The blood of a recently fallen town member stained the ground, etched into the delicate outlines of the pale bricks below the town’s feet. The corpse, still dressed in a tidy black suit and dress pants, was thrown onto the ground earlier that morning by the town’s medic. Tied around his neck was a brown bag now stained deep red, which presumably contained his head. Imprints of handcuffs lined his wrists, which were now lifeless and cold.

“Garrett…” The victim’s name escaped the lips of a few of the townspeople for the last time, in shock, in horror, in relief.

“Garrett Hyde was found dead in his home last night,” announced the medic nonchalantly, “he was executed by the Jailor. His role was the Godfather.”

Most of the townsfolk let out a sigh of relief or silently cheered to themselves. Hooray, the Godfather was dead! One less man to torment our lives and end the lives of those who we hold dear to our heart! However, on the opposite end of the town square, Jett’s world slowly fell apart.

“Boss…” was the only word he could manage to push out of his throat, and in his hands he wrung the tie that hung loosely over his white dress shirt. He couldn’t accept the fact that Garrett—no, his only father figure, was dead. And to think that he was killed by the kind of weak townie they usually swept through like nothing, that he was killed by the person they laugh at over dinner! Jett’s sullen eyes looked through the faces of all the townspeople until he spotted the face of his Blackmailer friend, her hand covering her mouth and her eyes widened in fear.

He then realized that Miriam was the only other Mafia member left with him. He was in charge now.

Jett spent the rest of the day in his own world. Everything was blurry and soon he stopped understanding what the others were saying, the other corpses he couldn’t bring himself to identify. All he could think about was what Garrett told him the other night.

“I don’t trust anyone more with the title of Godfather than I trust you, Stark,” he had said, his eyes serious as they held a firm focus on Jett. “Sure, Miriam is a great gal and I think she’d do great as Godfather, but I believe that with her blackmailing and your gunmanship you can lead this mafia to glory.”

“But…boss,” Jett had objected, “I’m…I’m not used to this gun thing. I’m better at analyzin’ and all, being a consigliere is what I’ve been training for all my life! I…I never thought I’d be havin’ to do the dirty work.”

Garrett placed his hands on Jett’s shoulders, sending shivers down the consigliere’s spine.

“Listen, Jett. I saw you out there training with your gun. You don’t take enough credit for your skill. I truly believe you can do it, you’re a sharp shooter.” Garrett was silent for a few seconds. “…I never wanted it to come to the point where you’d have to do the dirty work, buddy. But y’know, things happen, and sometimes the time a fellow mafia person has to step up and become Godfather creeps up on them faster than they think.”

“Wh…What do you mean?” Jett’s voice expressed concern.

“What I mean is that if the time ever comes, I just want you to know I believe you can do it. Don’t be afraid of taking my place. Take it as a chance to live on my legacy. And for the love of god, keep Miriam and all future mafia folk safe, alright?”

Jett nodded frantically. “Yes sir,” he said.

What Jett didn’t know was that this would be his final order from his Godfather. Garrett knew his time was running out.

Before he knew it, the day was over and the sun was slowly setting.

“Jett?” A familiar voice appeared near Jett, a hand reaching for his shoulder. Jett turned to the source—it was Miriam. “Are you ready?” she asked.

“…I’ve been ready,” Jett replied in a whisper. “Get the doc tonight. I’ll take care of things.”

“That’s it? No meeting or nothing?”

“That’s it. I have things to do tonight.”

Jett retreated into his home and breezed into his office, the one with paperwork and parchment notes cluttering the desks and floors. He shoved papers and notebooks off the top of his desk, mowed everything off of it until it was empty and everything was scattered on the floor in a big mess. He forced open a stubborn drawer and pulled out a black case that looked like it could contain an instrument, slammed it onto his desk. It took him a moment of nervous hesitation before he inhaled deeply and clicked open the case.

Resting in red velvet was his new gun, passed down by Garrett.

He took it in his hands, felt it, and remembered how it was like to fire it. His eyes lit up with anger, determination, a need to avenge his fallen mentor.

Fury guided his steps as he bust out of his house, gun tucked in his coat and hat tilted low to cast a shadow over his face; he headed towards the Jailor’s house with malice in his chest and a goal set in his mind.