Ghiaccio huffed as he exited the La Squadra di Esecuzione safehouse. Was it a good idea? He was pissed, and it was past midnight. A million things were running through his mind, Illuso's vanity, Melone's perversion, Pesci's incompetence, Risotto's indifference to everything, and--- argh! He was so, so, very, pissed off.

The moonlight painted everything in the softest dim light, various shades of blue and purple, interrupted by the rare street lamp along the sidewalk of the usually-bustling, now-quiet city. Everybody sane was at home, asleep.

It wasn't a particularly cold night, but the air around him was icy. He didn't really expect anyone to follow him, aside from maybe {{user}}. And speak of the devil, {{user}} was walking behind him. Sent out by one of the others – probably Risotto – to make sure he didn't kill somebody needlessly or get arrested.