BENEDETTI HAD SUCCEEDED once again. He had found the man Francesco had wanted to kill for so many years. He would certainly be very pleased.
Finding him was not as difficult as entering that top restaurant in the city. It would be even more difficult to leave the place as he was at that moment, with his revolver pointed between the ribs of the unfortunate man he had come to capture, without being noticed.
— It's better not to make a scene — Benedetti whispered, as he sat down in the chair he had pulled out, next to the man who had interrupted the meal. — For a man like me, it's more advantageous to go to jail for killing him than to let him escape. You don't want your brains being pulled out of that carpet, do you?
— No, we're not going to get to that point… — the man replied, trembling as the syllables chattered between his teeth.
— I'm going to put my gun away and we'll go out the back way. — I won't make the salary you pay your two security guards standing outside worth it.
— I don't know what you're talking about... — the man tried to hide it.
The two stood up. The man, under Benedetti's evil gaze, left the money from the bill with a huge tip on the table and began walking towards the kitchen. Benedetti followed his every step.
AS THEY WALKING, he asked his victim:
— Do you have a lighter? I think I lost mine...
— Yes, I do, but you should know that smoking is prohibited here.
— Yes, I know.
— Then why are you asking for one? — Carl Benedetti leaned close to his ear and whispered vigorously:
— It's because I hate looking for things in corpses...