His Favorite Target Novels & Stories

In my past life, I had meant every word. Samuel was the most pitiful child in the Ziegler family. He used to say no one loved him. So, I gave him everything. I didn't like to see him frown. If he frowned at a garnish on a dish, that ingredient never appeared on our table again. I loved his smile, and I loved the rare sweetness in him when he acted spoiled. So, when he said he wanted to see snow in June, I made it happen. I took him to the top of Mount Arda, and we watched artificial snow fall through the night.

After a while, I asked again, “What’s your favourite food?” “If you mean human food, I like steak,” he replied. “But I prefer the food you make.” I tilted my head. “I don’t cook often.” “That’s exactly why I said that—it’s a hint, so you’ll cook for me and make it special.” I scoffed but couldn’t hide my smile. “Fine. Then, what’s something you hate the most?” Damian fell silent momentarily before answering, “Losing the people I love.” I turned to look at him.

Again. “Find her,” I ordered, and the command cracked through the mansion like a whip. Men scattered, but I didn’t wait on them. My gut was already leading me. I summoned Marcello with a flick of my wrist but was told by one of my men that he was attending to some business. Where was that man when I needed him? But I couldn't wait for him so I decided to find her myself. The café. Her favorite one. She thought she was clever, sneaking off there like it was some secret world of hers. What she didn’t know...what she’d never thought to ask...was that the café was mine. Everything in this city worth owning was mine. Including the cameras.

Nicholas began, his tone darkening, “was the father of target aim. But not in the way you’re thinking. He didn’t just shoot targets. He used slaves as his targets. He’d place an apple on their heads, and people thought he was aiming for the apple. But the truth? He wasn’t.” Stephanie tilted her head slightly, her curiosity piqued. “What do you mean?” Nicholas leaned back in his chair, his expression grim. “He wasn’t aiming for the apple. He was aiming for their pupils. If he hit the apple, he considered that a mistake. His true goal was to shoot them through the eye. But do you know what he enjoyed most?” She shook her head, her eyes wide, clearly immersed in the story.

“Relax. You did well enough. But next time, you’ll have the right answers.” “Meaning?” I asked warily. “Meaning I’m going to feed you the essentials.” He leaned in, close enough that I could smell the faint trace of his cologne, warm and masculine. “My favorite food is steak; medium rare. Favorite ice cream? Mint chocolate chip. My favorite color is black, though I tolerate white. Favorite sport… boxing. Favorite place? The cliffs by the sea, where no one can bother me. Favorite season…” His lips quirked.

I flipped through the channels, bypassing the news and corporate updates until I landed on a late-night music and lifestyle channel playing sultry, atmospheric visuals; something smooth and moody by The Weeknd, setting an effortless, intoxicating tone for the room. When the background atmosphere was finally dialed in, I retired to the leather sofa, pulling my phone from my pocket. The screen immediately lit up with unread notifications. My DMs across various platforms were a constant stream of messages from women vying for my attention: socialites, colleagues, and admirers who only ever saw the polished, successful facade of Frederick Vance. Idly, leaning back against the cushions, I started

Not long after my wife and I got married, my mother-in-law unexpectedly had another child, a son. The entire family treated him like a miracle and let him get away with everything. Before long, he became an unbearable little monster. When he was ten, he pulled up a girl's skirt at school and yanked down her shorts. I confronted him about it, but my wife immediately turned on me. "He's my brother, not your son. What makes you think you have the right to discipline him?" I kept my anger to myself and moved out with our daughter, who had been growing more withdrawn by the day. Years later, the spoiled boy shoved a woman who was eight months pregnant down a flight of stairs. My wife calle

On the day I'm supposed to try on my wedding dress, Don Aldo Vitale gets the time wrong again. By the time he finally gets to the bridal boutique, I have already chosen my dress. Just like always, Aldo apologizes without thinking. "I've been really busy lately. I hope you understand." But over the past few years, Aldo's taken his childhood sweetheart and assistant, Isabella Berardi, to more than 100 cities for business. He's never forgotten a single flight, meeting, or business dinner. In contrast, Aldo's always forgetting things when it comes to me. I calmly hand the wedding dress back to the sales associate. "It's fine. My friend already helped me pick out a dress. No point in comin

He slapped my hand away with a hiss. "Favorite movies are Wizard of Oz. I still can't stop watching Lord Of The Rings and Die Hard. I can kill for Star Wars, The Tick, Fast and Furious film series, Glitch, and I can never get tired of Merlin, the funniest series of the century." He said buoyantly, voice bubbling with excitement and delight.

She loves Kitkat and her most favorite pet in the world is a squirrel. Of course, I didn't believe it. I was not stupid to believe some random facts from that bimbo. It was all made up to piss me off. My sweet Quinn loved black? Her favorite band is Nirvana? And what's up with the cliff being her favorite view. That was really absurd. Was she really crazy, telling me that Quinn's favorite pet is a squirrel? Get the shit out of here? No, my sweet Quinn would not say that. That was impossible.