Alarico Este had everything a man could ever wish for. A beautiful wife, money and most importantly power.
However what would happen if he lost all he held pride in in a single instant?
What if those beneath him, were suddenly above him instead?
R...
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A loud, dull sound erupted when flesh hit metal.
The harbour that was crowded and busy daytimes was only sparsely illuminated right now. Rain drizzled and danced in the crepuscular light of the few street lamps that hadn't quit working yet.
The atmosphere was desolate and somber at this evening at 2 am. The remaining dockworkers already fled from the cold, wet weather of the north Atlantic coast into the container ships and warehouses.
The harbour at one of the deeper passages on the coast of the Atlantic Ocean in South Carolina was rundown and derelict. Built in the 1960s, it had once been one of the biggest ports of the flourishing world market but as the years passed jet planes became the most important means of transport.
At this particular evening the Atlantic was especially boisterous, rocking the huge containerships back and forth in a steady rhythm. Its waves even reaching the asphalted street while harshly crashing against the hard concrete.
Despite that, a single Rosso Corsa elegantly glided through the streets, not affected at all by the cruel tricks of mother nature. The car shone in the semi-darkness, the melody of an Italian opera - Vivaldi's „Le quattro stagioni - echoed from the interior into the cold night.
The faint, dull accords of summer were suppressed by a loud, hollow sound when the Ferrari F8 ran central with moderate speed into the light-skinned, tall man who had, like a ghost, merely appeared a few seconds ago in the lights of a street lamp.
„Buona a nulla", hissed one of the men inside of the roadster stupefied with horror, inducing the driver to decelerate.
His co-driver was a large, athletic man in his 30s. His face was sleek and symmetrical, hair jet black and the sharp bones of his cheeks and jawbone gave his expression features that let him appear like an aristocrat in bygone eras.
His exterior would have been beautiful if his eyes that laid in their sockets like that of a hawk had not glistered mean and oafish in the colour of Japanese jade.
Alarico Este's long, pale fingers tapped impatiently onto the black dashboard following the melody of the opera.
They listened to the brutal sound of bones crushing under the vehicles pressure as they kept on driving further down the Atlantic Ocean.
"Gian!" blamed Alaric the other man that may have been taller but skinnier in stature.
The driver had messy, fox red hair, the numerous tattoos on his pale skin placed on his body like on a canvas, stand out like ruby blood on white marble.
"What is it, Capo? The fuckturd is dead, mission completed, now we might make it to the play on time".
The voice of the younger one sounded annoyed but he was eager to hold his eyes anywhere but the direction of his boss.
