The man in the coat

Mafioso POV:

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He left.Not another word. Not a backward glance.Just the ringing of the doorbell, which felt like someone had dragged a blade through my sternum.

I mentally counted to five. Then I was outside. The rain was pelting like applause for a performance I never booked. The man was just turning the corner, his coat pulled tightly, his shoulders hunched like someone who knows too much or too little.

I followed him.

Not close. Not so it's noticeable.Just far enough not to lose him.Just close enough not to admit how desperate I was.

The streets were empty. Forsaken was never the kind of town where good things happened at night. And yet-it felt like I was following a ghost, an ancient echo in the flesh.

If you're really dead, Chance... whose shadow am I chasing?

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[Chance] POV:

He's watching me.

I can feel it.The way you can feel it when you're playing cards and someone is too quiet. Too calculating.

I know that look.I've seen it before-somewhere. Sometime.

Or?

The rain is running down my neck, but I barely feel it. Everything feels foreign, as if I've only borrowed my skin. My name... I know what I tell people. Red, I call myself. Red like the light at the intersection that always switches on too late.

But deep inside... there's something.Something that crackles. Like an old record.A laugh that isn't mine.A saying on my lips before I think it.

> "I'm not a ghost, Mafi. I'm the echo of the last shot."

Where's that coming from?

I stop for a moment. The lamp flickers above me.Part of me wants to turn around. See if he's still there. If I'm just imagining it.

But I keep walking.

I don't want to know who I was.Because what if I'm no longer there?

---

Mafioso POV:

He calls himself "Red."

Sounds like a lie someone makes up when they have no memories-or too many. And yet he walks like someone with nothing to lose.That's how Chance used to walk.

I stay in the shadows, my hand on my gun. Not to shoot-but to remind myself that I'm awake. That I still have something in my hand when the rest slips away.

He turns into an alley.The same place Chance fell back then.

Of course.

I hold my breath.

What if he just stands there?What if he knows I'm there?

What if he turns around and smiles at me-just like he did that time when he knew I wasn't going to shoot him?

The alley is narrow.Damp, full of old trash and faded memories.This is exactly where he was lying. Back then.A bloody shadow on wet concrete. An ace of spades reflected in the water.

The stranger stops. Silent.He looks around as if searching for something he doesn't quite know.Something I've never forgotten.

"Tell me."

I hear myself speak before I know what I'm saying.

He doesn't even flinch. He turns around slowly.

"What?"

"Why you came here. Here of all places."

A few seconds of silence. The rain pounds on the asphalt, but everything sounds muffled, as if underwater.

"It was just a path. A coincidence.""There are no coincidences in Forsaken," I growl.

He looks at me. Directly. Without blinking.And in his eyes, for a split second, something flickers.

A feeling that tastes like memory.

-

[Chance] POV:

His voice is heavy.Not angry. Not loud. But heavy.As if every note carries a weight that pounds into my chest.

I want to look away, but I can't.

This alley...I know it.

I don't know why. But my heart is pounding faster, my breathing is becoming shallow.I can see almost nothing-and yet I see everything.

A flash in my head.A laugh. A gunshot.Someone is screaming my name-but I don't hear what they're calling me.

Only that they're doing it, as if it means everything.

I blink. The moment is gone.

"Looks like any other dump around here," I say. But the words sound foreign. Dishonest.

"You're not Chance," he says.

Chance.

The name burns.

I laugh. Short. Sharp.

"Would I like the pleasure?"

He takes a step toward me.And then another.Until the only thing between us is the smell of gunpowder and rain.

"If you're just a con man-you're damn good at it."

He looks like he's about to put a bullet in my head.Or put a hand on my shoulder.And I don't know which scares me more.

---

Mafioso POV:

He's playing too well.No normal guy would find the street where someone he supposedly doesn't know died.No normal man would laugh like that-like he's kidding himself to keep from crying.

I'm not a romantic.I've seen life too many times to believe anyone will return.

But this doesn't feel like a ghost.

It feels like... a bet.One I can't win.But one I have to place anyway.

"If you're not Chance...""...then why do you hurt so much when I look at you?"

I don't say it out loud.Only in my thoughts.

Because I know: The answer would either heal me -or break me for good.

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To be continued...