Page 14 of The Don's Deadly Assassin

“His inner circle consists mainly of his mafia associates and a few trusted advisors. There have been rumors of tension with other factions within the extended Consolini family, but nothing concrete. They’re just inconsequential cousins."

"Exploitable weaknesses?" I inquire, mentally cataloging each piece of information.

"Consolini has a penchant for expensive cigars, academia, and beautiful women." The Handler pauses for a moment before continuing. "However, he rarely lets his guard down, even when indulging in his vices."

"You can go through all available information on Vincenzo, including surveillance photos, schedules, and relevant background details, in your own time."

"Understood." It’s my cue to go.

I swing my feet down, but just before I stand, I look at him coyly. "Should I ask why?”

“Have I ever given you an answer to that?”

He doesn’t frown. But I know he hates that question. Even as children, he made it abundantly clear to us that ‘why’ never matters as much as ‘how’.

I shrug, getting bored of trying to yank his chain.

"Secrecy and precision are paramount."

“I might just make it my best work yet.”

“Your dedication is commendable,” the Handler acknowledges, a hint of warmth creeping into his otherwise stoic demeanor.

"Thank you. I won't disappoint you." I stand up and step towards the door.

"See that you don't," The Handler warns, his tone chilling. "There's more at stake here than just our reputation."

His words leave a bitter taste in my mouth. I walk out of the room, lifting my arm above my head and waving with my fingers as the door closes behind me.

Just as much as he hates me playing games with him, I despise him, implying that I am weak.

The cold metal of the encrypted device lies heavy in my hand. I sit in my car and pore over its contents, scrutinizing every detail and committing it to memory.

My target heads the Consolini unit, a large, powerful mafia family. Yet herein lies a paradox: he’s an intellectual, preferring the company of historians, archaeologists and professors.

I smirk. He and the Professor would have gotten along like a house on fire. I make a mental note to look into a possible connection later.

Firstly, like always, I study his habits, his surroundings, and the people in his circle.

Vincenzo's daily routines will become my routines. His favorite haunts will become my second home. The faces of his known associates, like my dearest portraits.

All of this will coalesce in my mind, forming a complex web of opportunities and potential pitfalls.

Allowing me to set my trap carefully.

I feel the excitement building. Stalking your prey is a big part of the hunt. It takes skill to blend in and become one with your prey so that it doesn’t catch wind of any danger.

My confidence returns. This is what I know. This is what I’ve trained for every day of my life.

With newfound clarity, I scan photos of the target’s home. It's an opulent fortress surrounded by high walls and hidden cameras. But even the most impenetrable fortress has its Achilles heel, and I will find it.

Or, I grin as I etch my finger over the main door in the photo. I could walk in. Now that would be fun, wouldn’t it?

Finally, I pulled out the images of Vincenzo. I traced my finger over the silhouette of his dark black hair, slightly wavy. His eyes penetrated the camera, a striking blue.

He looks like he’s smiling in each image, and the curves of his mouth are always turned upward. He’s handsome—thin facial structure, high cheekbones, and a strong chin.

Too bad that face will soon be rotting six feet under. The insects would start with those blue eyes.

---