J͟͟͟͞͞͞e͟͟͟͞͞͞n͟͟͟͞͞͞n͟͟͟͞͞͞i͟͟͟͞͞͞e͟͟͟͞͞͞.
To many, I am a myth.
The 'Kiss of Death', a hired killer, revered by some of the greatest criminal organisations in the world. Trained by the bratva themselves, without conscience, without mercy.
The per...
Bumping my bike over the curb, I allow it to roll down the small embankment into the tree line. Kicking the stand down, I take off my helmet, sending long dark strands cascading down my back.
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(Her outfit ^)
The scent of the woods wraps around me, the pine trees, the earth, the moss. After the confines of the city, it's a welcome reprieve that revitalizes me.
The city is too loud, the cars, the people, it both overwhelms and numbs my senses. Out here, I can hear everything and nothing, because silence reigns, disturbed only by the occasional chitter of a bird.
Placing a cap over my head, I start jogging up the road, clinging to the shadows as I approach the house.
To the unsuspecting person looking in, this is merely the Hamptons mansion of some guy with a fuck lot of money, I know better.
This is the fortress of Taehyung Kim, the underboss of the Italian Mafia.
Not many outsiders will ever see the inside of those walls, and I am always an outsider. It's why they hire me.
I wait until the guards change; taking advantage of their small moment of distraction to make for the six-foot high stone pillar that sits to the left of the enormous metal gate, just in the shadow of the guardhouse.
Gripping the ledge, I haul myself up, launching straight over the top and landing on the other side in a silent roll. I pause, waiting, listening. My senses are attuned, picking up the slightest sound and movement. I can tune it all out or allow it all in. The faint panting of a dog and the clumsy footfalls of heavy boots are all I hear.
Thirty seconds is all I have to get to the house.
I run over the dark lawns, but the closer I get, the riskier it is. The mansion is like a modern palace, made of glass walls that allow light to spill out across all that surrounds it. There are at least three snipers on the roof along with four-guard patrols circling the perimeter and six directly surrounding the house.
Scanning the house, I spot one of the upstairs guest rooms has a window that is ajar. The enormous pane of glass is tilted from a central pivot, and the room behind it is cast in darkness, one of the few that isn't lit up like a Christmas tree. The guard below the window seems distracted, bored. Making a break for it, I sprint into the light cast across the lawn and outflank him.
My feet whisper across the grass as I run up behind him, jumping and wrapping my thighs around his hips in order to leverage my arm around his throat.
He staggers for a moment and slams back into the wall, winding me as he tries to pry my arm off his throat. I squeeze harder, using everything I have to crush his thick neck. And then he goes down, hitting the ground with a soft thud.
I land lightly on my feet beside his unconscious body, my chest heaving with the effort. Now...I just need to scale the building and slip in the second-storey window.
