A Will Written In Blood

The Contract

CHAPTER 1

THE CONTRACT

The contract was one page long. Mara Voss read it twice, not because she needed to, but because the name at the bottom made something inside her go still. **Valerio Santoro.** She had heard the name in rooms where people lowered their voices and seen it buried in reports that were never meant to leave locked offices. Thirty-six. Head of the Santoro organization. A man whose influence stretched far beyond Barcelona and whose enemies rarely lived long enough to become stories.

Across the table, a man in a charcoal suit watched her. “You know him.” Mara folded the paper once. “I know the name. That isn't the same as knowing the man.” He slid a photograph toward her. Valerio stood outside a courthouse in the picture, dressed in black, a dark hat casting a shadow over his face. Silver rings caught the light on one hand. His expression was calm in the way only very dangerous men could afford to be calm.

Mara studied the photograph. Nothing. No recognition. No hesitation. Just another target. “Where?” she asked. “Barcelona.” “When?” “Tomorrow night.” “Security?” “Heavy.” “Family?” “Possibly.” She looked up. “And you still want me alone?” The man gave her a thin smile. “We wouldn't have sent you if we wanted someone else.”

“Why him?” Silence answered her. That was the first thing she disliked. Her assignments usually came with a reason—money, territory, revenge, a debt someone wanted collected without fingerprints. This one came with silence. “You don't need to know.” Mara's gaze hardened. “Then I need a better reason to care whether he lives or dies.” The man's jaw tightened. “Your job is to complete the assignment.”

Mara stood and took the photograph. “My job is to complete it without becoming part of the evidence.” She turned toward the door. “Mara.” She stopped. “Don't underestimate Santoro.” She glanced back. “I don't underestimate anyone.” “Good. Because everyone who has tried to kill that man is dead.” A faint smile touched her lips. “Then he'll have to make room for one more.”

Outside, the corridor was empty. Mara walked without looking back. Only when the elevator doors closed did she look at the photograph again. Something about Valerio's eyes bothered her. She couldn't explain why. Her phone vibrated. UNKNOWN NUMBER. **You don't know who you're being sent to kill.** A second message appeared. **And you don't know why.** Mara typed, *Who are you?* The answer came immediately: **Ask Santoro about your father.** Then the number disappeared.

Her father had been dead for years. At least, that was what she had been told. Mara slipped the phone into her pocket and stared at her reflection in the elevator doors. She had learned early that a person could survive almost anything if they refused to ask questions they couldn't afford to answer. Yet tonight, one question had already found her: why did a stranger know her father and why did that stranger want her to ask Valerio Santoro about him?

At home, Mara opened the small metal box hidden beneath a loose floorboard. Inside was almost nothing: an old photograph, a folded letter she had read so many times the words were beginning to blur, and a silver ring. She turned the ring between her fingers. Her father had given it to her the week before he disappeared. He had never explained the symbol engraved inside it. She had never asked. Now she wished she had.

She placed the ring on her finger and looked at the photograph of Valerio again. Something about the shape of his hand bothered her. Then she noticed the silver ring he wore in the picture. Her pulse slowed. The design was almost identical to hers. Mara stared until the realization settled heavily in her chest. Maybe this wasn't a new assignment at all. Maybe it had started years before she ever knew his name.