Doubt it.
Just promise me you won't kill him in the first week.
I snort and smile.
No promises.
That's my girl. I need to put the baby to sleep, but call me if you need to vent. I'll make Niko do it. Love you, bestie.
No worries. Love you, too.
I set my phone down and walk back to the window, my mind racing. I don't know what to expect from this Octavian guy. I don't know if he's going to be the stoic, by-the-book type, or the arrogant ass who thinks he knows better than me.
But one thing's for sure: I'm calling the shots, and if he's not prepared for that, he's not going to last long.
3
OCTAVIAN
Rain hammers the cobblestones, turning the alley into a river of filth like it's trying to wash Bucharest clean.
I hate being in Oldtown. 3 a.m. on a Wednesday and the music coming from the clubs is deafening. Like they want the entire city to hear their fucking terrible music.
But this is where my target decided to spend his final night, not that he knows death is coming.
He's up ahead talking to a group of girls. They leave and he flicks his cigarette into a puddle and starts moving.
He stumbles as he walks, liquor doing its job.
I step out of the shadow and begin following him. He glances back, eyes wide as he sees me, granted I'm hard to miss.
But his look tells me he knows what's coming and he's going to run.
He stumbles, his shoe catching on the uneven ground. I move quickly, dashing between empty tables and chairs left out from the closed restaurants.
He tries to look back and slips again, his knees hitting the ground.
I close the distance and with two hands grab him by the jacket and throw him to my left, down an alleyway. He crashes into the side of a car and stumbles to his feet.
Before he can scream, my hand covers his mouth, muffling his voice. He jerks and moves so I pin him to the wall, looking down at him.
His hands scramble at my arm, but it's already too late.
My blade slides between his ribs in one smooth motion. I twist and press my hand harder against his face, keeping his voice trapped in his throat.
Warm blood spreads across my knuckles, easy to tell the difference between it and the rain.
I pull the knife out and stab him again with such force his feet come off the ground slightly.
I twist again and this time his body goes limp. I wait a few seconds and then lower him to the ground without a sound, pull the knife free and wipe it on his jacket. Rain washes the rest away, streaming down the alley in dark lines.
I straighten, cracking my neck as I scan my surroundings. No one's around to see me, which means I don't have to kill anyone else. Not that I'm hiding this body — it'll be found not long after I'm gone, most likely. I just won't be here.
Suddenly, my cell vibrates in the inside pocket of my jacket. It's my encrypted line.
I slide my knife back into the sheath beneath my coat and reach for the phone.
I pull it out and the screen glows with the name of someone I've worked with a few times before.
