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Character : Lovino "Romano" Vargas
Age : 20
Image :
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The target wasn't dead, and he wasn't able to finish it off. He wouldn't have the time, and even if he had, his minions would surely see him and recognize him. He, after all, was pretty known in this dark world. He was Romano. Or at least, it was under the name of Romano that he was known. He had had the best education one could possibly have to be prepared to face his written future.
He squeezed softly his arm against his rib to ensure himself that his gun was still properly tucked in his holster.
The target had sent out some of his men to take him down. It was a bad situation. If even only one of them noticed him, he would be tracked down and killed off the bat. He wanted to die with dignity, not in a trashcan, goddammit. He turned at a corner when he heard footsteps approaching him. Shit. His situation was becoming worse. The men continued to run forward as he stuck close to the wall. He held his breath longer than he should have. After two or three minutes, nobody came back, and he sighed, shoulders relaxing.
But... as he turned around, he met the barrel of a gun, right between his eyes. "So you're Romano." The man cocked his weapon, ducking it under Romano's chin. He grinned, laughing lowly. "My, my. I would have thought you'd be older. But look at you, you're young, full of energy. And what a beautiful piece of kid you are." Ah. He was doomed. From one minute to another, a cute little noise would pop out of the gun, and end his poor little life.
He knew it was bound to happen : Mafia was a dangerous world, wasn't it ?
He was born as Lovino Vargas, elder brother of the Vargas twins, but would die as Romano, the ruthless killer. He would fight till the end, though : he did not let his stare waver under the cruel glint of both of the barrel and the eyes of his potential killer. In a spawn of two seconds, the impossible became possible. A loud screech echoed throughout the whole street, and a car crashed down the wall just in front of them. The man, startled, turned around, finger clenching on the trigger. But instead of passing through Romano's head, it grazed his temple. The 20-years-old mafioso took his chance and teared the gun away from the man, before quickly shooting him in the head.
He watched without any remorse the corpse falling on the ground, and threw the weapon on his chest. It was time to flee. He ran to the hideout where he had covered up his - expensive - car and was soon off the streets. As he passed in front on his murder scene, he noticed the other man surrounding the corpse... and cursed. He shouldn't have left the gun. They could be capable to trace him down only with that, if they were competent.
He couldn't go home, as planned. He needed to flee away. Away from this country. But... where to ? He thought for a moment, driving to the airport. He parked his car, still lost in his thoughts. Whenever he had the time to think about freedom and peacefulness, some old memories from Spain popped into his thoughts. A home, lost in the middle of tomatoes field. It was a location no one would suspect.
Alright ! He would go to Spain to hide for a while. He looked at his suit to see if he could enter the airport without scaring anyone and frowned. "Dammit..." He muttered, getting out of the clothing. It was full of blood. Tsk. At least, there wasn't any on his shirt - which was black, so it would be hard to see.
Okay. Now he looked presentable. He tensed as he entered the airport, looking over the board to see which plane went to Spain... as quickly as possible. One was taking off in one hour.
...
As he entered the plane which would make a stop to Madrid then go to New York, someone got behind him.
His eyes widened as he felt coldness enter him, before being flooded by warm liquid. Crap. When he turned around, the man was gone. Why was his situation so bad already ? Oh yeah. He didn't manage to kill his target. He would have to take care of this later. Yeah. At the nice little house surrounded by tomatoes. That sounded good. Not like this whole shitty life he had to pay attention to.
...
He arrived in Spain, his face was paler than usual, and he was flinching every so often. The house.
He needed to find the house. He asked few people here and there with his broken Spanish and English. After an hour of pain, he managed to get his information. He took a taxi to the desired location, and when he was there, he deeply breathed in... memories flooding back to his mind. He liked this place already.
He limped toward a tomato plant, and took one. Do they have the same taste as before, I wonder... He passed his tongue onto his dry lips, before biting into the fruit. A low growl of approval coming both from his mouth and stomach made itself known. It seemed even better than when he was a kid. So much better.
He wanted to get up... but didn't manage. Maybe he should've rest a little bit. He crawled to the door, and knocked on it.
No one.
Goddamnit... it really was his 'lucky' day.
He looked down on his stomach, under his shirt, where blood was pooling under him, a little bit against the door. There, laid the deep cut of a knife.
He could only hope the one in charge of the house was coming back soon...
To comfort himself, he thought that, at least, if he died, he would die surrounded by tomatoes.
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