• Another bullet wizzed past his head, tearing a little skin from his ear as it went past.

    "Come back here ya little runt!"

    It was all too close for him. The small sewer grate opened up in front of him, a warm welcoming for the frightened boy.

    His father was in the Russian mafia. One of the best leaders, some said. But today, today would be his end.

    Jeirgif Kozlov had been through it all. He had seen it all too. His father kept telling him that he would need to become a man. He would need to follow in his footsteps and become a powerful man in the mafia. That was his dream.

    Today would be the day that Jeirgif made that decision. Today, he would throw away what life he had planned... for revenge.

    "Клянусь, когда я нахожу я, вы будете сожалеть работает." The boy was terrified. The sewer water matted his already dusty brown hair.

    There was silence. He could hear footsteps walking off. Walking away from him.

    They had his father. He had to do something.

    He crept out of the small tunnel that ran under the streets, carefully looking to ensure that he was alone. That the man was gone. It looked clear enough.

    He pulled himself out onto the street. He could hear voices in the distance, those of his father, and of his father's captors.

    Before he could move hardly a foot in the direction of the voices, though, rough hands grabbed him from behind. He had been caught.

    "Thought you could get away, didn't ya? Well, it's not so easy now is it?"

    "Did you get the kid?" A man appeared at the far end of the alleyway, the sun at his back.

    "Yeah, I got him."

    "Get him over here so we can get this over with. We have other things to do today, you know."

    "Yeah, yeah. I hear you."

    The man dragged the boy down the run-down road. When they made it to the corner where the other man was standing, Jeirgif saw his father, being held by two more men. He was a captive.

    "Today, little boy, you are going to be introduced to the ways of the mafia. You are going to get to see your father die. He is weak. Too weak."

    "NO!" "Father!"

    The boy flung his legs, pulling himself loose from the grasp of his captors, only to be grabbed, this time by his waist, a few seconds later.

    "Not so fast." "Hold him."

    The man who was giving the orders pulled out a pistol. He aimed it at the boy's forehead. *BANG* His father slumped over. Somehow, in the split second before the gunshot, the muzzle of the Haskil had moved to where his father's head had been. It was over.

    "FATHER!"