Adrian's finger rested lightly against the trigger. He could feel the cool weight of the pistol pressed against his palm, every groove familiar after years of carrying it. Through the scope of his mind, he had already envisioned the shot a hundred times: Elena Moretti leaving the shelter, the narrow street half-deserted, the sound of her shoes on cracked pavement. It would be clean. Quick. Just like every other kill.
Yet he remained in the shadows, waiting, hours bleeding together until the night was almost silent. The target did not know she was being hunted. She hummed as she walked, swinging a grocery bag against her hip. Stray cats darted from the alleys as she passed, as if drawn to the warmth she carried.
Adrian's hand did not move. The gun was steady, but his pulse was not.
Pull the trigger. Vincent's voice whispered across his memory, sharp as a blade. Hesitation kills. Do the job. End it.
But Adrian's mind betrayed him, pulling back to another time.
He remembered being fifteen again, hands shaking as he held his first weapon. Vincent's hand heavy on his shoulder, pressing him forward. "Don't think," Vincent had said. "Thinking gets you killed. Just act." And Adrian had obeyed, because obedience was survival.
Now, decades later, obedience was failing him.
Elena stopped at the corner to adjust the bag in her arms. A streetlight flickered above her, throwing her into momentary shadow before casting her in pale yellow glow. She looked tired but unafraid, as if the world had never taught her the lesson Adrian had learned too young: that kindness was dangerous, that mercy was weakness.
He lowered the pistol slightly, his jaw tightening. Something inside him cracked like thin ice, the sound silent but undeniable.
For the rest of the night, Adrian followed her at a distance, never drawing closer, never revealing himself. When she entered the small apartment building where she lived, he lingered across the street, staring up at the darkened window that belonged to her room. He told himself he was measuring the opportunity. But in truth, he was stalling.
By the time dawn bled across the city, Adrian returned to his apartment. He shut the door, placed the pistol on the table, and stared at it until his vision blurred. The weapon was a part of him, as natural as his own hand, yet for the first time it felt foreign. Wrong.
He poured himself another glass of whiskey, though he barely tasted it. His body moved out of ritual, not desire. Inside, his mind spun with thoughts he could not silence.
Elena's face. Her laugh. The way she had crouched to feed a stray dog as if it mattered. The memory pressed against him harder than any order Marco had given.
Adrian rubbed at his temples, trying to will the conflict away. If he killed her, the problem ended. The family would be satisfied. Marco would nod, and Vincent would look at him with that hard pride that had once meant everything.
But if he spared her, he knew what would follow. The family would brand him a traitor. Vincent would come for him. And Adrian would become the hunted instead of the hunter.
The weight of the choice settled on his chest until breathing felt like labor.
Three nights later, he stood once again in the shadows near the shelter, his pistol hidden beneath his jacket. The opportunity had come. Elena had stayed late, cleaning tables after the others had gone. When she finally stepped into the cool air, alone, Adrian moved silently after her. His footsteps were soundless, his presence a shadow among shadows.
She turned down an alley, shorter than her usual path home. A mistake. One that made her vulnerable.
Adrian followed, closing the distance. His pulse hammered in his ears. He drew the pistol, raising it, the silencer catching the faint gleam of a streetlight.
"Elena Moretti," he whispered, though she could not hear him.
For a fraction of a second, everything slowed. He could see her clearly, the strands of hair that had slipped free from her bun, the faint smudge of exhaustion beneath her eyes, the way she held her bag close to her chest. She was not afraid. She had no idea death was at her back.
His finger tightened.
And then stopped.
Adrian's hand trembled, a crack in the mask he had worn for years. The boy who had once been saved in the marketplace rose in him, drowning out Vincent's lessons. He saw not a target but a woman who should not have to die for her father's war.
With a curse, he lowered the gun.
Instead of pulling the trigger, Adrian stepped forward, faster now, until his hand closed over her mouth before she could scream. Her eyes widened in shock as he dragged her into the deeper shadows, pinning her gently but firmly against the wall.
"Quiet," he whispered. "I am not going to hurt you."
Fear flickered across her face, then confusion, her muffled cry dying against his hand. Adrian eased his grip, enough for her to breathe, but not enough for her to draw attention.
"You should be dead," he said, his voice low. "And as far as the world will know, you are."
Elena's eyes searched his face, trembling but steady, as if trying to read the truth in his words. Adrian released her fully and stepped back, tucking the pistol into his jacket.
"What do you want from me?" she asked, her voice tight.
Adrian hesitated. For once, he had no script, no calculation. "Survival. Yours. And maybe mine."
He expected her to run, to scream, to fight. Instead, she stood her ground, though her hands trembled. "Who sent you?"
"The people your father has made enemies of," Adrian said. He glanced toward the street, already calculating how much time they had. "You cannot go back to your life. Not yet. Not ever, if you want to live. They believe you must die. Tonight, they will believe you did."
Elena shook her head, disbelief written across her features. "Why are you telling me this? Why not just…" Her gaze flicked to the gun at his side.
"Because I chose not to," Adrian said simply. The words tasted foreign. They were not the words of Vincent's protégé, not the words of the perfect killer. But they were the truth.
For a long moment, silence stretched between them. Then Elena swallowed, her voice steadier. "If you are saving me, you have just made yourself their enemy."
Adrian gave the faintest nod. "I know."
Sirens wailed faintly in the distance. The city never slept, and time was slipping through his fingers. He gestured for her to follow. "Come. Before someone sees us."
Against reason, against everything she had ever been taught about danger, Elena moved. She fell into step behind him, her steps quick and uncertain. Adrian led her through the maze of alleys until they reached his car, hidden beneath the shadow of an overpass.
When she slid into the passenger seat, her hands folded tightly in her lap, Adrian realized what he had done. He had crossed a line that could never be uncrossed.
As he drove into the night, the city blurring past them, Adrian felt the weight of it settle over him. Marco would learn soon enough. Vincent would come. The family would not forgive betrayal.
Yet for the first time in his life, Adrian Kane felt something that was not fear, nor duty, nor obedience. It was a sliver of something he had never thought himself capable of.
Redemption.
The drive back to the apartment was a blur. Adrian kept to side streets, checking his mirrors at every turn. Though he knew no one had followed him, the sensation of eyes tracking his every movement clung to him like smoke. When he finally pulled into the garage beneath his building, his pulse still hammered as if he had been sprinting for miles.
Inside, he stripped off the blood-stained shirt and tossed it into the sink, running the water until crimson swirled down the drain. His hands shook once, a tremor that betrayed the calm mask he wore, but he clenched his fists until the feeling passed.
He had done the unthinkable. Not only had he failed to complete his assignment, he had betrayed the family that had molded him. The knowledge pressed against his ribs like a blade. Every hour that passed would be another chance for Marco to learn the truth. Every day he drew breath would be a day closer to discovery.
Adrian sat heavily on the edge of the bed, staring at the pistol resting on the nightstand. For years it had been his certainty, his answer to every question, his key to survival. Tonight it looked different. Not a tool, but a tether—something that bound him to the life he had just abandoned.
Vincent's voice returned once more, steady and merciless. "You start thinking about people as people, Kane, and you won't last a week."
Adrian leaned forward, burying his face in his hands. He had spared Elena because of her father's kindness years ago, but also because of something deeper, something he could not name. It was not mercy alone. It was a refusal to let the last shred of humanity in him die.
But sparing her came at a cost. By dawn, whispers would begin. The family would learn of the staged death, or worse, they would suspect him of betrayal without evidence. And when suspicion arose, Vincent would be the one sent to confirm it.
Adrian knew what that meant.
Vincent had been his mentor, his father in every way that mattered. To face him would not be like facing any other man. It would be to pit everything he had become against the man who had made him.
The thought hollowed his chest. For the first time since he was a boy, Adrian felt the weight of the unknown pressing down on him.
He rose, poured the untouched whiskey from earlier down the sink, and stood in the darkened apartment, listening to the hum of the city outside. The air smelled of iron and smoke.
In another part of town, Elena Moretti was hidden away, alive because of him. That fragile secret was now his only tether to a future that might still be different. But it also made him more vulnerable than ever before.
Adrian Kane, the mafia's perfect killer, had crossed the line he was never meant to cross.
And now, in the silence of his empty room, he understood one thing with brutal clarity.
The hunt had already begun.