An Assassin For The Mafia Boss

Axil's pov.

I never had easy targets, and so every task was demanding. But I always and I meant always, accomplished them. No matter how difficult they were.

And this wouldn't be any different.

I had scaled the walls and now, I was using a rope tied to the chimney to swing myself inside his dimly lit room.

Yes, my target as eighty percent of others was male. Twenty-nine years of age, and a Don in his right.

Zane Mercer.

Given the findings I made about him, I was surprised that he wasn't long gone.

It didn't matter though, because tonight I had one job and one job only, with the one thing I held dear at stake.

It was either I planted a bullet in his skull, or a bullet would be planted in my sister's. And my identity would be revealed, for everyone in the crime world to know.

And that meant having my supple *ss on the line.

~~~

The room was dark but the lamps by the headboard of his bed provided enough illumination. Enough to see his figure spreaded out on the king-sized bed.

His hair was strewn across his pillow in black curls and his jawline was incredibly sharp.

In other circumstances, I would be turned on.

I didn't see his face yet, it was covered with a sleeping mask. I wondered why though because it wasn't like he had all the lights on.

A stir from him and I froze, one of my skills was stealth. And I had made sure to be as silent as possible while making my way in here.

And till I fired the shot, I wouldn't want to wake him.

Don't get me wrong, I didn't fear an altercation with my targets if they woke up. No, I assassinated both sleeping and moving men. It was just that I didn't bring along a silencer for my gun, and I only had five minutes after the gun was fired to make my escape.

Any altercation would only waste my time.

I moved closer, my boots silent against the lush rug, the weightless gun in my hand.

He was shirtless, with the grey duvet shielding one side of him.

Even under the soft lamplight, the contours of his muscles were carved like marble. A familiar scar ran along his side, fading into the sheets, an old scar, clean and surgical. Not many men survived wounds like that. Not many looked this at peace, either.

I raised the gun.

My finger hovered over the trigger, seconds stretching into an eternity. I was trained not to hesitate. Hesitation got people killed. It was a code I lived by. But something about this hit had my nerves tight.

My hand lowered just an inch.

Something in my head swirled, a memory, a thought. Something that had no business existing in this line of work.

I stepped closer.

And then…

His hand shot up with the precision of a man who'd never truly slept. He ripped the mask from his eyes, and the moment his gaze locked onto mine, I felt the ground shift beneath my feet.

Olive green....

No, hazel? No-f*ck....

He had rich bottle-green eyes, the deepest shade of green I had only seen just once in my entire life.

Recognition slammed into me like a bullet to the gut.

The nameless man from that night a year ago.

My pulse thundered as he rose slowly, eyes never leaving mine.

“You,” he said, voice gravel and smoke. “So you were truly not a figment of my imagination.”

I didn’t speak.

Because what the hell do you say to the man you were sent to kill, who also happens to be the only person who ever made you forget who you were?.

My body refused to move. I was supposed to pull the trigger, but I just couldn’t. Not when those eyes, those d*mn eyes, locked onto mine.

He moved first.

Zane threw the mask aside, bolted upright, as his feet hit the floor with precision. I stumbled back a step, my aim wavering.

"Who sent you, and why for f*ck's sake do you have a gun pointed to my head?" 

He looked at my attire and put the puzzle together.

"You are an assassin?"

His voice was full of surprise, but devoid of anxiousness or fear.

I stepped backwards, my finger still hesitant on pulling the trigger. Zane took a step forward, as if to reach out to me, and that was my cue.

I fled.

Jumping out the window and using the same rope tied to the chimney to swing myself onto the ground. Only this time, Zane's night patrol was right below me.

Zane barked, alerting them. 

The sound of rushed footsteps and synced shouts were getting close. My cover had been blown. I looked up briefly, Zane staring out at me from the window.

He was mouthing something, his hand curled into a fist, but I didn't stay long enough to decode his words.

It started with three red dots, then four, then five familiar dots. I was trained in the ways of a sniper. The red dot was very familiar, and it would only take one order from Zane before his sniper shooters fired the bullets.

I was caught like a deer in headlights.

"Bring him in alive."

I heard Zane say. Which was very odd because intruders were supposed to be gunned down on sight, much less an assassin who literally had a gun pointed to the Don's face.

I glanced at him awkwardly, his eyes briefly meeting mine before glancing back to his men who were quietly approaching me.

They were all heavily armed, luckily....so was I.

I think I emptied up to seven bullet cases, reloading and firing bullets all over again while I used the camouflage of the smoke bomb to sneak myself out.

My semi automatic pistol was running out of bullets, and Zane, of patience.

I could still hear him in the distance, barking orders at his men to get me. Hearing that voice again made me realize how bad of a choice I had made.

I looked at my half erect c*ck, pulsing through my pants. Feeding the memories of that night to my brain.

Even in situations like this, my body could not forget how it was handled by Zane Mercer.

Zane's pov

I held the cigarette between my fingers, a cotton shirt hanging loosely from my shoulders, unbuttoned.

"You should be ashamed, you call yourself the head of my security parole but yet, you couldn't apprehend one man that infiltrated my residence right under your nose."

I was livid, a silent anger brewing within me. That face had been reoccurring in my head for the past year and just when I had tried to forget it. He shows up, with a gun pointed to my head. 

And then, he flees, just like that.

And my men, my elite trained men failed to apprehend him. 

I wanted to ask who sent him, who hired him to do the hit.

I wanted to know if he recognized me before coming to do it.

"Boss, it will not happen again." Maxwell said, kneeling before me. His forehead dripped with sweat.

"You saw his face, yes?" Maxwell nodded. "Good, run a background check on him. And make sure it is concrete."

"As you wish, Boss." 

I gestured