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ROMAN

The man on the floor in front of me gurgles weakly, clutching his throat as blood seeps through his fingers. I watch him without emotion, already calculating the cleanup.

I glance at my watch and silently begin counting down the seconds until he takes his last breath. Then I text my boss and let him know it’s done.

A creaking sound has my head snapping up. The back door swings open.

Footsteps approach. “I got everything except the sausage you⁠—”

His voice cuts off. A pair of dark eyes lock with mine.

A man stands in the doorway, a grocery bag in hand. Eggs and a loaf of bread peek through the plastic.

For a second, we’re both frozen. Unmoving. In complete disbelief.

This has never happened to me before.

In eleven years, I've never had an operation go sideways.

Never missed my mark.

Never left a witness.

Never taken a hit.

Tonight was my first mistake.

I did my research. No one but the target was supposed to be here.

I spent three days watching this house.

The target lived alone. No wife. No kids. No overnight guests. No deliveries after six.

Nobody was supposed to walk through that door.

Ten minutes, in and out. Tops.

That was the plan.

The bag slips from the man’s hand and hits the floor with a dull thud.

I don’t move.

He looks from me to the target, a pool of blood surrounding him.

His gaze darts around the kitchen, looking for an escape. Or a weapon.

He snatches a carving knife off the counter.

I move. Fast.

“Wrong place. Wrong time, asshole.”

My knife flashes beneath the dull kitchen light as I close the distance.

Oh, no you don’t mother⁠—