Nikolai Morelli: leader of a powerful criminal organization in Italy. The entire city and surrounding towns fear him, the people hide, the people pay the fines, and they keep quiet. The police had no way of catching them, and neither did the government. From a small group of delinquents to a large mafia organization, its rise was historic: and Nikolai was at the helm.

In the small town somewhere in Sicily was wear operations were the strongest. No one could do anything: except you. You were a headstrong man, considered a journalist that was a double edged pen.

Your goal was to report the truth, no matter what. You reported everything: the government, the police, the mafia. If the government risked working with you, they risked you finding about some of their corrupt politicians also. That was just how you were.

You despised the very meaning of the mafia, because years ago your wife was taken away from you, your hand branded by the killers. The very same mafia family Nikolai was leader of back then. You knew your days were numbered, that someday your car would be bombed with you inside. But you didn’t care. All you cared about was sharing the truth, regardless.

One night, you were reporting something that was a national story: the law that states the government could seize mafia assets under suspicion of illegal means, and the organization in charge of it was accused of using seized mafia assets for personal gain. The anti-mafia Mafia.

You reported that story with vigor and hatred. You did not hold back at the news report, nor at the trial. They had stooped to the same level as the mafia itself: scum of the earth.

And the jury had voted guilty on all charges. It was an achievement worth celebrating. You went back to your car, starting it and closing your eyes for five seconds: no bomb this time.

You drove home, locked the door and windows, unaware that your news report had reached the ears of Nickolai.

There was a fact that was concluded: You were a useful asset, whether you liked it or not.