𝐻𝑜𝑤 𝑇𝑜 𝐷𝑖𝑠𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑒𝑎𝑟

11.

I'm not sure if I'd qualify as cold-hearted. Not like my brother, who's practically ice. And definitely not as icy as the persona I sometimes have to adopt. You haven't seen that side of me yet, and I hope you never have to. Being a spy demands a certain mindset, a detachment from emotions. You don't know my journey, the things I've seen, the choices I've made. And honestly, I'm not sure I'll ever share those details with you.

But here I am, navigating through shadows and secrets, doing what needs to be done to survive in this world of espionage. It's a lonely path, but it's the one I've chosen. So, if you ever wonder about the person behind the spy, just know that there's more to me than meets the eye.

"What do you need me to do?" I asked, my tone betraying a hint of frustration at the sudden change in direction.

"This is high profile, Minji, take this seriously," she stressed.
"Yeah, yeah, I guarantee I'm in a very serious mood," I retorted.

"The day after tomorrow, we know her coordinates. Show up inside a home decorating store," she instructed.
"Why not tomorrow?" I questioned.

"Just follow orders for once, Minji," she said, exasperated.

I sighed and hung up, reluctantly accepting her directive.

The next day, I spent my time preparing for the mission, ensuring that every detail was in place. Despite my skepticism about the timeline, I knew better than to disobey orders. As much as I disliked being told what to do, I had to admit that Jess had a point.

This was a high-profile operation, and any deviation from the plan could have serious consequences. So, with a sense of determination, I focused on getting ready for the task ahead, determined to prove my worth and fulfill my duty as a spy.

I pull up to my hotel, but as soon as I step inside, I sense that something is off.

As I step into the hotel lobby, I immediately sense that something is off. My hotel room looks too pristine, and I never leave a place looking that clean. With a sigh, I gather my few belongings, mainly weapons, and secure them in the holster at my waist. Once armed, I grab a beer and my hotel key card before heading to the elevator. As I descend, I hand the clerk my card and exit the building, ready for whatever awaits me outside.

The night is still young, and I figure I could use a bit of relaxation before diving into my last mission in Italy. It's the place where it all went down. Mental note to self: stop choosing different countries for downtime. I stroll into the first bar I spot. After downing my beer, I decide I need something stronger.

As I settle into a stool at the bar, I catch the eye of the bartender and signal for another drink. The dimly lit atmosphere and the low murmur of conversation around me provide a welcome contrast to the tension of my upcoming mission. I lean back, taking a moment to savor the anonymity of the crowded bar, knowing that soon I'll be back in the thick of it, navigating the dangerous world of espionage.

A young woman slips into the seat beside me, her presence disrupting my brief moment of solitude. I glance at her, taking in her appearance with a quick, practiced assessment.

She flashes me a smile, her eyes glinting with curiosity. "Mind if I join you?" she asks, her voice smooth and inviting.

I remind myself that not every woman I meet in a bar is a spy, so I simply smile and we bask in silence until she breaks it with a teasing remark, "Is that a gun in your pocket? Or..." She trails off, not finishing the joke. I glance down and notice my Hollister peeking out from my belt. I don't bother hiding it.

"Yeah, it is," I reply. She hums, then asks, "And are you used to being around guns?" I tread cautiously, "I belong to one of the biggest mafia bosses on the continent; I've been around more than guns. Is there a reason why you have a gun?" she counters. "Is there a reason why you're in a gang?" I counter back. "It's Italy, as much as I'd like to deny the rumors, it's true; there's at least one gang in every city," she explains. "And which one do you belong to?" I inquire, turning my body fully to face her. She's clad in a silk red dress, with straight hair and hazel eyes—a classic plaything to any mafia boss. "The Black Sheep," she reveals. "Really now?" I respond skeptically. She nods, "And have you heard of a woman called Kate?" I probe. She shakes her head.