Chapter 2: A call

People may always think being a sniper assassin was all action and explosions and slow-motion bullets. It’s our life hanging by a thread. You fail to kill your target, you’ll die. If you succeeded in killing the target but his men saw you, you're still going to die. Why? Because those men might trace you, and it’ll lead to the organization you came from.  The organization we were in is the one that holds us in our neck. They took the job seriously, so we must be careful. And it was my mistake. I thought I found a school, private and unknown, because I wanted to stop being sheltered by my parents. 

I thought it was just an ordinary school, and teaching how to be independent turned out to be a school of assassins. The moment I enrolled, my fate had been sealed. I was forced to study and had my job. If you quit, the management will make sure the students die. 

And now, I lie on the rooftops for hours, checking each side for a possible sniper, sniping for a sniper. I already positioned myself, avoiding any danger, just like the previous job I had taken and accomplished. At first, I was scared, but then being threatened by the very school I studied at terrified me the most. So I learned to close my eyes, swallow the guilt, and fire one bullet, making sure the target was dead until killing became regular to me.

Tonight was one of those nights. Quiet, cold, the wind just strong enough to make my nose sting but not enough to throw off my shot. The city lights below glittered like diamonds, trying too hard.

Through my scope, I had the bastard in perfect view: Table 3, window seat, custom-tailored suit, smug face that just screamed “I break little girls' heart, beware.” He was laughing at something. According to the report, this man was a ruthless bastard who killed anyone who came in his way. He was a devil in disguise. 

He was laughing, probably from his companion’s joke. A man like him should die. The world didn’t need someone like him, just like the rest of the Mafia leaders I have killed in previous jobs. 

I steadied my breathing. Just one pull, clean shot through the window. When I had the best angle, I was about to pull the trigger when my phone vibrated. I froze, halting what I was doing. The vibration rattled in my pocket like a damn jackhammer in a library. My finger twitched just a little, just enough to make the crosshairs drift. I clenched my jaw.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

I eased off the trigger and reached for the phone, half-expecting it to be some change of plan from Valentina. 

I looked at the screen and nearly groaned out loud.

Dad.

I closed my eyes and took a deep, soul-searching sigh. This man had the worst timing on Earth. Swear to God, he could sense when I was two seconds away from killing someone and thought, “Hmm, now’s a great time to ask about dinner plans.”

I composed myself, switched mental gears, and answered the phone in a voice so sweet that Dad used to.

“Hi, Dad!”

Ugh. It physically hurt to say it, but I nailed the tone of soft, bubbly, total sweetheart voice. His voice came through the line, warm and unsuspecting.

“Hi, baby. Just checking in. Did you eat? You sound tired.”

I rolled onto my back, rifle resting beside me, the kill temporarily on hold.

“Aww, you’re so sweet to call! Yeah, I’m fine. Just a long day at work.” I giggled. “The little ones were extra rowdy today. Must be the sugar.”

Please believe I was imagining blowing up that restaurant while I said that. Table 3 was still in my peripheral vision and needed to be killed ASAP.

He chuckled. 

“You sure you’re okay? You sound… a little breathless.”

“Oh, yeah, I was just… picking up toys.”

That wasn’t a lie, technically. My rifle was my favorite toy.

We chatted for another minute. He talked about Mom, the neighbor’s new dog, and something about grilled fish. I kept the act up like a pro, heart rate steady, voice sugary enough to sell cupcakes. He then mentioned to me that I need to go back home tomorrow morning, and it's time to be a grown woman. He said he was sending his own private jet to fetch me by 12 and that I needed to be at the airport by 11 pm. And said he would expect me to be home early in the morning. He didn’t let me protest and said goodnight. 

I looked at my watch and it’s already 9:15 in the evening. 

“Goddamn it, Dad,” I muttered, dragging myself back to the edge of the roof. I peered through the scope again.

Target is still there.

If I’m going to shoot him now, I would deliver a half-ass job because I’m short on time. I cursed.

As if in cue, my phone vibrated again and I saw a message from Valentina. 

“Mission abort, Dennise.”

I didn’t know what was going on with Valentina’s side to abort such an important mission, but I was able to let go of the air I was holding on to.

I pack my gun, head to the door, and run like my life depends on it. I hop in my car, parked not far from the abandoned buildin,g and drive straight to my house. I was rummaging through my clothes and packed some dresses and sent a message to Valentina: 

“I’ll be out of reach for a few days. Family problem.”

And hit send. 

I’m praying Valentina will get the message and won't bother me. But I know the bitch, I knew she would strike again, knowing I’m in deep trouble with my family. 

Ah, damn it.