|It was a quiet evening. Not many tourists were attending the local attractions. For Malta, it was an uncomfortable silence. For Adrian Suarez, it was an advantage.
He rose from his reserved table and entered the group of stalls. Slowly pulling out his SIG P229 pistol from his brown hoodie, he looked around: no one was in sight. Nobody in his way - just how he liked it. He turned a corner, eventually taking sight on his prey: Santino Giordano, accompanied by three of his goons. It was obvious to see that they were all armed, explaining why the town was so quiet this evening. He took note, but kept his eye on Giordano. He couldn't let this slip.
Suarez kept low, using crates and tables for cover. He finally got close enough to finally take aim on all four of them. He crept up, using the table as support for his arms as he took aim. Then, with one quick pull of the gun's trigger, the bullet was ejected from the gun's chamber, making its way to one of Giordano's goons. The goon fell lifelessly to the ground, and before the other men had any time to react, they were also corpses. Giordano looked on as his men fell. He was helpless now - alone.
Suarez finally stood and made his way to Giordano.
"Remember me, asshole?"