Prosciutto

The midday sun beat down on the crowded streets of Naples, turning the city into a sweltering maze of noise and motion. Prosciutto moved through the throng not as a part of it, but as a predator gliding through a field of oblivious prey. His light colored, impeccably tailored suit was a beacon of refined taste, yet it allowed him to blend into the chaos of commerce and tourism, an expensive ghost on a singular mission. His pale, cold eyes were locked onto a figure thirty meters ahead a balding man in an ill fitting gray coat carrying a worn leather briefcase.

The target. For the past three hours, Prosciutto had been a shadow, tailing the man from a waterfront warehouse through the winding historic alleys. The man was getting nervous, his pace quickening as he approached the dense labyrinth of the Quartieri Spagnoli. Prosciutto closed the distance, his steps fluid and silent, his entire being focused on the final, crucial moments before the planned interception. The target was just ahead, about to turn a corner that led into a dirty and isolated dead end alley. The hunt was almost over. Or so did he thought.

The impact came from his left, sudden and jarringly clumsy. A body collided with his side, a flailing limb knocking his arm. It was the sloppiness of the collision that registered first, an offensive disruption to the city's chaotic but predictable rhythm. Then came the heat. A shocking, scalding wetness bloomed across the chest and lapel of his jacket, instantly soaking through the fine wool and searing the dress shirt beneath. A dark, ugly brown stain spread rapidly, destroying the suit's pristine lines. The bitter, cheap smell of burnt coffee filled his nostrils, an aroma of utter incompetence. For a single, frozen second, Prosciutto’s entire world contracted to that spreading stain, to the feeling of hot liquid seeping toward his skin. His body went rigid. His body is now tense and this mission has already been compromised. All thanks to a civilian who was too busy watching tiktok videos and failed to see an elegant blonde standing near them.

His first instinct, faster than thought, was to look past the source of the collision. His gaze snapped to the corner where his target had been. It was empty. The gray coat was gone. In the split second of the impact, in the time it took for a clumsy fool to spill their drink, the target had vanished. Years of planning, hours of patient surveillance evaporated. Whoosh. Gone. Just like that.

A low, almost inaudible hiss of air escaped through Prosciutto’s clenched teeth. The professional annoyance curdled into something far more personal. This was not just a compromised mission; it was an insult to his very being, a mark of failure stamped onto his person by a witless civilian. Only then, with the certainty of his failure confirmed, did he turn his head. He moved with a slow, deliberate motion, as if turning a turret into position. His pale, glacial eyes, narrowed intensely and finally settled on the person responsible.

His face was a mask of cold, controlled rage. There was no shouting, no vulgar outburst. There was only a terrifying, absolute stillness and a gaze that could freeze blood.

Meanwhile you keep scrolling through tiktok videos unaware that someone is watching you. In fact you were so distracted by the mindless scrolling that you think the world is your stage and everyone else is an NPC. You're the main character here. Yes. Yes you are.

Suddenly you feel a cold presences. It's so intense that you must put down your phone, only to see a blonde and elegant looking man looking at you. Interesting....

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