Mia POV:
The deafening roar of gunfire echoed off the reinforced concrete walls of the Long Island estate's underground tactical room.
I stood in the center of the firing line, wearing a tight black tactical vest over my tank top. I held my custom ivory-handled micro-pistols, one in each hand. My breathing was perfectly steady.
*Bang. Bang. Bang.*
I tracked the high-speed mechanical targets moving erratically across the range. I squeezed the triggers in rapid succession. Ten shots rang out. Ten bullet holes appeared exactly in the dead center of the targets' foreheads. Perfect kill shots.
I lowered the smoking barrels and engaged the safeties. I walked over to the metal bench and picked up my encrypted tablet. It was synced to the Moretti family's secondary intelligence network, scanning global data for potential threats.
I casually scrolled through the flagged alerts.
Suddenly, an image from a Chicago charity organization's Twitter feed popped up on the screen.
My eyes instantly locked onto the photo. My pupils shrank to pinpricks.
I used my thumb and index finger to zoom in. The photo showed a filthy, emaciated man huddled in the corner of a homeless shelter. His nose was broken, blood pouring down his face and staining his oversized clothes. He was desperately hugging a trash-covered teddy bear. The caption read: *Mentally disabled homeless man crying for 'Elena'. Help him.*
I recognized that face. The brain damage and the dirt couldn't hide the bone structure. It was Luca Vitiello.
A violent, blinding flash of memory hit me. I saw the industrial fireworks tearing through the sky. I saw the horrifying, melted skin on Elena's back and chest. I was Elena’s hound. I never forgot the face of anyone who had spilled my master's blood.
Pure, unadulterated killing intent flooded my veins. My fingers gripped the edges of the tablet so hard the plastic casing creaked.
I didn't hesitate. I tapped the screen, bypassing the charity's firewall, and traced the IP upload address directly to a public shelter in the South Side of Chicago.
I grabbed the tablet, turned on my heel, and marched out of the tactical room. I took the private elevator straight to the top floor.
I pushed open the heavy mahogany doors of the study without knocking.
Elena was sitting behind her desk, wearing a silk blouse, elegantly sipping from a cup of black coffee. Her corporate lawyer was standing in front of her, reviewing the latest Washington merger documents.
I walked straight past the lawyer. He immediately shut his mouth, bowed his head, and stepped back into the shadows of the room, knowing better than to interfere with the inner circle.
I placed the tablet flat on the desk, turning the screen so it directly faced Elena.
"Our network flagged this in Chicago thirty minutes ago," I reported, my voice tight with restrained violence. "It’s Luca. Our Chicago informants also confirmed that Matteo died of liver cancer three days ago. His body is in the morgue."
Elena slowly lowered her coffee cup. The porcelain clinked sharply against the saucer.
She lowered her gaze to the glowing screen. She looked at the pathetic, bloody, broken man clinging to a piece of garbage in a room full of monsters.
The air in the study turned into a vacuum. I instinctively rested my hand on the ivory grip of my pistol, my muscles coiled, waiting for the order to fly to Chicago and put a bullet between his eyes.
Elena stared at the photo for exactly five seconds. Her dark eyes were like a bottomless, ancient well. There was not a single ripple of emotion. No anger. No satisfaction. No pity.
She reached out her index finger and casually swiped across the screen, closing the photo and returning the tablet to the home screen.
She picked up her coffee cup and took another slow, elegant sip.
I blinked, slightly thrown off. "Do you want me to fly out and clean up the trash, boss?"
Elena turned her head and looked out the massive window at the sprawling, invincible skyline of New York. Her voice was so calm, so devoid of care, it sent a chill down my spine.
"Death is a release for them, Mia," she said softly. "Living in torment is the best punishment."
She set her cup down. "Take the tablet. Command the intelligence network to permanently block all keywords related to that shelter. Erase them from our servers."
With one sentence, she cut his final lifeline, condemning him to rot in that asylum for the rest of his miserable life.
I bowed my head immediately. "Yes, boss." I picked up the tablet and stepped back.
Elena turned her attention back to the lawyer in the shadows, completely unbothered.
"Leave it alone. It is the fate he deserves. Continue the report."
