My Obsession
My lips parted slightly, and my eyes shifted away from Andreas, landing on a man whose reputation sent chills through the streets—someone feared, sometimes even more than my own gang.
“You know exactly who I’m talking about. The assassin who never missed a shot. Left trails of bodies everywhere he went. No traces, no witnesses, nothing. Never caught on video, never photographed,” Andreas continued, walking toward the decanter and pouring himself a large glass of whiskey.
He swallowed it in one go, massaging his forehead as if battling a migraine.
“What are you telling me, Andreas?” My voice grew sharp, irritation creeping in. He wasn’t getting to the point.