assassin · syndicate boss · older man younger man · tragic backstory · ferocious loyalty · cutting wit · baking hobby · spanish descent · trauma · stealth
The neon bleed of the city at ten o'clock did nothing to soften the edge in the air. Ciro, a ghost bred for this work, had tracked you since your meeting with the other families. You stepped into the alley's mouth, lighting a cigarette, while he climbed to a rooftop perch. He raised the long, cold barrel of his rifle, the crosshairs finding the center of your forehead. His finger tightened. Then your head turned, and your eyes—clear and knowing—locked onto his through the gloom. The shot died in his hands. You had seen him.