Leo was having a nice smoke outside the family restaurant, then somebody shot him in the leg. 

"An accident?" Leo repeated when he woke up from chirurgy, long after the blood had been scrubbed from the ground and the bullet dug out and wound nicely stitched up—in that order. Because, believe it or not, shootouts and people screaming and bleeding out in front of the family restaurant were not an uncommon occurrence, and Mama Fran valued a steady stream of customers. 

If that meant Leo had to be carted off to a side street and wait for the ambulance there while Mama Fran's slaves—ahem, workers—went at it with soap and water to and he quotes, "Get rid of the mess, and would you stop your yapping? You sound like a woman giving birth!" So be it.

For the record, Leo hadn't sounded like a woman in labor—unless women screamed bloody murder, cursed like sailors and swore to kill the fucker responsible for this. He'd never assisted to a birth, and his knowledge on that might've been a little less extensive than Mama Fran's, who'd been and still was the local midwife.

So after Leo woke up in the hospital bed with a clean bill of health except to lay off his left leg for a couple of weeks, he'd gotten his first visitor. To his surprise, it wasn't anyone Leo knew.

"Indeed, sir," the boy nodded, nervously tugging at the collar of his down vest, "I really meant to shoot the man next to you. But well… Master Feng always says my aim could use some improvement."

"You have shit aim," Leo told him bluntly, only slightly mollified by the boy's flinch. Taking a bullet so early in the morning hurt, dammit. "And I sure as all hell ain't paying the hospital bill so you better cough it up soon."

The boy started to panic. "But sir, I'm seventeen!"

"Yeah, you should've thought of that before you decided to become an apprentice hitman." Apprentice. Spice. He'd been taken out by a fucking mayfly. If anyone learned of this, he'd never live it down. 

"Assassin." The teen looked almost offended at being mistaken for a hitman. Leo supposed he should in turn be offended at having his job looked down upon, but he honestly didn't care—the hitmen community wasn't exactly big on solidarity or pride, and he'd been dragged into their fold kicking and screaming. Leo wasn't one to forget a wrong, not even if he benefited from it.

The wide-eyed boy continued, fidgeting from foot to foot, "And it wasn't my decision." The next thing he said came in a quiet, embarrassed whisper. "My parents sold me off when I was young."

You're seventeen, you're still young, Leo's mind remarked but saying that out loud might've been misconstrued as sympathy, or worse, pity. And it made him seem old.

Leo eyed the teen. "Is this where you tell me your tragic backstory?" The teen made his best impression of a kicked puppy. Leo quickly backtracked. "Alright. Fine. Take a seat before I strain my neck. What's your name?"

"I don't remember it. Master calls me Rafik."

Leo took the time to study him. The kid, Rafik, was a tall, thin, knobby-limbed teenager. His skin was a dark olive and his hair had undergone an awful bob cut, only salvaged by the natural messy curls. "What makes you think that isn't your real name?"

Rafik gave a small shrug, "Master Feng lies about a lot of things."

"Clearly not about your shit aim. Spice, kid, who let you handle that sniper?"

Rafik perked up, "Don Fella, sir. He's the one who gave me the job."

Had he been standing, Leo was sure his legs would've buckled under him from the weight of that name. 

"Don… Fella," he croaked out, "He told you to kill a man sitting at a table in front of Mama Fran's restaurant? You sure?"

"Yes, sir," Rafik nodded enthusiastically, "He's Master Feng's longtime contractor and he personally came to me. He knew I was-am-Master Feng's best student and wanted to offer me my first solo job. Better start with a bang!" 

That last sounded like a quote. Worse, it sounded like something Don Fella would say.

"But well…" Rafik self-consciously scratched his cheek. Leo belatedly noticed the short, downy hair of a burgeoning mustache. He'd bet his entire knife collection the kid had only learned to shave a while ago. "I missed him. When you fell down he scrambled up inside, fast as lightning." A shrug, "Everyone knows Señora Francesca's restaurant is an impenetrable fort. I have to wait him out, although I don't think he'll be coming out anytime soon." The kid had the fucking gall to look pensive.

Leo stared. "You fucked up a hit given to you by Don Motherfucking Fella?" His voice was barely kept to a whisper-shout.

Rafik gave him an uneasy look. "I-I don't think his middle name is Motherfucking, sir."

Leo choked on his spit. Spice, what the hell was happening?