Pierced to kill

The gun felt heavier than I imagined. Not because it weighed much, but because one pull of the trigger would decide whether I remained the daughter of murdered parents... or became a murderer myself. I tightened my grip and forced my breathing to slow. One inhale. One exhale. One heartbeat. The voice in my earpiece crackled. "Target arriving in thirty seconds." I swallowed. This was it. From the rooftop of the Grand Bellagio Hotel, the city stretched beneath me like a sea of glittering diamonds. Luxury cars rolled toward the entrance in an endless procession while elegantly dressed guests disappeared beneath crystal chandeliers and flashes of cameras. To them, tonight was another extravagant charity gala. To me...It was an execution. I lay flat against the cold concrete, my sniper rifle balanced perfectly on its bipod. Through the scope, every movement below sharpened into terrifying clarity. Security.Bodyguards. Guests. Valets. Too many innocent people. My finger hovered outside the trigger guard just as Matteo had taught me. "Never touch the trigger until you've already made peace with what comes after." Matteo.The only man who had ever treated me like family after mine was stolen from me. The only man who believed revenge could heal a broken heart. He was wrong.Revenge didn't heal. It hollowed you out until there was nothing left except hatred. Yet here I was. Waiting. A convoy of matte-black SUVs glided to a stop before the entrance. The crowd shifted immediately. Even from hundreds of meters away, I could feel it. Fear. Respect. Submission. The rear passenger door opened. Black leather shoes touched the pavement. Then he stepped out. Dante De Luca. The man the newspapers called a billionaire, the government called untouchable. The underworld called The Reaper. He wore a perfectly tailored black tuxedo that fit him like it had been stitched onto his body. Dark hair swept back effortlessly. Broad shoulders. Calm expression. He didn't look like a monster. Monsters never did. He acknowledged no one as he climbed the marble steps. Not the photographers. Not the politicians waiting to greet him. Not the celebrities desperate for his attention. His grey eyes scanned everything once. One sweep. Cold.Calculating. Dangerous. Every instinct screamed that this man had survived because he noticed everything. Everything… Except me "Take the shot," Matteo whispered through my earpiece. I adjusted my aim. The crosshairs settled between Dante's eyes. My pulse thundered inside my ears. This wasn't just another mission. This was justice.I remembered kneeling in a pool of blood at eight years old. My mother's trembling hand slipping away from mine. My father's lifeless stare. The smell of smoke. Gunpowder. And the name every witness whispered before disappearing forever. De Luca. For sixteen years, I had lived for this moment. I squeezed the trigger. The rifle exploded against my shoulder. The bullet tore through the night. A split second before impact…Dante turned. Not because he heard the shot. Because he sensed it. The bullet sliced past his temple, shattering a marble pillar behind him. Chaos erupted. People screamed. Bodyguards lunged toward him.."Move! Move! Move!" Dante remained perfectly still. His expression didn't change. Instead… He slowly lifted his head. And looked directly toward my rooftop. My blood froze. Impossible. He couldn't see me. Not from this distance. Yet somehow… It felt as if those icy gray eyes were staring straight through the scope and into mine.."Run!" Matteo shouted. I didn't hesitate. I grabbed the rifle and sprinted toward the fire exit. Behind me, alarms blared across the rooftop. Had they already found me? No..Impossible. I burst through the stairwell door and raced downward two steps at a time. Twenty floors.Nineteen. Eighteen. My lungs burned. By the time I reached the parking garage, I had traded the rifle case for a violin case hidden behind a maintenance locker. My black tactical jacket disappeared beneath an oversized cream coat. I slipped on a wig, lowered my head, and walked toward the exit. Panic makes people memorable. Calm makes them invisible. I had almost reached the street when a convoy of black SUVs screeched into the garage. Doors flew open..Men in black suits poured out, weapons concealed but ready..They moved with military precision..Not searching…hunting. I turned away before anyone could study my face. One step. Two. Three. "Miss."The deep voice behind me stopped my heart. I didn't turn immediately. I counted to three. Then I looked over my shoulder. A man in a tailored suit stood a few feet away. Scar across his jaw. Emotionless eyes. He smiled. It wasn't friendly. "You dropped this.".He held up a single silver bullet. Not fired..Unused..One that had slipped from my pocket. Our eyes met..My pulse stumbled..He knew. Without another word, he reached for the radio clipped beneath his jacket..I moved first. The violin case swung hard into his ribs. He grunted. The radio clattered to the floor. I ran. Behind me, voices echoed through the garage. "There she is!" "Don't let her escape!" Tires screamed. Footsteps thundered. The hunt had begun. And somewhere above, in the glittering ballroom where death had brushed past him...Dante De Luca was undoubtedly asking the same question that echoed inside my mind. Who was the girl who dared to miss?