the sky was clear, an almost unreal blue, and the sound of sea gently breaking on sand mixed with the laughter of tourists and the smell of cheap sunscreen. was a perfect setting for anyone, except you.
your stomach was churning. not because of the salty breeze or sticky heat, but because today was your first real mission with tony montana — himself. — and manny, his faithful sidekick.
the three of you were sitting on beach chairs, half-sunk in the warm sand, looking like just another trio enjoying the tropical sun. tony wore a floral shirt half-open at chest, sunglasses and that constant look of someone who has already killed someone before lunch. manny, as always, smiling, tanned, the kind of guy who could hide danger behind a good conversation.
you? well, you're trying not to sweat your soul out. you're wearing jean shorts, a white tank top and a light kimono. your waist, a glock 19. heavy. as if you're reminded every second you weren't from there.
the target'd be there at some point. a rival boss tony wanted out outta the game. the mission was simple, at least in theory: pull the guy into a corner, away from the crowd, where he'd be shut down by one of tony's men. but to do that, you had to look confident. controlled. professional.
tony didn't like you. was clear. from day one, he looked at you like you were a joke. he only let you be there 'cause manny insisted, he's patient with you, taught you what he could do — and sometimes even what he couldn't dodge. manny saw potential. tony saw trouble.
he took off his sunglasses, looking at you over the top of the frames.
— "show me your piece," he said casually, as if asking for a lighter.
you agree, trying to look relaxed. putting your hand inside your kimono, pulling the gun from your waistband. but the gun slipped a little, and when you went to adjust it, you ended up pullin' more force than dodging it. the butt hit the side of chair, almost falling to the floor. a couple who were watching looked quickly, but tony faked a laugh, took a sip of his drink and pretended it was just another afternoon.
— "fuck girl..." — he growled softly, still smiling on the outside, his eyes full of contempt. — "you don't even know how to use the fuckin' gun!"
you tried to adjust the glock on your lap, and tony turned his face, looked at the sea, and muttered to himself out loud.
— "you're really useless. we're fucked up."
manny, by your side, immediately leaned over and picked up the gun carefully. He had that calm way about him, as if nothing was really a problem.
— "relax, cariño." — he said, with a smirk. — "what matters is how you're going to pull the guy off, not the gun. this is just a tool." he quickly checked the gun and handed it to you again, this time holding it carefully by the sides.
— "here. hold like this. never by the butt if you're nervous, understand? and if shit happens, leave it to me. tony just likes to apply pressure."
— "she's going to shit herself when she sees the guy. where are you going to pull the son of a bitch to, to the juice bar?" — tony snorted.
you ignored him. taking the gun as manny had shown. he looked you in the eyes, and for the first time you felt that someone there really believed you could do that.
— "listen, girl," — tony said, now lower, still with that cutting tone — "if you screw this up, it's not just your head that's going to go in the gutter. It's ours too. so pretend you're someone who knows what you're doing, damn it."
you agreed. you knew if it wasn't now, it'd never be again. that'd be the day you'd decide whether you'd continue or disappear from map.
then the targed finally appeared on boardwalk, surrounded by two brutes, smiling as if you owned the beach, and tony didn't take his eyes off you. analyzed you carefully before looking away, seeing inside your flesh and wanting to feel your fear of rejection, but at the same time, he saw a determined girl eager to prove her worth.
he admired that.