THE DEMON SAID: "BEHIND THEE, THE HOUND IS DRESSED TO KILL."

"You are the only one standing in your way

Just take a breath, relax (...)

Stand up, life is too damn short

That clock is ticking."

Why Worry, Set It Off.

Set walked straight into Cafe Palermo, earning dubious glances from some of the customers. He dismissed them with a dirty look, raised his chin and headed to the small corridor next to the counter, then he walked past the toilet entrance on the left side and reached for the back door. Once in the storeroom, he shut the door and sat at the tiny table placed under the stairs that led to Vito's private flat on the first floor. A few minutes later, the man greeted him with a broad smile.

"Ciao tostu!* It's been a while since you last came mooching off of me, I was starting to worry." Vito served him a cup of steaming hot black coffee, some Sicilian cookies called reginelle and a glass of chilled water.

Set peeled his eyes away from the bunch of perfectly baked sweets, covered in sesame seeds. "Ciau, Vito. Comu stai*?" he replied in his butchering of the Sicilian language.

"Please, spare me. Your accent is terrible. Just give it up already!" Vito burst out in a joyous laughter and his hand raised to pat Set's head.

Set recoiled against the backrest, barely managing to avoid his touch. Conscious of his blunder, Vito withdrew his hand and took a step back, but his smile remained in place.

The cafe's owner was a slender man in his fifties, with a wide jaw, a thick nose, and dark, keen eyes. Something about his face reminded people of Robert De Niro. Over the past few months, his hair had gone back to natural shades of gray that matched the stubble on his chin. Apparently, he'd given up the fight to conceal his age, but he was good-looking enough to get a young girlfriend if he wanted to. Set had forgotten the name of Vito's birthplace–somewhere in Sicily–but he did remember how they'd met.

Almost a year before, he'd wandered around Palermo's backdoor, the one that led to the alley. Set was looking for something to eat and Isaac was nowhere to be found. Since he'd just moved to the city, he didn't know anybody else. Set was so desperate that, when Vito had shown up holding bags full of garbage, he'd offered to take care of it, hoping for something in return. Vito had gladly accepted his help. He'd asked Set to do it every day and then had brought him sandwiches and coffee.

Later, the barista told Set he reminded him of his younger self. Back in Italy, Vito's family belonged to Cosa Nostra—the Sicilian mafia—and he just couldn't stand it. By the time he had reached Set's age, he had run off. When he'd arrived in New York, he'd been nobody and had done anything to get out of that misery. If it wasn't for the people who had helped him back then, especially his wife, he might've ended up on the street as well.

For Set, they had nothing in common. Vito was overfriendly and—most of the time—in far too high spirits. He snapped at anybody who'd try to hit on his daughter, and complained endlessly about bureaucracy and governments. Still, he had accepted Set for who he was, he knew he shouldn't meddle too much and never commented on or questioned Set's weird behavior.

In other words, Set trusted him.

"There's a guy following me," he said in a low voice, crossing his legs under the table.

Vito gave him a skeptical look, his mouth half-open, ready to make fun of the other's paranoia, but Set glared back and the barista's face grew serious. He picked the tray back up and walked off to the counter as if he didn't hear a thing. However, after a few minutes, he came back holding some empty bottles. He put them down, on the corner where all the others lay, shut the door and finally replied.

"Black overcoat, grey suit, briefcase, brown curly hair, glasses—looks like a rich, respectable man."

"Right. I don't know why but something about him creeps me out," Set murmured as he ran a hand through his hair.

Vito picked up a couple of new bottles from the shelf on the other side of the room and turned around to face him.

"I met him already. He showed up a couple of days ago looking for some Sybil Vain." Holding the bottles to his chest, he scratched the back of his head and let out a heavy sigh. "If I were you, I'd just stay away from that guy. As far as I know, only hitmen wear leather gloves in this season."

Set snickered. Vito's comment was spot on and it explained his uneasiness towards that respectable man. Whoever he might appear to be, that wasn't who he was. Shaking his head, he tapped his fingers over the table, and then he pulled the small book out of his trousers' side pocket.

"Today I went to Sybil Vain's Studio and I got this." He showed the novel Love Pact. "That guy was in the room with the woman who gave me the book."

"Ouch." Vito swung his hand in the air as if he got burned. "Maybe the gentleman's afraid you saw or heard something you shouldn't have." He glanced at the closed door. "Anyway, you better shake him fast."

"Right," Set said as he brought his eyes back to the book.

He had noticed that Vito hadn't asked anything about Sybil Vain. Knowing him, it was unusual. The barista was as curious as his daughter about other people's business. They called it gossiping. Set called it meddling. It never stopped them.

Vito stepped closer, laid the bottles on the table and bent over to look at the book. "Che ce fai cu* Love Pact?" he asked, emphasizing the title.

Set shrugged it off. "Read it," he said, pulling a smile.

Vito burst out laughing. "My balls on the table that you're up to something, tintu*," he mocked, back to his usual self.

The sound of the little bell on the main door forced him to cut the conversation. He picked up the bottles and quickly walked back to the front.

Set peeked into the cafe. Two ladies sat at the table in the middle and ordered cappuccino and cannoli. Relieved, Set settled back into his seat. He gulped down half of his coffee, snorted and grabbed the book to start reading.

Every now and then, he stood up and peeked outside, expecting to catch a glimpse of the stranger. He knew he would've been better off just waiting for Vito to tell him, but he was too nervous to sit still. After two hours, he grew confident the guy was gone. He breathed a sigh of relief and finally relaxed in the chair, focusing only on the task of reading.

It was definitely a book for women and a naughty one. Set had to hold in laughter when he reached to the hot parts and found them riddled with underlining and side notes.

Do you find it interesting?

Have you tried?

That's a good one, isn't it?

I have done this. Care to try?

It was almost impossible to picture the Shining White Being reading that crap. Perhaps he had some perversion hidden within all that white.

A masturbating half-naked Sybil Vain popped into his mind.

The image was so deliciously lewd that Set had to slap himself to dislodge it from his mind. He was the pervert there.

When he finished reading, just before sunset, he stood up and walked to the cafe's entrance door. Before he could pull the door open, Vito reached out to him and grabbed his shoulder. Taken aback by the sudden contact, Set shrugged it off harshly and gave him an angry look. Luckily, he was fast enough and, despite the sinister throb on his lower back, he managed to stay sharp. The man smiled his excuses and handed him a white business card.

Set's frown deepened. It was the same card Isaac had shown him before. He gritted his teeth. "It's the same guy that went to Gramps yesterday," he hissed.

"Sta' attento, tostu. Nu me piace l'aria che tira*," Vito warned him.

"Stacci tu, vecchiu*," Set shot back in his mangled Sicilian as he finally pulled the door open.

"Ah, Set," Vito called out for him again.

Set turned back, squinting his eyes.

"Somebody told me—when you don't know what to do, just sing What A Wonderful World," Vito said cheerfully.

Set shook his head. "Get some help, Vi." He smirked.

He thrust his hands into his pockets and walked off, head down, brooding over what to do. Comments aside, the dedication was the only relevant part of the entire book. It was handwritten in ink, filling in the blank page between two chapters, oddly in the middle of the story. It read:

Dear Sybil,

I'm deeply grateful to you for giving me this chance to repay your kindness through this little gift. As you requested, I ordered the wine and instructed the seller. One bottle of Franconia and one of Passito di Pantelleria are held in the liquor store, near the Hospital you mentioned. Your contact will have to retrieve them on your chosen day, not later than six in the afternoon. At the end of the time limit, I made sure for the order to be canceled as per your instructions.

I thank you most sincerely for your help and for what you showed me. I wish you all the best and I hope to see you again someday.

In affection and great esteem,

Lauren

If that wasn't weird enough, the date—written in pencil in a different handwriting—referred to Monday the 15th of May. That very same day.

Set stopped walking and brought his eyes up to the pink sky.

He winced as he clenched his fists around the book and tapped his foot on the ground. This was his chance to find out the truth behind Sybil Vain and his connection to Isaac. He thrust the book in his trousers' side pocket, took a deep breath, and dashed down the road like hell was chasing his ass.

Set stopped only a hundred meters away from his destination. Bent over his knees to catch his breath, he wiped his hands on his trousers. As he stared at the gray concrete of the sidewalk, hit by droplets of his sweat, he realized that it'd be dangerous to get too close to the hospital he had run off from just the day before.

Still, he had to.

Even upon touching him, Sybil Vain didn't trigger Set's disorder. So, there was a chance he might know how to fix him. Plus, he was connected to Isaac in a sketchy way. If that wasn't enough, that creepy Green had been sniffing around them and followed Set too.

Set hated to play the errand-boy, but he needed to know what was going on.

Steeling his resolve, he straightened up and scanned the area. The front window of a shop held the sign VINI ITALIANI. Luckily, it was in the opposite direction of the hospital. A clerk approached the door, his fingers reaching out for the squared wooden sign that read OPEN. They were ready to turn it around. Set clenched his jaw, his heartbeat still pounding in his ears. He hated the pressure of being on time.

He rushed to the shop and pushed the door open, storming in like a tornado. The clerk almost fell on his ass out of surprise.

Regaining his lost balance, the clerk frowned and adjusted the glasses on his nose. "You might not have noticed, sir, but we are closing."

Set took a step back—to keep a safe distance—and fished the book out of his pocket. He opened it at the dedication page and, stretching his arms, he held it up in front of the clerk's eyes.

The man's gaze lingered over the page, scanned Set from head to toe, and eventually glanced at the clock hanging on the wall. It was six sharp. The clerk cleared his throat.

"What do you do, when you don't know what to do?" he asked, studying Set from under his glasses.

Set's arms fell flat to his sides. He swallowed hard and held his breath. That was far too weird. Did Vain foresee Vito's words? Or did Vito know about Vain? Set exhaled heavily.

"You sing What A Wonderful World," he said grimly.

The clerk clasped his hands together and gave him a kind smile. "So, you've come to pick up Miss Vain's wine," he chirped as he turned around.

Set's brows arched, but the man couldn't see it and just walked to the far end of the shop.

"The bill has already been taken care of. I'll just give you the box. Please, follow me," he called, raising his voice.

Set dragged his feet through the room, his eyes darting around the neat shelves while he pondered about Sybil Vain. He didn't have the answers anyway. The clerk waited behind the counter and, from under the desk, he took out an elegant two-bottle case. It was glossy golden with a white ribbon sealing the top.

Set's hands carefully reached for the box, and then pulled it against his chest. He nodded as a thank you and quickly turned around.

"Also, I was told that you should check the gift card," the man added smoothly. "Have a nice evening, Mister—" He gave Set a questioning glance.

"Voland," Set threw from over his shoulder.

"Have a nice evening, Mister Voland, and good luck with your date." The clerk winked.

For a moment, Set's eyes widened in surprise and his mouth dropped open, unable to find an answer. When the clerk titled his head to the side with another questioning look, Set finally snapped out of it and stiffly walked out of the shop.

There was definitely something dangerous about getting involved with Sybil Vain.