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“Will do, Vincent. Thank you again.” She sounds so timid, but I still melt, hearing my name on her lips. It’s smoother and sweeter than honey. “Merry Christmas, too.”
“Merry Christmas,” I say with a nod, abruptly turning on my heel in the snow. I measure my paces as I walk down her driveway, giving her one last wave before I turn to head down the sidewalk that leads to my yard—no sense in jumping fences again. Don’t want to scare her away.
Faith waves back, and I feel such a pull to her. As if there is an invisible rope between us, one that has always been there, just waiting for us to finally tie ourselves together.
She turns around and opens the door to her house, shooting me a shy smile over her shoulder before going back inside. The door closes behind her, and I watch the plastic wreath swing back and forth for a moment before heading back to my home.
Once inside, I check my watch. Dammit. If I was going to do this hit right, I needed to leave right now. The target lives in the next town over, and I will have to hop on the interstate to get there. I can’t afford to bet on low traffic, even on Christmas Day. Luckily, I keep all of my equipment in my car already—hidden in the hollow backseat as to never arouse suspicion.
I take a deep breath, leaning against the staircase railing, trying to get my head screwed back on straight for the job. If this doesn’t go through, Tony will never forgive me. The guy I am supposed to snipe today, Dave Sobaski, had cheated Tony out of a lot of money in a shady business deal. He isn’t affiliated with any other mob or gang, just an enterprising scam artist that fell in with the wrong men. Single, lives alone, it will be an easy hit.
Without moving, I think about the job—and Faith. I really don’t want to leave her, but I have my phone and can watch the cameras in her room. All I needed now was to bundle up.
In a rush, I pull on my leather jacket and wrap a scarf around my neck. It will help to hide my face as I stake out the guy.
My mind is on Faith as I drive downtown, listening to oldies music on the radio. Carole King sings about standing by your man as I think about what it would be like to taste my teenage neighbor. I’m so lost in thought that I almost drive past the building I’m supposed to go to.
Shit, I’m never this distracted.
I park on the top floor of a parking garage, close to a ladder leading onto the roof, and across from Dave’s studio apartment. Deciding that I won’t need to use my camo jacket to stay concealed on a roof, I lean into the backseat and pack all of my equipment into an unassuming duffel bag. After locking my car and wrapping my scarf over my mouth and nose, I start up the ladder leading to a simple trap door onto the roof. There’s a thick layer of snow, and the wind whips fiercely around my face. I tuck the ends of my scarf into the jacket to keep them from blowing about.
Luckily, there’s a small radiator right along the wall that gives me a view of Dave’s apartment. He’ll be in unit 406, fourth floor, second window from the left. I settle myself on the radiator and unzip my bag, thankful for the sound of wind and traffic to cover up the clatter of a gun and tripod being put together. This process is muscle memory for me now; after all, this is what I’ve been doing for the last twelve years of my life.
Once my sniper and scope are set up with a dead shot into Dave’s window, I relax into my seat and let my mind wander. As I often do, I remember how I found work as an assassin in the first place.
It’s a tragic story, really. But I suppose I’m living the happy ending.
When I was sixteen, my parents died in a car crash. They were heading home after grabbing some takeout for the family. Tony’s nephew, Frederico, was cruising around town with a couple hookers and a head full of blow. He ran a red light, crashed head-on into my parents, killing them on impact. He and his hookers survived with less than a scratch.
The next day, Tony arrived at my door. He was a squat, intimidating man, wearing a pinstriped suit even though it was August at the time. I had been up all night, fretting about where my parents could be. I’d called the police several times, but they were no help. Tony informed me that my parents were dead, but he would make me a deal. If I never went public with who killed them and agreed not to sue, he would make sure I was protected and provided for the rest of my life.
“It’s my nephew, you see,” he had said, waving his hands as if to dismiss the fact. “He is a good kid who makes some bad choices. But the Fontanas protect their family, no matter what. We’ll protect you too, Vincent.”
He told me to sleep on it and handed me a full bottle of Ambiens.
“I survived off those when my ma passed away,” he had said with a sympathetic glint in his eye. Even at sixteen, I had no illusions about what Tony was asking me to do. He was giving me a lifetime of financial security to forgive and forget his nephew killed my parents.
I ended up taking the deal, but I never forgave nor forgot. Frederico still died at my hand. Sometimes, I think Tony knows, even though I made it look like an accident.
For the first four years, until I turned twenty, Tony had me working small jobs. It didn’t make the big bucks, but it was enough to get by and allowed me to prove my loyalty and trustworthiness.
One day, he told me he had something fun for me to do. He took me to the shooting range the same day. That short hour at the shooting range changed my life entirely. I hit every target perfectly.
The next day, I carried out my first hit.
Twelve years have gone by since then, and I couldn’t imagine myself doing anything else. Yes, I’ve had men and women try to kill me. I’ve had near scrapes with death and moments I wasn’t sure I could pull through. But I did, every time. Lately, I’ve been thinking that maybe the reason I stayed alive was to find Faith. To save her.
I shake the thoughts out of my head and snap back to the present. Dave Sobaski has apparently returned home as a warm light glows from behind his curtains. I can see the shadow of him moving inside his apartment, but it’s not nearly enough to get a clear shot. I’ll have to wait for him to open his curtains. Goddammit.
Without taking my eyes off of the window of his apartment, I pull my phone from my coat pocket. I position the screen so I can still see Dave’s window and pull up the feed of Faith in her bedroom.
She’s asleep on her bed. Facing me—well, the camera I installed in a picture frame facing her bed. Her hair falls slightly into her face. I watch her breathe up and down and wish I could curl my body around her.
Suddenly, the screen freezes as a call comes through.
It’s Tony.
Confident that no one below will hear me, I answer the call, putting the phone to my ear. The wind is still howling around me, so I cup my hand over my mouth and the speaker to block the sound.
