MOSTRO (Preview Full story On Webnovel and Coming to Goodnovel)

Chapter 4: A Cold Heart And A Keen Mind

Chapter 4: A Cold Heart And A Keen Mind

Darkened Alleyway, Unknown Location, Unknown State...

      Rumbling thunder and rolling clouds of thick and heavy gray loomed over the lone figure as it moved poised amid the cloak of darkness in the wake of a lazy afternoon. The keen and predatory dark eyes of one only to have ice water in his veins had been fixated upon the nearest living soul merely sixty meters from the pointed tip of the shiny black loafers that had been on the feet of the rather poised predator as he took a few steps toward the unsuspecting prey, in the form of a rather chubby man wearing a dark brown jogging suit and running shoes. He'd been doing a few stretches but his jogging had mostly been for show given his tendency to go out for sugary treats and pretend to be health conscious.

The shadowy figure had known this all too well in fact, that it had been discussed quite thoroughly in his file when he'd been given the assignment and tasked with ridding the world of yet another nuisance to the family. The new fish that had been squirming on the end of the hook this time around had been none other than Dimeo Trebioni, the former bookie for a rival family turned rat and all-around canary singing for the feds about dirty dealings as the wind blows.

The food-happy fool was supposed to be in witness protection but none of the officers on duty had been up to the task of keeping an eye on him and they'd been so dead tired of his lame jokes that they had been sent to an early grave as a means of ending their suffering. 

Slowly and methodically, the shadowy figure moved as if it had been made of water, twisting and turning through tight spaces and then some as a speed barely registered, as it followed the fool who believed himself to have been safe from those that meant to do him harm. He'd been none the wiser, as he moved staring at the lovely younger ladies who had passed by him as much as any lecherous man could despite his attempts to catcall them one after the other. 

Disgusted by his advances they proceeded to walk out of sight, leaving less room to have to deal with witnesses as the chubby louse moved not at all running as he made a show of doing when he first found himself out in the open but briskly waddling about the side street given his rotund figure had made it difficult to carry his weight for a normal means of walking. 

The shadowy figure continued on following not far behind never once drawing undue attention to himself nor his target as he briskly stepped in pace with the chubby man following him toward an area that had not been too familiar for him as a small notion of panic seemed to fill him and the instinct that had been alive in any prey had alerted him to the sudden clear and present danger he'd found himself in when he had not recalled which street to take to return to the safe house. 

A step too far, a turn too late, he had been befuddled with a good deal of panic and confusion as he attempted to find a means of venturing back to where the guards had been waiting for him. His costly mistake in trying to impress the random passing ladies had been what would ultimately lead to his downfall. 

Still beset by a rush of panic, he rounded a corner, a dead end if ever the lone figure had seen one, and found himself trapped as the figure inched forward under the cloak of the storm a long silver gun barrel outstretched as it fired burning shot after shot hitting every mark, bursting past the chubby man's organs and filling his lungs with his rancid blood. 

The shadowy figure had lingered only just so to watch the rather comical collapse of his dying target as he rolled onto his side ailing from the burning sensation of the bullets that punctured his tender flesh and organs respectively, a massive pool of bright crimson formed around his rotund form and it only served to give the impression of a slaughtered pig surrounded bleeding out of it's own accord. 

One last gasp, one last squeal and he'd been dead before the lone figure had even turned his back to disappear into the night as quickly as he'd arrived. The flashes of lightning and the rolling thunder drowned out any cries for help and visuals of distress on the part of the dead chubby man in the brown tracksuit. 

The killer had taken his leave of the place, exiting the main streets as he climbed into his getaway vehicle and sped down the highway. He called in the results and ditched both the phone and the car right along with his chosen attire for the event in a nearby pond before getting into his actual travel vehicle and once more vanishing into the night. 

The highway had been quite empty, possibly due to the storm, and made for a great time when the stealthy killer made up his mind to venture back to his safehouse still awaiting orders from his boss about his newest acquisition, the Gainsborough heiress who had been still breathing in the cellar as far as he'd known. 

She'd been an interesting captive, fighting until the bitter end, despite her obvious fear of him. He found her to be quite fascinating for a spoiled and sheltered rich girl but she was fast becoming a nuisance no matter what his boss had intended for her. He had thought it best to discard her while the trail had been cold but orders were to keep her on ice until further discussion can be had about a possible negotiation and the exchange of lucrative funds. 

Still, the killer had not liked the idea of babysitting, let alone one as cunning and determined as Oliva Gainsborough, sooner or later she'd get to be a problem, a major one and he'd hate to have to make accommodations to keep her in line, for the most part, he had simply wanted to finish the job and be done with her, even as his mind briefly recalled the sensation of her soft warm body against his during his drunken visit into the cellar. Her scent was still as pleasant as the moment he'd captured her despite his lack of care in terms of her hygiene at the moment. 

The silent killer continued down the highway without a word, cold dead eyes staring straight out the windshield and rough calloused hands gripping the black leather steering wheel. His mind even then had been on the kidnapped heiress Olivia Gainsborough and what she'd been up to since he'd been gone.