Requiem of The Godfather: Price of a Memory

Ch 10. The Predator's Preparation

    Eduardo stood in front of the motel door, its paint peeling and flaking, staring at the loose change left in his palm. There were only a few coins and one crumpled ten dollar bill. Enough to buy two pieces of cheap bread, not enough to pay for his family’s shattered dignity.

    

    He placed the money on the small table beside the bed, right next to Emily’s limp hand as she slept. Eduardo did not leave a note. A ghost left no messages.

    

    “I’m going to get breakfast,” he whispered softly, more to himself than to Emily, who might have been trapped in another nightmare.

    

    Eduardo stepped out of the room, closing the door so gently that not even a click was heard, a new habit formed since the Shadow Step system had taken root in his body. He walked toward the stolen sedan parked beneath a dark, leafy tree.

    

    Once in the driver’s seat, Eduardo checked his weapon. Rico’s Glock 17.

    

    “Two bullets,” he muttered, staring at the nearly empty magazine. “One for the lock, one for the surprise. The rest? I’ll have to use my bare hands.”

    

    [System Advisory: User requires a melee weapon or additional ammunition.]

    

    [Physical Condition: 85%. Mental Stability: 60%.]

    

    “I know. Shut up,” Eduardo snapped at the voice in his head.

    

    He started the car without turning on the headlights, following the narrow road toward Mawar Street. The shop stood behind a night market that was now dead, a two story concrete building painted a dull gray and surrounded by barbed wire fencing. That was where Claude stored the soccer gambling money before an armored truck from the central mafia consortium picked it up at eight in the morning.

    

    Eduardo parked two blocks away. He got out and began moving through the shadows between buildings.

    

    The system’s influence grew stronger. Eduardo felt his senses sharpen. He could hear rats scurrying through the gutter and the heartbeat of a guard yawning behind the shop’s gate. His fear was completely gone. He felt no nerves. No hesitation. Only calculation.

    

    “Two men out front. One upstairs. CCTV on the left corner is dead, the cable’s exposed,” Eduardo whispered as he observed from behind a stack of old tires.

    

    He realized one thing. He needed a backup plan. Attacking a shop guarded by five or six armed thugs with only two bullets was suicide, even for a so called Ghost.

    

    “I need a distraction. Something loud,” he thought.

    

    As he considered his options, his attention was caught by a commotion in the alley beside the shop. The sound of fists slamming into flesh rang out, followed by the rough laughter of several men.

    

    “Please, boss. I swear I didn’t cheat. It was just luck,” a man groaned in pain.

    

    “Bullshit. You think I’m stupid, Gord? You always win the last round whenever the stakes are high. You had to be using dirty tricks,” shouted a massive thug as he smashed a wooden plank into Gord’s back.

    

    Eduardo moved closer without making a sound. In the middle of smoke from burning trash, a lean but muscular man was being beaten by four of Claude’s enforcers. The man, Gord, was a mess. His face was bruised and swollen, but something was off.

    

    Every time a plank or a potentially fatal blow was aimed at his head, Gord seemed to slip or move by accident, causing the strike to hit his shoulder or narrowly miss. Like a cat with nine lives, he avoided death at the last second every time, purely by chance.

    

    “So that’s you, Gord. The street fighter with the so called devil’s luck,” Eduardo murmured, his eyes narrowing.

    

    Gord was a known name in the underground, a master cheat and a man who refused to die. He was not strong, just incredibly hard to kill.

    

    “Hey, stop. Don’t kill him yet. Boss Claude wants to see him tortured inside the shop later,” one of the thugs yelled.

    

    They began dragging the half conscious Gord toward the shop’s back door. Eduardo saw his opening. If he could use the chaos Gord brought with him, he could get inside without wasting his bullets.

    

    [Quest Update: Use a ‘Living Bait’ to infiltrate the vault.]

    

    [New Target: Secure Gord as an asset or allow him to die as a distraction.]

    

    Eduardo smiled coldly. “An asset? I prefer to call him a door key.”

    

    He reached into his jacket pocket, making sure Slim’s folding knife was ready in his left hand. He no longer thought about breakfast for Emily or Chloe. In his mind, there were only diagrams of how to break necks one by one.

    

    After waiting a short while, Eduardo moved again.

    

    He was already on the roof of the building next to the shop. He looked down at the air vent that led directly to the vault room. He watched as the thugs entered, dragging Gord inside.

    

    “One bullet for their armory lock,” Eduardo muttered as he took aim. “One bullet for their leader.”

    

    Then his vision faltered.

    

    Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a familiar figure watching the shop from across the street. A man wearing a long leather jacket and a black hat that concealed his face. The man did not move, but the aura he radiated made the hair on Eduardo’s neck stand on end, something that should have been impossible since the system had erased his fear.

    

    “Who the hell is that?” Eduardo thought.

    

    The man turned his head, looking straight toward Eduardo’s hiding place on the roof, as if he could see through the darkness. He gave a small signal, two fingers touching his forehead, a military style salute, then disappeared around the corner.

    

    Eduardo froze. His heartbeat, which had been steady, suddenly accelerated. Something was very wrong. Had Claude already sent someone stronger? Or had the system drawn the attention of another monster, one far more dangerous?

    

    “Damn it. I need that money now,” Eduardo hissed.

    

    He leapt from the roof onto the shop’s drainpipe, sliding down like a shadow merging with the lingering rain. The predator was ready to make his first strike.

    

    “This is the first step to destroying you, Claude.”