Page 29 of In Ruins
“Oh my God, Aria! Are you alright?” she questions as she walks with me back to my room.
I feel like the walls are closing in on me. Is this what I have to look forward to while being married to this asshole? If that’s the case, then I have nothing but a lifetime of misery ahead of me.
CHAPTER 8
ENZO
One Month Later
I step out of the hotel elevator and look around to see if the hallway is empty before I make my way to my room. Once inside, I check to make sure it’s clear here too.I definitely don’t need anyone seeing what I’m up to, since it would mean certain death for them, and I don’t have the time for any extra cleanup. I’m just here to do my job and get the hell out as soon as possible.
Finding it empty, I walk over to the window and look down at the busy street below me, before looking over to where one of the city’s federal buildings stands. Taking the bag I have slung over my shoulder, I place it onto the couch next to me, before unzipping it and getting the cutter out.
I then move over to the window and carve out a small circle into the glass. When I’m done with that, I move one of the small side tables into place. I grab the rifle out of my bag and set it on the table, positioning the muzzle just outside the hole in the glass before pointing it toward the building.
I look through the scope of my M82 sniper and make the necessary adjustments before pointing it to where I want it. Through the scope, I see a crowd already there waiting for the senator, who just so happens to be my target today, to arrive. I can’t wait for him to get here, since I’m ready to finally get this show on the road.
This job has had me away from home for a month already, and I’m eager to get back to my life. As much as I’m aching to get home, one thing I never do is rush a job because that’s how you get your ass killed in my line of work. Only an idiot would be stupid enough to let that happen.
I walk over to the couch to sit and wait. When I finally look at my watch, I see that it’s go time. Thankfully, I was only sitting here for about ten minutes. Getting up, I walk back over to my rifle, placing my hand on the grip and adjusting it to get the target in my sights.
Through my scope, I see him walk up to the podium that they have set up for him to give his press conference. Too bad this will be his last, and he won’t get to finish it. I let him speak for a few minutes before I fix my posture and rifle for the final time.
I put my eye to the scope again and aim for his head. I take in a deep breath and then let it out, pulling the trigger at the same time. I watch as blood instantly starts to pour out, directly in the center of his forehead with the kill shot, and he drops to the ground.
Screams erupt from the people who just witnessed his assassination, and chaos ensues. They start running in different directions, trying to escape the mayhem. I watch as some of his security people rush over to him. It’s not like they can do anything for him since he’s dead. Others start to look around the area, trying to determine where the shot came from. Sirens sound in the distance, and that’s my cue to get the fuck out of here.
I pull the muzzle out of the hole in the glass and slide the smaller piece back into place, and then quickly take my rifle apart so that it’s in smaller pieces, before stuffing everything back into the bag.
I change into jeans and a T-shirt to look casual and not at all like I’m in a hurry—because I just assassinated someone—before throwing my old clothes into the bag and zipping it up. As soon as I’m done and ready to go, there’s a knock at the door.
“Housekeeping,” I hear from the other side of the door before it opens. Pete steps inside, dressed in the hotel’s uniform, and I hand him my bag, which he places under all the sheets in his cart.
“Be careful,” I say before slipping out of the room and heading for the elevator. I take it all the way down to the hotel’s parking garage and get into the car that’s waiting for me to take me back to the airport.
The faster I get out of here, the better I’ll feel. I don’t like staying in the place too long after an assassination. Just because you got the job done, it doesn’t mean that things still can’t go wrong. Better to be safe than sorry is my motto after every kill. No need to get careless.
This specific job was one that my father sent me on. The hit on the senator happened because he apparently forgot where he came from. My father has been having some issues with him lately. Guess he also forgot who was majorly funding his campaigns and who helped him get his career started in the first place.
Father warned him what would happen if he didn’t do what he was supposed to, what he agreed to, before he helped him fund said career. But did he heed the warnings? No. Like an idiot, he decided to ignore my father’s warning, thinking that he was more powerful than he actually was. Didn’t he know that no one crosses Leonardo Andretti and gets away with it?
People might think that because I’m on the verge of taking over my father’s empire, he’s calmed down and has become soft since he’s getting up there in age. That’s what he’d like them to think, but it’s all just an illusion. He’s as ruthless as he’s been from the beginning, maybe even more so now, and I don’t think that will ever change for him.
Even if he was going soft, I’m here to back him up. I’d never let anyone disrespect him. I got him covered, no matter what, and I’m more ruthless than he’ll ever be. At least that’s what he’s always telling me. Plus, my reputation speaks for itself. I’m the best at what I do. But there is always a worry that something will go wrong, especially in these high-profile cases. Only the idiots think they’re invincible, and that’s why most of them get themselves caught or killed.
I had a lot to do while I was here in DC, since the place is crawling with Feds. I had to make sure I had all my ducks in a row before I went in for the kill, and now, I’m glad to finally be done with it.
The car comes to a stop, and I get out and make my way to the private jet. It’s already on standby, so once I’m on board, they shut the doors behind me. I take my seat and buckle my belt as the jet begins to move, and then we’re taxiing off the runway.
We’re heading to New York, Texas, and then California before I’ll finally be able to go home. It’s a diversion tactic I use so that no one can connect me to the senator’s demise. Once we get to Texas, I check in at the hotel. When I’m finally in my room, I begin the tedious task of removing the silicone mask that clings to my skin as though it’s my own.
This is some top-dollar shit, and it’s one of the reasons that no one will ever be able to identify me as the one committing any crime, since the person doing the killings has a totally different face from mine. I’m not stupid enough to leave any evidencebehind, so I put the mask in the hidden compartment in my briefcase and lock it down.
I make the extra stops so that if anyone were to try to trace my movements, I would never be anywhere near the hits.
“Room service,” I hear at the door.
“Come in.” One of my men walks in, and I hand him the briefcase to hide under his room-service cart. “See you in a few days.”
