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The Red Mark

Elisa

The air in “Gulio's restaurant" was thick with the scent of garlic, cheap wine, and something else… something metallic and sharp that prickles at the back of my throat.

It wasn't the blood yet, not literally, but the anticipation of it. Tonight, the menu featured My target, served cold.

The restaurant was drowning in soft music and whispered conversations, but I heard nothing except the pulse of my own heartbeat.

The scent of expensive wine, the overpriced sizzling steaks, and polished wood fills the air. A place like this reeks of power, a place where men like Antonio Romano make deals over bloodstained money and fine liquor.

I adjusted the tray in my hands, careful not to spill a single drop of Chianti as I weave through the maze of linen-clothed tables, I was just another server blending into the scenery.

"Little girl" That’s what they’d called me on my way into this restaurant. They'd underestimated the hunger that gnaws at me, the years of training that had honed my senses to a razor’s edge.

My disguise, was a slightly stained apron over a simple black pants and a white shirt, that felt like a second skin I couldn't wait to shed. The fake smile plastered on my face as I pour a glass of red wine for a group of boisterous men grate on my nerves.

They were likely connected, cogs in Romano’s machine. Each forced “grazie” I had to say felt like a lie I was desperate to stop uttering, No one notice me.

Antonio Romano sat at the farthest table, relaxed in his chair, a glass of whiskey in his hand. He was exactly as the rumors had described him, sharp suit, dark hair, and a presence that fills the room without effort, a king in his domain.

Around him, his men laugh and drink, their weapons hidden but undoubtedly close. I had been watching him now for two hours, blending into the shadows of his opulent corner booth.

Even from a distance, the aura of power radiating off him was palpable, his gaze occasionally flickered around but never lingers, as if he already knew everything he needs to know.

I saw the subtle shift in his posture when a new face entered the restaurant, the almost invisible tightening of his jaw when a waiter spilled a drop of wine too close to his expensive suit. He was a predator, always assessing, always in control.

I shift my stance, my right hand brushing against the gun strapped beneath my apron. The pistol feels familiar, a comforting weight against my skin, tonight, I knew it would speak for me.

The perfect moment arrived when Romano’s guards’ attention was momentarily diverted by a commotion near the entrance, a staged distraction I had planned, courtesy of my team. It was now or never.

This was my moment, one quick move, one clean strike, and it’s over. I exhale slowly and step forward, but I never made it.

The moment my hand tightens around my gun, Antonio lifts his gaze and met mine.

My fingers froze.

There was no way he should have suspect me, I had made sure of it, but his dark eyes lock onto mine, unreadable yet knowing, as if he was already inside my head, the air between us shifts.

And then, chaos.

A deafening gunshot shatters the stillness, not from my weapon, but from somewhere behind me. A figure lunges towards Romano, a glint of steel flashing in their hand, another assassin.

What the actually fu...! Confusion warred within me as my heartbeat increased, this wasn’t part of the plan.

Romano reaction was instant, a speed that belies his relaxed posture moments before. He shoves his table forward, the heavy wood crashing against the approaching attacker, buying himself precious seconds. His guards, jolted into action, drew their own weapons.

The dimly lit restaurant transformed into a battlefield in a heartbeat. Gunshots echoes, shattering glass rain down, and screams pierce the air. My carefully laid plan had imploded, swallowed by a maelstrom of violence.

My cover was blown, there was no going back to playing the nervous server. My hand tighten on my own weapon, I needed to get out.

Bodies were hitting the floor, the air thick with the acrid smell of gunpowder and the coppery tang of blood was now real, not just imagined.

I move swiftly, weaving through the panicked crowd, my senses were on high alert, I could feel eyes on me, I was sure was the weight of Romano’s gaze somewhere in the chaos.

Someone shouted, a table flips over, glass explodes into shards. I reacted on instinct, ducking as bullets flew through the air, screams erupt as guests scramble for cover, I had to get out really fast, because it was getting worse.

I spin toward the back exit, moving fast, a shot grazes my shoulder, heat searing through my flesh, but I don’t stop. Pain was secondary, my escape was everything.

Just as I reach the door, I dare one final glance back. Through the smoke and madness, Antonio stood amidst the wreckage, untouched, His gun was drawn, but he didn’t fire.

Instead, he watches me, and then, he smiles.

My blood ran cold, he knew... he knew I wasn't just a server, and that smile… it seems this wasn't the end.

It was just the beginning.

I turn and fled, the image of that chilling smile burn into my mind, the echoes of gunfire and screams chasing me into the night.

My mission had failed spectacularly, my cover was shattered, and I had somehow, inexplicably, caught the attention of the very man I was sent to kill.

And the way he looked at me… it wasn't like I was a threat he was going to neutralized, It was like I am a game he was now eager to play.