"You've been one heck of an addition to our family." My boss said in a low tone as he handed me a stacked brown envelope.
I looked at his hand and realised it was shaking. From my own experience, when someone did something like this it never meant good news—especially when that person had been your boss for over ten years.
His hand stayed stretched out.
Not that I was trying to be rude, but I just stared at him, unable to find words that wouldn't sound rude or unprofessional.
"What is the envelope for?" I asked, glancing between his hand and his eyes.
"Uhm, th–th–this is." He swallowed his words, clearly nervous.
It was my fault he looked even more nervous than before. I already knew what he was going to say and what the envelope meant. Whether I wanted to believe it or not, I had to admit it.
I was about to get fired.
Sweat streamed down his face to his neck. From where I stood he looked overheated, loosening both his tie and shirt.
I took the envelope, though I hesitated at first. I knew what it meant if I accepted it. If I refused, it would mean rejecting his offer—and possibly keeping my job.
"What is the envelope for?" I asked again, looking straight into his eyes.
"Please don't make me say it, it's already hard enough as it is." My boss avoided looking at me.
"Paul, I've been working for your family for ten years now. Don't you think I deserve to know what the envelope is for?" I asked again.
He stayed quiet, avoiding eye contact.
I might have been just a driver, but I believed I had earned my place with this family.
"Paul, don't make me ask you again what the fuck the envelope is for." My voice rose, rougher now.
I had been working for Paul and his family—who were not just your typical family. They were a famous Mafia family. Throughout my ten years working for them I worked mainly for him, and our relationship had always been based on mutual respect.
Maybe it was wrong to talk to him like that. He was the man who gave me a chance when I was struggling to make ends meet. After graduating, I couldn't find a job, and my student loans were drowning me.
Paul was ninety years old, though he looked even older. Thin, sickly. Everywhere he went he dragged along his oxygen tank.
I didn't know much about him, but one thing was certain—he was a good man.
At first I didn't believe the stories about him until I saw it myself.
At his age Paul once slaughtered an entire room of another family after they sold him out to the police. He lost his son because of that betrayal.
Before answering me, Paul lifted his gas mask and placed it over his mouth and nose. He inhaled slowly as he sat down.
We were in his office, but what put me most on edge was how he kept glancing at the door instead of me.
"Paul, what is the envelope for?" I leaned closer.
His breathing stayed steady, but the moment I leaned in it grew heavier.
Then the door opened behind me.
A voice came from the doorway.
"Are you that inconsiderate that you'd attack an old man with such a trivial question?"
I recognised that voice instantly. All the strength drained from my body.
I closed my eyes and let out a quiet sigh.
"Junior, don't you understand grown-ups are talking? Why don't you go play with your toys." I turned my head slightly.
"I don't know what you're interrogating the old man for. Since I'm next in line to be head of the Capaldi family, I'm the one who calls the shots now." Junior said arrogantly.
"He's the asshole who is about to lead this family? No wonder everything's turning sideways." I looked back at Paul.
Junior walked in, trying to sneak up behind me.
Paul saw him.
So did I.
But I pretended not to notice.
Paul raised his hand, stopping him.
"As you see, time is not on my side," Paul said weakly. "The reason I'm giving you this is because, like Junior said, he is now the head. And as leader he decides who stays and who goes. Unfortunately for you, he asked for your leave."
His voice cracked.
"You know you're lucky my father likes you," Junior said. "If it were up to me—since you know too much about this family—I would've preferred that we..."
He mimed shooting me.
I really hated this douchebag.
He was the reason I hated this job so much.
Whenever I drove him around he ordered me everywhere just so he could beat or kill someone. He was also the main reason the Capaldi family was constantly at war with others.
Junior tried to act tough. He stepped closer and stood behind me.
Then he grabbed me, turned me around, and pressed a knife to my neck.
"If you know what's good for you, you'll take the money and leave."
He tried to sound scary.
But I wasn't as terrified as he wanted me to be.
That was because I had something up my sleeve.
"You know, as charming and handsome as you are, please move away from me. I'm not really into my own team."
I got off the table, forcing him to step back.
I didn't say anything. I just moved my eyes downward.
Luckily he was smart enough to understand.
He flinched when he saw it.
I was holding a sharp pencil aimed directly at his crotch.
Honestly, I'd never done something like that before. I had no idea where the idea came from. Maybe I saw it in a movie.
Junior gritted his teeth.
From knowing him so long, I knew that meant he wanted to do something stupid.
"Let it go, Junior," Paul said. "Michael, take your money and go."
Paul tossed the envelope.
I caught it.
"Thanks."
Then I left.
I arrived at my beautiful apartment—one of the perks of working for the Mafia.
I placed a six-pack of alcohol cans on the table and dropped onto my black leather sofa.
I hadn't opened the envelope yet. The money for the drinks was my own.
"I can't believe I just got canned. I thought that only happened to office workers. Now what am I going to do?"
My face was buried in the sofa.
I groaned, grabbed a can, and took a sip.
Honestly, I was trying to drink myself to sleep.
Without realising it, I finished all six cans.
I tilted the last one and nothing came out.
"Damnit."
I was so drunk I tried sticking my tongue inside the can to lick the inside.
Even after all that, I couldn't sleep.
I stayed awake almost the whole night.
Close to midnight I got up, turned on my TV and game console, and sat down in front of the fifty-two-inch screen.
I started playing one of my favourite games ever made.
Sure, it was created before my time—but it was amazing. Storyline, concept, graphics.
Even though it was an old eighties game, it felt way ahead of its time.
The game had a classic story: a hero saving the world by defeating a final boss after clearing multiple levels.
Obviously, I was the hero.
I kept playing for hours until my eyes burned.
But I stayed locked in.
Every day I finished the game and started it again the next day.
"Come on, come on hero. Just one boss left.
Finish him!"
I mashed the controller buttons.
My character jumped into the air for the final attack—
And suddenly my entire apartment went dark.
The game shut off mid-attack.
"No!"
I grabbed my hair in frustration.
I looked around, then outside.
From my apartment window I could clearly see the city.
Everywhere else had power.
Only my place was dark.
"What the hell?"
I rushed outside to check.
The hallway lights were on.
Only my apartment had lost electricity.
Even the hallway lights were flickering like usual.
"Maybe something tripped inside."
I went back in and locked the door.
Then I searched the entire apartment.
Nothing.
"That's odd."
I thought about it.
I had already tried everything.
But I wasn't the type to give up easily.
So I went back to check the main switch again.
While I was busy, something strange was happening outside.
Thunder rumbled.
I assumed the weather was changing like the forecast predicted.
But outside the sky was perfectly clear and blue.
Yet the rumbling continued.
Then lightning struck.
It cut through two floors—even though I lived on the third.
And it didn't even damage my ceiling.
"What in the—?!"
I jumped.
Yellow lightning static crackled across my floor.
Curiosity got the better of me.
I walked closer to investigate.
I looked at the floor.
Then the ceiling.
There were no signs of a lightning strike.
But the weirdest part was that the yellow static was floating in mid-air.
"How is that even possible?"
Like an idiot, I stepped closer.
The moment I did, it reacted.
Like a magnet.
It shot forward and pierced my chest.
Electricity surged through me.
But that wasn't the worst part.
It felt like my insides were frying.
Yellow light burst from my eyes and mouth as I screamed.
Then the power in my apartment suddenly returned.
But by then I was nothing but a burnt crisp.
When it finally stopped, I collapsed to the floor and took one final painful breath.
Then another.
And a third.
After the third breath—
I died.