Chapter 2 LOS ANGELES.

"Sweet as sugar, cold as ice. Hurt me once, I'll break you twice." - Pinterest.

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Los Angeles.

June 15, 2018.

"Welcome to Los Angeles." I fix my gaze on the flight attendant, whose professional smile is on full display as she repeatedly sounds her revised lines to the passengers exiting the plane.

Few of the passengers smile at her, while some rush off the plane as quickly as they can without even a glance her way.

Getting out of the airport, I am instantly greeted by the warm air of Los Angeles. I pull my pullover over my face, feeling too exposed to my environment. I instantly checked my phone for the time, it was already 5:44 p.m.

I call a taxi and direct the driver to my rented apartment.

I breathe a sigh as my body settles into the passenger seat. It was much difficult to pass through the airport in Italy. According to reports, Antonio, a well-known businessman, was assassinated in his club.

Without a doubt, an investigation into his death is required, given that he was one of Italy's most powerful individuals. The airport was jammed with CIA personnel, as was every street.

It's ironic that the cops are looking for the person responsible for Antonio's death while he was an undercover drug boss when he was alive.

I went through the airport in Italy with the help of Luciano's airport workers, but it was not easy.

The ride to my apartment on the street was short and easy. I glance at the five-story skyscraper in front of me as I pay the taxi driver and step down.

"Fourth floor." I murmur.

Nothing is in order here, and everything struck me as odd. My approach to the front door was particularly slow and cautious.

"Alice Petterson," I say to the receptionist at the building's front desk, handing her my passport.

The elderly receptionist scans my passport and types carefully on the computer, most likely looking for my paid flat.

"Right. Your unit number is 57." She says, handing me the keys with a pleasant smile.

"Thanks." I give her a nod.

Entering the elevator and pressing the fourth floor button. The elevator pings and opens, and I stroll to my apartment door, sighing when I see the beautiful furnishings.

As I walk in, the first thing that strikes me is the living room. It is fairly broad and large. The walls and curtains are black. The sofa is crimson, and there is a little coffee table in the center of the room, with a large flat TV plastered on the wall in front of the sofa.

The living room floor is covered in a fluffy rug, which provides my leg a comfortable feeling.

I go about the flat, taking in all of the thoughtfully placed items.

"It's not bad." I say, satisfied.

I stroll tiredly into my bedroom and place my boxes on the bed. I take out my laptop, ID(s), and wigs from the larger box.

My skin was sticky, so I removed my blonde wig, showing my red hair, and placed it among the other wigs. After turning on the television, I take off my clothes and proceed to the bathroom to shower.

When I'm finished, I exit the bathroom and pat myself dry.

"Police are looking for Maya Olsen in connection with the murder of billionaire Antonio González." She stands 5 feet 4 inches tall and has red hair. She was last spotted wearing a red dress as she exited the defunct club. If you come across her, call the cops right away."

The newscaster broadcasted on the television. They also have a picture of me, which is fantastic.

I turn off the television and get dressed. Grabbing an apple, I crawl into bed, and turn on my laptop. My phone vibrates, causing me to take a casual glance at it, groaning at the name on the screen.

"How are you, Daniel?" I respond, groggily.

"Where the fuck are you?!" He lets out a hiss.

Daniel, a friend since childhood who seems overly protective. We have been friends since I was twelve. We have each other's backs and have unquestionably experienced everything together. Aside from Luciano, he is one of the few people I trust.

"LA." I say carelessly, knowing that it will aggravate him even more than he already is.

"What the hell are you doing there?" "Your picture is everywhere!" His puffed sound enters my ear via the phone.

"I know, but I have unfinished business to be concerned about right now." I say.

"You have WHAT? Maya, are you INSANE?!" He eventually loses his cool and yells, "I fucking told you not to do anything stupid but you're hellbent on working for Luciano."

"This is not about working for Luciano," I spit angrily, "I need those damn files Daniel and I want Salvatore dead. Don't you get it?" I yell also.

"Maya you're going to get yourself hurt or worse, killed. Please listen to me, come back to Italy. I will fix everything." He pleads, his voice now low.

My voice, leaving no room for further argument, I say, "Daniel I'm not leaving till I get what I want, you either help me or you leave me alone."

After a minute of choked silence, he finally sighs, "Fine. I'll be there in two days and don't do anything stupid." He finally agrees.

" See you soon."

"Bye." He says and ends the call.

I get out my laptop and start typing since I can't remember any moment I promised Daniel that I would stay put till he arrives.

Salvatore Vitale.

Salvatore Vitale, a well-known millionaire, was seen in Los Angeles.

Clicking on the headline, the entire article is displayed.

Given that he was spotted having fun at Jive Lounge, it appears that Salvatore is settling into life in Los Angeles. He is pictured with Florence Rave, one of LA's best and hottest stars. They appear to get along well.

He has only just arrived here, yet he is already displaying his womanizing tendencies.

Typical Salvatore.

My upper lips curls, making my teeth bare, I scroll through more headlines like a stalker ex with a look of contempt on my face.

I find another picture of him talking to a man who appeared to be a bodyguard outside a penthouse. Zooming in on the photo, my eyes catch the address inscribed on the penthouse gate.

I quickly get up and check the time on my phone.

7:03 pm.

Saying hello to my favorite ex- turned enemy wouldn't be bad, would it? I smirk, thoughtfully.

With that in mind, I apply makeup and put on my blonde wig. Grabbing my keys and head for the streets.

"LA reserve." I flag down a taxi and quickly get in. The taxi driver nods and presses the accelerator. We got to the address, I paid him and got out of the car.

With calculated gait and discreet thought, I look around like a preying falcon, making out the two bodyguards standing outside and the bodyguards lurking inside.

A dispatcher standing across the street, further away from the eyes of the bodyguards, catches my attention. I Calmly approach him and ask...

"Is this a delivery to Mr. Vitale?"

He gives me a thoughtful look, seemingly pondering why I spoke to him when I had never stepped out of the penthouse gates. After a while he shrugged his shoulders and said, "yeah," heading for the gate of the penthouse.

"I'll take care of this from here." Immediately saying this, my fist slammed into his face, causing him to slump.

Squatting down a bit, I put my hands under his arms, pulling him down an alley, taking his clothes and the delivery parcel as I left. Fully clothed in the delivery dress, heading for the penthouse, I come to a halt in front of the two bodyguards at the penthouse gate, who are so tall that they tower over me at 6 feet and something.

They glance down at me, groggily, waiting for me to declare my intentions, "I'm looking for Mr. Vitale. I came here with the package he ordered," raising the hand holding the package to meet their gaze.

"search her." The slightly taller bodyguard gives an order to the other guard.

The shorter bodyguard nods, steps forward, and begins to search me. As he did this, my eyes never left the bodyguard who gave the order.

After a moment of searching and inappropriate patting, the shorter man nods at his partner. Receiving the signal, he speaks into his mouthpiece and the gates opens.

As I enter through the gate, I cautiously look around the block. The penthouse was swarming with security, their menacing eyes fixed on me as I walk by them. Arriving at the front door, I knock.

A few moments later, the door opens with a clack, revealing a maid.

She was a young girl, perhaps in her early twenties, with her dark hair pulled up in a bun; wearing a sultry maid dress. Her trembling lips, pale skin, and wobbly appearance showed that she was terrified and unsettled.

Who ever gets engaged with Salvatore and comes out unscathed?

I feel sorry for her and my blood boils as I look at her frightened face. There is no doubt she and the other maids are being used for sex trafficking. I know it and I believe it. I grew up in this life, I know a lost soul, trapped and terrified, begging for freedom when I see one.

Luciano took me in and taught me everything there is to know about the mafia world, from drug trading to sex trafficking to murder and assassination.

Everything was familiar to me.

I have witnessed several children and young women being trafficked and auctioned off against their will. I witnessed them being trained for assassination; I, too, was trained.

I won Luciano's favor, and he never let me join the group of those who were being sold or trafficked; instead, he taught me how to be an assassin.

That does not imply that I chose and accepted this path in life, nor does it imply that I find it acceptable to witness the ruination of young females and children.

I never want them to be the same way that I am; empty, alone, afraid, and trapped in a never-ending nightmare.

I gently say, "I have a parcel for Mr. Vitale," smiling and extending a clipboard in her direction. "You just have to sign here."

Staring at everything but my eyes, she said nothing but nodded, took the clipboard and shook her signature.

After she finished, she shakily passed it back to me, "Are you okay?" I whisper as I pulled the clipboard away from her and gradually handed her the package.

"You can give me a sos and I will help you."

Hearing that, her gaze suddenly turned towards me, her eyes glimmering with new-found hope, but as soon as it came, it vanished, and she looked behind me at the guards around, "I-I'm fine," she stammered, "Thanks for the package." and with that, she quickly closed the door.

Poor thing.

I turn to go, my steps halting as Salvatore comes into view. He is on the phone as he gets into a waiting car, making him to not be aware of someone like me standing in front of his penthouse door.

He appeared to be hurrying somewhere, and I would have stalked him if I had something to protect me and fight back with. My hands are balled into fists, my pulse is pounding rapidly, and I have a furious expression on my face as I watch the car leave the compound and speed into the night.