Page 13 of The Don's Deadly Assassin

I drive my car up a winding cobblestone road, lined with carob trees on both sides. The road is deserted. Through the gaps in the foliage I catch glimpses of the Sicilian countryside. In the distance rises Mount Etna with its picturesque slopes.

The volcano looms ever larger as I drive closer to the estate in Randazzo. I’ve driven for over an hour to reach here from Catania. The reason for demanding my presence remains a mystery.

But that’s always how it is with him.

I pull up to the secluded piece of land, hidden away from prying eyes behind rows of orange and lemon trees. I step out and stretch my travel weary arms and legs, my gaze travelling into the distance, following the curvature of the electric fence into a bend a quarter of a mile away.

Despite having been here countless times, the sight never fails to amaze me. Over thirty-six acres of land to house one man.

As I approach the main gate, I press my fingers onto the scanner, feeling the familiar tingle as it reads my prints. The gate creaks open, and I step into the lair of the beast.

Both, on my left and right, are meticulously placed ‘unkempt’ bushes of wild olive, mastic, myrtle, and juniper, along with various herbs and tall grasses. To the unassuming eye, it might seem that the man in charge doesn’t care for manicured lawns.

The truth is, this shrubbery acts as a vantage point for training his assassins to hunt undetected should the fence be breached.

I walk through the shrubbery for a quarter of a mile. Then I see the stone and wood structure—a double-story made of blue lava stone and distressed white oak wood.

I can only see the second floor, since the first is hidden by a second boundary wall, encompassing all four sides of the house.

There are four small windows, so small that they might as well act as peepholes. Most of the windows lie at the back of the house, so any intruder would need to come from the front.

I have no doubt he’s watching.

I curl my lip and look at each window, giving a small wave. Just in case.

I walk over to the boundary wall, prepared for the multiple layers of security checks that await me. Reaching the Portone, I tap in my ID verification, the scanner humming over my access card.

Then, a small port opens up, and a machine whirs out for my retinal scan. I lodge my chin and forehead between the pads, and the scanner confirms my identity.

Lastly, a small needle pokes out. I prick my finger with it, and then, upon confirming the genetic DNA of my blood at body temperature, the gate finally opens for me.

I've always found it ironic that the same organization that trained me to slip past high-security measures uses those same systems to protect itself. I could circumvent these in a second, and he knows that.

But, I wouldn’t…only out of respect.

Once I’m granted access, I walk down the path towards the main door. It swings open, automated. He’s watching.

I enter, walking down the hallway towards the private office, leaving the door to close itself.

I knock. Thrice. His voice comes through the door. “Huntress.”

I open the door. The Handler stands, waiting for me to approach, then takes a seat behind his enormous desk.

With a curt nod in my direction, his manner betraying no emotion, he gets directly down to business, pushing an encrypted device across the desk.

I walk over and pick it up, unlocking it with my thumbprint. "CONSOLINI, VINCENZO," I read the name on the screen, testing its sound.

"The identity of your next target." His voice is cold, and his pronunciation is precise. “Elimination is to be swift and discreet. He must never see it coming.”

“Do they ever?” Nonchalantly, I take a seat in the chair opposite him and place my feet up on the flawless, natural wooden surface.

I study the Handler's expressionless face and wait.

"Vincenzo is a creature of habit," the Handler reveals. "He frequents an upscale bar in Palermo on Tuesday and Thursday evenings. He always takes the same route to and from his villa in Catania."

"Known associates? Any enemies to watch out for?"

"You’ll find all the details on there,” he points with his chin to where I’m casually twirling the device between my fingers.

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