn thing hadn't worked since before I moved in.

Whatever. At least the exercise was good for me.

Just because I'm a paranoid bastard, I approached the door to my apartment with caution. I checked all around the doorframe, smiling with relief when I spotted the hair I'd left caught between the door and the frame. If anyone had opened the door, the hair would have fallen to the floor. Since it was still there, I knew it was safe to go inside.

I took out my key, unlocked the door, and pushed it open before stepping inside. As quickly as I had stepped inside, I shut and locked the door and then grabbed the metal bar next to the door and placed it in the holders attached to the wall on each side of the door. The locks in this place sucked.

You can never be too careful.

I turned and took two steps into the small room before I realized I had made a mistake. The soft tic of a lamp turning on froze me in place.

I stared at the man sitting in the only lounging chair in the room. The lamp cast shadows across his firmly cut jaw and darkened brow, making it nearly impossible to read his expression.

He was a powerful man. I could tell that at least. As muscular as he was, I had no doubt he could bench press me with ease. His posture was casual, one muscular leg crossed over the other, stretching the seams of his black slacks near to bursting. He seemed as if he didn't have a care in the world, but something told me that could change in a heartbeat.

"Who are you?" I asked. "What do you want?"

"I've been waiting to speak with you, Mr. D'Angelo."