La Regina: Nicola |18+|

2. Stalker

Nicola

The art of assassination was we were creating a scenario.

Placing the target where we wanted them to be. When we wanted them to be.

We studied their patterns, the detailed habits, the sins they had committed. Because to be honest with you, most of them weren't saints either.

Sometimes they were a bunch of disgusting pigs.

Including one in front of me now.

I dragged his death longer because he was one of disgusting piece of shit. Two fractured legs and a stab through the femoral artery. A pool of blood where he was laying helplessly. I was watching how the life was drained out of his dilated pupils.

If he had begged me for mercy before, now he didn't have the energy to. I usually didn't like a noisy target. You know, the one who talked too much to offer anything to spare their life. But this one, I kinda liked hearing him scream.

This man was a mayor candidate for the next election who would be an issue to our family. He was difficult to cooperate and an arrogant bastard, but the worst of it all, he turned out to be a serial rapist though never convicted.

Like I said, a disgusting pig.

I had finished the job and finally walked up to my apartment. Another day, another kill.

The private elevator dinged at the thirtieth floor, to a grand foyer with marble floor and a large chandelier hanging on the ceiling.

I disposed my gloves into a trash bag.

My phone vibrated in my pocket. I swiped answer as Cesco name flashed on my screen.

"Are you home?" No greetings, no hello. Typical my brother.

"Yeah, why?"

"The cleaning crew complained about the horrendous scene, so I take it you had fun." He said, amusement in his voice.

Cesco was five years older than me. We looked almost identical as if I was the female version of him. Brown eyes, darker hair.

"I was his karma. I had to make sure he suffered." I replied with a smile on my face.

"Fair enough." I could almost hear his grin from here. "You're still going to dinner tonight?"

Our weekly dinner with father. I had skipped it last weekend, much his disappointment and father's disapproval.

"So, that's the real reason you call." I grumbled, earning a chuckle from him. "I'm still going."

"Good to hear. See you tonight."

〰️

My dreams consisted of those beautiful, yet haunting hazel eyes. It had been three days since our strange encounter and his existence was still quite a mystery to me.

I had tried to search for some information about him and what really tied him to Chicago family, but it was a dead end. His name didn't appear on database. As if Giorgio Silveri never existed.

It was driving me insane at some point. Maybe, just maybe, that was what Vitto felt at the moment at his sudden visit to New York.

I woke up from my nap at noon. And surprisingly, I found Vitto hovering in my kitchen, cooking what smells like alfredo. I watched as he was adding some chopped parsley to the pan and mixing it.

His suit jacket had already been slanted over the dining chair. The sleeves of his dress shirt were rolled onto his forearm, revealing his dark tattoos. This man always looked so fine, I admitted.