"Well then..."

Luca checked his magazine only to find three more bullets loaded, including the one in the slide.

The apartment looked like a mess.

Bulletholes all over.

Most of the rooms still filled with gunsmoke.

Bullet casings.

Blood and internal organs.

Brain matter on the kitchen floor.

The sun shined bright in the apartment, giving the blood pools a lighter reddish tone.

"Now... onto the boring but most important part... Evidence."

Luca holstered his gun, his hand wandering into his left pocket, pulling out black driving gloves and pulling them over both of his hands.

Next to him, a red canister, filled with gasoline.

"Let's make sure those bodies are unrecognizable." he said, grabbing a mobster by both hands and dragging him to the center of the room.

He did the same with multiple corpses, dragging all of them over the floor, to the center of the living room.

Out of breath he sat on the pile of bodies, throwing the mask in a corner, resting his head in his gloved hands.

"A...Alright... Almost... done..."

He slowly raised himself from the pile of bodies, grabbed the canister and began emptying it's contents over the corpses, trying not to get any gasoline on himself.

"There we go..."

He said, throwing the empty canister through the room, grabbing a cigar from his suit pocket and lighting it with a quick flick of his lighter.

Inhaling, although not deeply. He did it once and never again. Smoking cigars on the lung.

He walked over to the windows, opening all of them, preparing for what's about to happen.

Slowly, he looked over to the corpses, many of them mutilated, already beyond recognition, but he didn't want to take any risks.

And although he hates to admit, he loved seeing fire. The view of a big wildfire always made him happy.

He made his way to the dead, looking over the massacre once again and finally throwing the cigar into the pile.

Slowly a small flame raised from one of the mobsters, quickly growing and growing, the heat and horrible stench along with it.

Oh the smell. He would never get used to that horrible smell.

A giant flame erupted from the corpses, the heat forcing him to take a step back.

He held his hand in front of his nose, covering it, the other hand busy trying to wave the smell away.

He took a few steps back and sat on one of the chairs, gathered around a large table, a few feet away from the flames.

Setting his right leg on the table he inspected his wounds. He got shot by one of the mobsters.

Didn't feel much pain though. He expected the bullet to have went straight through.

And indeed it did, he saw the hole upon pulling back the leg of the quite expensive black business pants.

It didn't hit anything that would force him to limp.

"Lucky shot eh? Well at least for me." he said, grabbing a towel and fastening it around the wound.

The smell was nearly unbearable. Quickly he pulled the leg back down and walked over to his mask, picked it up and turned to leave.