A fake priest and a Sicilian mob boss at odds. What could possibly go wrong?
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Roman is a life long slacker and a hardcore gambling addict. After learning there's a hit on him, not to mention his fiancé just dumped him two days before their weddi...
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"Welcome and...thank you for accepting this... this job offer."
"Well, it's not like I had other important things to do anyway," Roman muttered under his breath while stomping on a red scorpion heading inside a tiny cabin they'd moved into not so long ago.
"Right," his new partner rubbed his hands up and down his arms in an attempt to warm up. "So, we'll be living here for the next three months studying how to do the job."
"Three months?" Roman inspected the shamble of a cabin, scowling. The thing was held together by rusty nails but mostly faith. "Are you joking?"
"Look kid, people spend years in university learning how to do a job they'll probably hate for the rest of their lives then get married to a wife who beats them only to earn a shitty salary afterwards."
"That sounded oddly specific."
"Point being three months is fair deal if we're to make zero mistakes on this job."
Roman shook his head in disbelief and started to work on building a fire using left over evenly cut logs and woodchucks from the previous occupants' camping trip. Even if he was a city boy and a total virgin when it came to outdoorsy stuff, there was no doubt his balls were freezing off. To Roman's dismay, the fire was uncooperative and there was smoke. A lot of smoke and coughing.
Glancing over his shoulder to his partner in literal crime, Roman started, "I just realized we don't know each other."
"Good observation." The man walked over to Roman's weak excuse of a fire and scooted him out of the way. "I want it to go on like that."
In just a few minutes, beautiful orange hues crackled, lighting up the small place. Roman pretended his ego hadn't taken a hit at all. He grumbled an unintelligible "thanks" kneeling before the flames to warm his hands.
"You're welcome." Of course the guy was going to gloat about it.
"We'll be living together in this shithole far from worldly existence for three months," Roman stared at the man over the fire, then chuckled. "Won't it be awkward if I kept referring to you as you or that guy from the bridge? Also just in case one of us turns out to be a serial killer on True Crime."
"Death didn't bother you a few hours ago."
Such a fucking prick, Roman thought. "I'd rather know who to haunt if you decide to gut me in my sleep."
"If it helps you sleep at night I'm certainly not a serial killer on True Crime and That guy from the bridge works just fine."
"Well, thanks for that," sarcasm drenched Roman's words. "You should know, That guy from the bridge is a mouthful and besides, it sounds like a terrible title to a loosely inspired homicidal movie."
