Over My Dead Body

I slowly turned the knob on my scope, focusing the red crosshair into the middle of my sight. I slowly rotated my sniper rifle, scanning the five-star restaurant fifteen hundred meters away. My breathing steadied as I laid my eyes upon my target. Francesco De Luca, and he was aligned perfectly within my sight. He was an unpleasant-looking man, to say the least. Overweight, silver hair, the kind of smile that makes your skin crawl. No surprise he was surrounded by escorts half his age. But what else can you expect from a De Luca?

Now the question of the day: Headshot? Or heart shot?

That was always my biggest dilemma during my missions. I contemplated my options as I tapped my finger against the trigger lightly while pursing my lips. I waited for a few moments before I sighed and settled for the head. I held my breath to focus the shot, and quickly pulled the trigger.

His head practically exploded, sending blood flying all over the women he was with as his lifeless body plopped to the floor. His security detail rushed over to him, frantically trying to grasp what just happened as a chorus of screams filled the air.

"Gotcha." I chuckled as my lips curved into a grin.

I grabbed my sniper rifle, my trusty McMillan Tac-50, and quickly began to pack it up. I dismantled my weapon in record time and dusted myself off before reaching into my pants pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. I hit the bottom of the box three times, before opening it and sliding one out. I lifted it to my mouth as I hummed Fly Me to The Moon by Frank Sinatra. A fucking classic. I slid the box back into my pocket, grabbed my rifle, and made my way downstairs.

The vantage point I picked was an abandoned warehouse about a mile away from the restaurant. Still humming, I quickly descended 5 flights of stairs while I puffed on my cigarette. Sirens screamed in the distance, and I smiled knowing that they were cleaning up the mess I made.

The vibrations of my phone snapped me back to reality. Biting my cigarette, I dug through my bag trying to find that annoying device.

"What?" I mumbled, still holding the cigarette between my teeth.

"Is he taken care of?" The cold voice asked.

"Yup." I stated, popping the p obnoxiously. I knew how much he hated that.

"Good job. We'll see you at the safehouse." My father spoke out quickly.

"Alright, see you soon." I stated before I hung up.

*ACE DE LUCA POV*

I would have killed her right then and there, but as my father always preached, "timing is everything." And with what seemed to be half of New York's police department outside, timing wasn't on my side.

I quickly walked towards the side of the building back to the small door I originally entered from. I slowly opened the door before I walked out and around the side of the building. I pressed my back against the warehouse's wall before I peeked my head out to evaluate the situation. I watched as the cops slammed an all-black battering ram through the north door, nearly shattering it before storming into the warehouse.

While they were distracted, I quickly sprinted from the wall towards a nearby alley. I climbed the fence with ease before jumping down onto the street below, listening to the chorus of rifles fill the air. I glanced back at the warehouse and saw the flashing lights from their automatics illuminating the windows, making me scoff lightly.

"If only she was that easy to kill." I mumbled under my breath as I scowled.

My eyes narrowed as a pair of familiar headlights turned a corner. I walked towards the all-black Cadillac before swinging the door open and sliding into the backseat. I slammed the door in frustration, causing the entire car to shake.

My men looked at me with fear in their eyes as the car began to quickly drive away from the chaotic warehouse. Their eyes met mine before their gaze began drifting down to my neck.

"What?" I asked, my voice coming across colder than intended. They quickly turned their attention towards the road, avoiding my menacing gaze. I brought my finger to my throat and felt my warm blood dripping down my throat and onto my white shirt. I forgot that the little bitch cut me.

I looked at my reflection in the window beside me and raised my chin up to inspect the gash. Not enough to kill me, but deep enough to scar.

Yet another scar caused by that stupid, ignorant brat.

Allegra motherfuckin' Grey.

As an assassin I have one job and one job only: to make sure I kill my target. It doesn't matter how it's done as long as it gets done.

But for eight years, eight motherfucking years, I've been trying to kill the infamous Allegra Grey, and for eight years I've managed to fall short every single time.

I've been able to make a name for myself in the world of organized crime. While many know me as the most lethal and dangerous assassin in the Italian Mafia, they also know me as the man who's continuously failed to kill this little brat.

I clenched my jaw as my hands began to shake. I pursed my lips as I let my frustration out on the window beside me, punching it repeatedly and making the bulletproof glass begin to crack.

With one last jab the window shattered, causing the two men in the front to look at me through the rear-view mirror with wide eyes.

I scowled at them before looking down at my now bleeding hand. Pieces of glass stuck out of my skin, and I began to carefully pull the shards out as I began thinking of all the ways I'd kill that annoying little girl, Allegra Grey.

I loathed her. The hatred I felt for her surpassed anything I had ever felt. The best day of my life would be the day she stopped breathing, and I could guarantee, it would be at my hand.

I didn't want to just shoot her; it would be too quick and too painless. I wanted her to suffer. I wanted her to watch as her life crumbled around her. To make her suffer in inconceivable ways. I wanted Allegra Grey to die a slow, and painful death before I hung her pretty little head on a mantle above my desk.