Cease lay on his bed, having managed less than two hours of sleep after battling that suffocating sensation at dawn. The sleep deprivation made him irritable to the point of combustion. Suddenly, a persistent pounding echoed at his door.
"Hey Cease, new mission." Of course. The only person bold enough to harass Cease in his room without fearing a brutal beating was Alert.
Cease tried to ignore it, but it was futile.
"If you don't open up, I'm picking the lock. You don't want to fix it again, do you, darling?"
The veins in Cease's temples throbbed. His breathing accelerated exponentially.
"Заходи, ублюдок..." (Come in, you bastard...) Cease growled in Russian, his voice raspy with exhaustion.
He stormed to the door completely naked. It wasn't his usual habit, but he was in no mood for clothes; he just wanted something to crush. He ripped the door open with such force that the hinges let out a dry, tortured groan.
BAM.
Cease stood towering in the doorway, stark naked, his broad chest heaving with jagged breaths. His bloodshot eyes glared at Alert—a look akin to a wounded beast wanting to tear apart the predator that woke it.
Alert stepped inside, walking straight to the center of the room and brushing past Cease, a dossier in hand.
"We have a new client," Alert began, nonchalantly flipping through the file. "The task is to investigate the death of a drug lord's illegitimate daughter. Ruled a suicide. Despite her status, the boss loved her. He refuses to accept it and wants us to find the truth behind the act."
As the mission details spilled from his mouth, Alert's eyes weren't on the folder. He looked down, his gaze lingering—uncomfortably long—at the most private part between Cease's legs.
"Impressive size, but the shape is actually..." Alert commented casually, his tone as flat as if he were critiquing a piece of furniture.
The accumulation of negative emotions finally snapped. Without warning, Cease's hand lunged into Alert's hair, grabbing a fistful and jerking his head back. A faint crack echoed from Alert's cervical vertebrae.
"My eyes are up here."
"And?"
Alert tilted his head slightly, ignoring the sound of his joints popping again.
"Now, let go. You're ruining my hair."
A surge of helplessness washed over Cease. He violently shoved Alert away, making the man stumble, though he regained his footing instantly. Alert tossed the dossier onto the bed. "Get ready. I'll be in the car. We're heading to the Testaccio district. Just dress like a civilian."
Fifteen minutes later, Cease headed downstairs. Alert was waiting inside a beat-up pickup truck he had "borrowed" for the act. The truck pulled up in front of a café with a dangling wooden sign: L'Ombra. It sat on a grey stone street where the smell of damp mold from ancient buildings mingled with burnt coffee. This was the boss's "investment"—a luxury hideout disguised as a mission.
They pushed the heavy wooden door open. A thin layer of dust danced in the sunbeams piercing through the cracks. Behind the bar sat the contrast: brand-new industrial espresso machines and stainless steel grinders wrapped in plastic. A lavish setup for a deadly investigation.
Cease threw his bag onto the marble counter, sending a cloud of dust into the air that made him cough.
"I don't remember 'janitor' being in the job description."
"I'm cleaning too, don't whine. You're not the only one inhaling dust," Alert said, bored.
"Can't we just call a cleaning service?"
"No. Too much attention."
"Блядь... это займет целый ngày." (Dammit... this will take all day.)
Two hours later, they were covered in grime. Alert looked particularly disheveled, hair matted with sweat against his forehead.
"You look like you just crawled out of a chimney," Cease chuckled, seeing Alert's smudged face.
"Shut up." Alert brushed his hair back, visibly annoyed.
The shop was finally clean. They sat on the chairs, panting.
"Hey, what should we name this place?"
"Dell'Angolo." (The Corner.)
"A bit lazy, isn't it?"
"Whatever. You fix the old sign. I'm going to buy supplies. Can't run a café without coffee."
Alert washed his face at the sink and handed Cease their new identities. From now on, Cease was Riccardo "Rico" Rossi, a northern man looking for a quiet life. Alert was Alessio Bianchi, his cousin and bookkeeper.
"Remember to play the part. By the way, what do you want for lunch? I'll pick it up on the way."
"Buy ingredients. I'll cook."
"Fine."
The door closed with a dry click. Alert's truck faded into the distance, leaving Cease alone in the shop as the Rome sunlight grew harsh against the glass