Page 2 of The Bonventi Hitman
A lump forms in my throat as I slip into my black trench coat, bracing for the chilly Chicago air.
Damn. I can do this. Breathe… Breathe…
As we leave the safety of the hotel, stepping into the cool embrace of the evening, I feel a fierce determination growing. We are venturing into the heart of darkness, armed with nothing but our wits and the unspoken bond that ties us together.
Tonight, the Irish mafia will see Bill's new mistress, Sofia. But beneath the surface, they will unknowingly welcome their downfall. And I, Anna, the fresh FBI agent and protégé, am ready to play my fucking part.
ANNA - 2
Bill's breath is hot against my ear, his voice a low murmur. "Ready?"
I inhale deeply, knowing that this will be the last time we can speak so freely. "As ready as I'll ever be," I whisper back.
Bill's fingers squeeze mine, light but full of meaning—it's time.
Stepping through the ornate doors into the mansion, the grandeur washes over me like a tidal wave—an extravagant display of wealth. Crystal chandeliers drip from the soaring ceiling, bathing the marble floors in warm golden light.
It's a lavish party hosted by the Irish mafia in one of Chicago's most illustrious mansions, and the sprawling halls and vast gardens speak to their power and influence. The air is filled with the mixture of imported flowers and expensive cigars. The clinking of glasses, laughter, and chatter are almost deafening.
Men in tailored suits and women in designer gowns mingle, exchanging pleasantries and secrets, their eyes gleaming with ambition and desire. Servers glide through the room, offeringtrays of gourmet appetizers and the finest liquors to the elite guests.
For a moment, I am transfixed, lost in the decadent spectacle, but then I remember it's a masquerade by evil, corrupt men. It's a stage for alliances to be forged and power to shift quietly beneath the handshakes of killers.
As I stand there taking everything in, a woman appears before me with a subtle smile on her face.
"May I take your coat, ma'am?" she asks, her voice soft yet firm. Hesitantly, I slip out of my black trench coat, feeling the sudden shift in the air around me as the fabric parts from my shoulders and leaves me exposed, almost vulnerable.
The room's warmth caresses my bare arms, and I notice a rush of eyes flicker my way. My dress, a form-fitting silhouette of dark seduction, now fully exposed, clings to me like a second skin. The deep V-neck cut plunges daringly low, revealing my ample cleavage and large breasts. It's both thrilling and unnerving to have so much of myself on display. With each breath I take, the dress hugs my chest even closer, threatening to reveal more than I bargained for.
The side slit, a teasing invitation, reveals a glimpse of my toned thigh. The fabric, catching the light, seems to shimmer with an alluring glow as I move my body. I am vulnerability and power wrapped in one tantalizing package.
Bill leads me through the crowd, his hand resting on the small of my back.
As I walk, my dress parts seductively with each step, a silent announcement of my presence.
I force a smile, nodding at the people who greet us. Each of my actions is a calculated step.
As Bill and I walk further into the party, I zero in on the first man I recognize from the FBI mission files. Sean Delaney, the don of the Irish mafia.
He's a charismatic figure with a thick Irish accent. His charm and charisma draw people in like moths to a flame. Bill told me he's a master manipulator, a puppet master pulling the strings of his loyal made men.
After reading the FBI files on him, I could tell he's a man who knows what he wants and will stop at nothing to get it. If only he wanted fast cars or legitimate success and not territory and dead bodies, he'd probably be good at something rather than being targeted for a life in prison.
'He'll do whatever it takes to maintain his power and control,' Bill told me on the way over, and it replays in my mind now that I see him, 'That's what makes him dangerous for the Italians; he acts like he's accomplished nothing and has nothing to lose.'
Just as I'm about to turn to speak with Bill, who's been shaking hands and giving nods to people since we walked in, the room turns, and I can see eyes dart to one corner.
The doors to an adjoining room open, and the Italian mobsters make their entrance. They're all well dressed, tailored suites, and look quite striking. The room falls silent, and I can hear a woman chewing her food 15 feet away from me.
I then notice the second man from the FBI file, Enzo Bonventi, the head of the Italian mafia. He's an imposing figure well over 6 feet, and his presence dominates the room. He has piercing blue eyes and a very attractive quality about him. I can feel therespect he commands, even Bill has straightened up and looks serious.
The initial interactions between the two groups are tense and guarded. They exchange pleasantries and small talk, but I can see the underlying tension of the men surrounding them.
As I watch the two groups interact, I scan the room looking for others I might recognize.
Suddenly, the band begins to play, and music fills the room.
"Sofia…Sofia?" I hear, but pay no attention to it until I feel a pull on my arm.
