Is he fucking watching me?
And is he looking at me right now?
17
MI wish I could look at Lana right now, but I have to take out a vile politician. After Hana sent me all the details of this asshole’s whereabouts and daily schedule, I started preparing myself. Assassinating someone isn’t something to take lightly, and you need to come prepared. I have always prided myself on meticulous planning.
Hana found out that Edo is having a small get-together with very shady investors at his residence which nobody knows about, but we do, of course. She also saw that the dirty politician had hired a caterer who did parties like these.
My brilliant cousin hacked into the caterer’s database and made it seem like Edo had canceled the service, but he didn’t know that. He still thinks that an established caterer is coming. The only dish I’m going to serve him is a plate of justice.
I park my van a couple of hundred meters away from this asshole’s residence, and I check myself in the mirror.
“Are you good, cousin?” I hear Hana asking me through my earpiece.
“I am, Hana. Now, is Adam in position?” I made sure that Adam is on the lookout to snipe out any cunt that tries to leave.
“He is. Sara is going to watch through the camera which is clipped to your apron and the one on Adam’s shoulder.” We have devised a plan where I’m the caterer, Sara is my eyes, Hana is my ears, and Adam watches my back.
“Okay, I’m going in.”
“Good luck, M.”
I drive up to the residence, and it’s fucking huge, a secluded villa forty kilometers outside of Sarajevo. My fingers press the call button.
“Who is this?” someone with a deep voice answers.
“Discreet Dining here for Mr. Kopic.”
“Proceed until the main residence. Our security guard will let you into the residence.”
“Thank you.” The gates open, and I drive up to the primary residence. I park my van and wait for the security guard to come out. A big, burly man walks up to me while he is holding an assault rifle.
Amateur.
“Discreet Dining?” No shit, Sherlock.
“Yes. Where do I bring the food?” I ask him.
“Inside, I’ll show you where. And don’t take all fucking day, the minister is hungry.” Like I could give two fucking shits. I nod at the soon-to-be-dead wannabe hit man and go to the back of my van to unload the food.
I really did bring food—good food, might I add.
The snow is falling heavily, so I’m wearing boots, black pants, and a winter coat. Underneath, I have a basic server outfit and an apron.
It takes me about three rounds to unload things, and every time my boots hit the snow, I can feel it.
The anticipation.
“How many fucking boxes do you have?” the wannabe asks me.
“Just one more left.”
“Hurry the fuck up.”
“My apologies.” For the last time, I walk up to my van and get the final box.
“The guard will examine every single box. Make sure he doesn’t look inside the last one.” I hear Hana say through my earpiece. In the last box I’m carrying, I have two throwing knives and my gun with a silencer.
