Chapter Two: A Shadow in the Night
583 Words
The Romano mansion was a fortress. High walls topped with razor wire, cameras unobtrusively stationed at every gate, and motion detectors hidden beneath the thick, smooth grass. Guards walked armed in timed shifts, their eyes sharp, their guns within reach.
This job would be impossible for any other hit man.
Valentina Russo was not like any other hit man.
She wore black, a silhouette against blackness. Hiding on top of a building next to this one, she monitored the compound with the high-powered scope on her rifle, watching every movement. She had spent days tracing this compound's layout, timing guard patrols, mapping blind spots, and making preparations for coming in.
She checked her watch. 2:07 a.m.
Seven seconds. That's the time the security system would be down when it changed shifts. Seven seconds to breach the perimeter, slip past the guards, and disappear into the darkened hallways of the estate.
She took a deep breath.
Then, she moved.
With quick, certain motion, Valentina leaped from her perch, her body twisting in mid-air as she landed softly on the estate's outer wall. She dropped low, heart thudding steadily, eyes on her path.
The sensors flickered back on.
Seven seconds.
She ran.
Her boots made no sound on the stone as she raced along the edge of the balcony. One guard stood at the entrance, his stance sloppy, a cigarette dangling from his lips.
Five seconds.
Valentina pulled a fine dart from her belt. Flick of the wrist and she was gone.
The needle bit into the guard's neck. He stiffened, eyes wide before his body crumpled.
Three seconds.
She subdued him before he hit the floor, arranging him in the darkness.
One swift motion and she was through the balcony door, into the dimmed halls of the Romano mansion.
Inside the Lion's Den
The scent of old whiskey and cigar smoke filled the air. Dark wood paneling lined the walls, and crystal-covered chandeliers cast dim light down the halls. Valentina glided through them like a ghost, her footsteps quiet, her body blending into the shadows.
Every detail had been etched into her mind. She knew where Dante Romano would be.
The study. Second floor. East wing.
She made it to a security panel on the wall, its red light flashing. A small gadget from her pocket worked—one press, a soft beep, and the cameras went dark.
She breathed slowly. Perfect.
Moving fast, she crept up the stairs, stopping at the top to listen. The distant murmur of voices came from somewhere below, but the east wing was quiet.
Valentina drifted along, drifting down the corridor, past photographs of dead Romanos glaring down at her like quiet guardians.
Her fingers danced across the pistol holstered at her leg. The silencer was in place. One shot, one dead. That was the plan.
At last she arrived at the study. The door was closed, but she could discern the faint glow of a lamp burning through the crack at the bottom.
Her heart slowed.
She turned the handle.
The door creaked open softly, and she went inside.
And there he was.
Dante Romano sat in a leather armchair, fingers linked under his chin, dark eyes looking at her with inscrutable intensity.
Her breath caught.
He had been waiting for her.
A chill realization filled her stomach.
This was a trap.
And she had marched right into it.
A cold reali
zation filled her stomach.
This was a trap.
And she had marched right into it.
- Writer
