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was palpable. She wouldn’t let him touch her. Jack was dead.
    She won’t let me touch her. He felt his hands tremble, the emotion boiling to the surface. He heard his voice lift. “I catch bad guys Charlotte. It’s what I do.”
    “Don’t give me that crap. You choose what you want to do. You always have. You know what; I guess we don’t have much to talk about after al .” Her voice got louder to match his.
    Alex knew where this was going but it was like a play he had seen a thousand times and was powerless to avoid. He played his part perfectly.
    “Wel then I guess we don’t.” He felt the sentence come through his throat louder than he intended and people turned to look. He felt the heat in his face compound. “You’re so damned selfish Charlotte.”
    “”I’m selfish? I’m selfish?” She said it twice and Alex knew it was a done deal. Anytime she said anything twice he knew to brace. “You’re the one who does whatever he wants. Just remember, Alex, you choose your life and everyone else just has to hope for the best. Wel , I’m done hoping. We’re done hoping Alex.”
    She turned to walk away, but spun around after a step. “I’m selfish? You’re just a little boy Alex.
    Why don’t you grow a pair and grow up.” Her eyes watered and Alex wondered how they didn’t freeze to that cold face of hers.
    He hated her tears, always had. But he couldn’t help himself. It just came out.
    “Go fuck yourself Charlotte.”
    He spun around first this time and walked away as people swerved around him in pairs, some shaking their heads at him as he passed. He couldn’t remember when having the last word felt so terrible.

    *

    Rontego walked down the street back towards his apartment. The snow began to fal now.
    The assassin lifted the col ar of his suit jacket and lowered the brim of his hat to shield himself from the frozen fal ing droplets of water. Those same droplets resulted in an odd mixture of hard, tiny hail and a flurry of soft snow that melted as soon as it landed on your heated frame. With a grunt, Rafael fumbled inside his Armani suit pockets and pul ed out a cigarette.
    “Maybe this wil keep me warm,” Rontego mumbled as he let out a puff of warm breath.
    The hit man glanced down at his feet as he burned the tip of his cigarette and felt the taste of the smoked tobacco fil his mouth, then his lungs. His pants were getting wet in the slush that was left behind from the nasty snow.
    As Rafael Rontego stumbled onward to his apartment, he let his mind wander a bit and he took in what transpired at the meeting with Don Ciancetta and with Muro. He rol ed the pawn between his fingers again. The first time he met Muro, when he was learning how to do a hit, Muro gave him the pawn. Rafael stared at it, unsure what to make of it.
    He never played chess, and he was pretty sure you needed a whole set anyway.
    Muro laughed at his confusion. “It’s a reminder.”
    “A reminder for what? Rontego asked.
    “That these,” he lifted his jacket showing his gun holster. “These make it so even a pawn can take out a king.”
    Ever since, the two of them traded the pawn when they wanted to make a point. This time, Rafael was unsure what point was being made.
    Shaking his head, he revisited his meeting with the Don. He was amused that Leonard Ciancetta had become the new boss in Buffalo.
    Things changed in the last few years. Rontego remembered back when leadership in Buffalo was consolidated. He had never known many years of peace since he entered the services of the organization. The last real years of ‘peace’ ended when Rafael was just a young boy.
    The best he could remember, it was back The best he could remember, it was back when he was about four or five years old. He met the man who held the reigns to Buffalo’s underworld for over fifty years. His dad introduced them. The man was Don Magaddino. Rontego remembered the awe with which his father spoke of the man. When he met Magaddino he was