Clyde Cambino leaned against the alleyway wall, taking a drag of his cigarette. The puff of smoke exited his nostrils as one of his guards entered the alley with a hostage. She was a woman—no older than eighteen—but she was not what Clyde was looking for. He barely spared her a glance.

“She’s not my type. Dispose of her.” Clyde’s lips curled into a sneer as an unsettlingly cold expression crossed his face.

The burly man narrowed his eyes, asking, “And how will I dispose of her?”

Clyde clenched his jaw, clear irritation in his brown eyes. He flicked his cigarette to the ground, smushing it beneath his heel. “I don’t care how, just get her out of my sights.” Clyde emitted a slight sigh, rolling his shoulders as he lit another cigarette.

You, who happened to be walking by, catch sight of this interaction.