Over My Dead Body

I slowly turned the knob on my scope, focusing the red crosshair into the middle of my sight. I slowly rotated my sniper rifle, scanning the five-star restaurant fifteen hundred meters away. My breathing steadied as I laid my eyes upon my target. Francesco De Luca, and he was aligned perfectly within my sight. He was an unpleasant-looking man, to say the least. Overweight, silver hair, the kind of smile that makes your skin crawl. No surprise he was surrounded by escorts half his age. But what else can you expect from a De Luca?

Now the question of the day: Headshot? Or heart shot?

That was always my biggest dilemma during my missions. I contemplated my options as I tapped my finger against the trigger lightly while pursing my lips. I waited for a few moments before I sighed and settled for the head. I held my breath to focus the shot, and quickly pulled the trigger.

His head practically exploded, sending blood flying all over the women he was with as his lifeless body plopped to the floor. His security detail rushed over to him, frantically trying to grasp what just happened as a chorus of screams filled the air.

"Gotcha." I chuckled as my lips curved into a grin.

I grabbed my sniper rifle, my trusty McMillan Tac-50, and quickly began to pack it up. I dismantled my weapon in record time and dusted myself off before reaching into my pants pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. I hit the bottom of the box three times, before opening it and sliding one out. I lifted it to my mouth as I hummed Fly Me to The Moon by Frank Sinatra. A fucking classic. I slid the box back into my pocket, grabbed my rifle, and made my way downstairs.

The vantage point I picked was an abandoned warehouse about a mile away from the restaurant. Still humming, I quickly descended 5 flights of stairs while I puffed on my cigarette. Sirens screamed in the distance, and I smiled knowing that they were cleaning up the mess I made.

The vibrations of my phone snapped me back to reality. Biting my cigarette, I dug through my bag trying to find that annoying device.

"What?" I mumbled, still holding the cigarette between my teeth.

"Is he taken care of?" The cold voice asked.

"Yup." I stated, popping the p obnoxiously. I knew how much he hated that.

"Good job. We'll see you at the safehouse." My father spoke out quickly.

"Alright, see you soon." I stated before I hung up.

*ACE DE LUCA POV*

I would have killed her right then and there, but as my father always preached, "timing is everything." And with what seemed to be half of New York's police department outside, timing wasn't on my side.

I quickly walked towards the side of the building back to the small door I originally entered from. I slowly opened the door before I walked out and around the side of the building. I pressed my back against the warehouse's wall before I peeked my head out to evaluate the situation. I watched as the cops slammed an all-black battering ram through the north door, nearly shattering it before storming into the warehouse.

While they were distracted, I quickly sprinted from the wall towards a nearby alley. I climbed the fence with ease before jumping down onto the street below, listening to the chorus of rifles fill the air. I glanced back at the warehouse and saw the flashing lights from their automatics illuminating the windows, making me scoff lightly.

"If only she was that easy to kill." I mumbled under my breath as I scowled.

My eyes narrowed as a pair of familiar headlights turned a corner. I walked towards the all-black Cadillac before swinging the door open and sliding into the backseat. I slammed the door in frustration, causing the entire car to shake.

My men looked at me with fear in their eyes as the car began to quickly drive away from the chaotic warehouse. Their eyes met mine before their gaze began drifting down to my neck.

"What?" I asked, my voice coming across colder than intended. They quickly turned their attention towards the road, avoiding my menacing gaze. I brought my finger to my throat and felt my warm blood dripping down my throat and onto my white shirt. I forgot that the little bitch cut me.

I looked at my reflection in the window beside me and raised my chin up to inspect the gash. Not enough to kill me, but deep enough to scar.

Yet another scar caused by that stupid, ignorant brat.

Allegra motherfuckin' Grey.

As an assassin I have one job and one job only: to make sure I kill my target. It doesn't matter how it's done as long as it gets done.

But for eight years, eight motherfucking years, I've been trying to kill the infamous Allegra Grey, and for eight years I've managed to fall short every single time.

I've been able to make a name for myself in the world of organized crime. While many know me as the most lethal and dangerous assassin in the Italian Mafia, they also know me as the man who's continuously failed to kill this little brat.

I clenched my jaw as my hands began to shake. I pursed my lips as I let my frustration out on the window beside me, punching it repeatedly and making the bulletproof glass begin to crack.

With one last jab the window shattered, causing the two men in the front to look at me through the rear-view mirror with wide eyes.

I scowled at them before looking down at my now bleeding hand. Pieces of glass stuck out of my skin, and I began to carefully pull the shards out as I began thinking of all the ways I'd kill that annoying little girl, Allegra Grey.

I loathed her. The hatred I felt for her surpassed anything I had ever felt. The best day of my life would be the day she stopped breathing, and I could guarantee, it would be at my hand.

I didn't want to just shoot her; it would be too quick and too painless. I wanted her to suffer. I wanted her to watch as her life crumbled around her. To make her suffer in inconceivable ways. I wanted Allegra Grey to die a slow, and painful death before I hung her pretty little head on a mantle above my desk.

Because no one messes with the De Lucas and lives to tell about it.

I watched as Ace disappeared into the shadows until he was out of sight. A scoff escaped my lips as I grabbed my rifle bag and started running towards my other escape route. I was always well prepared for my missions, and made sure to map out three or four alternate exits in case of emergency.

I reached the back of the building and crouched by a nearby window. I grabbed the strap of my rifle and secured it to my back before I reached into my pocket and took out a pair of black gloves. Not wanting to leave any fingerprints, I slid the gloves onto my hands. I slowly raised my head up and peered through the glass to see that the north side of the building was completely surrounded by cops.

"Lovely." I said sarcastically before I pushed off the wall and ran towards the south side of the warehouse.

I quickly ran up the stairs as the northernmost door burst open, revealing dozens of New York's finest aiming their automatic weapons directly at me. I ducked as I continued up the stairs, bullets piercing the wall behind me before I reached the next floor.

I ran across the barren room, increasing my pace as I heard the rumble of footsteps following closely behind me. I quickly reached the other end of the room, and found the tall, narrow window nearest to the fire escape. I lifted my right foot and used my momentum to kick the glass, shattering it instantly. I looked over to the left and saw the rusted fire escape. I stepped up onto the edge of the window before jumping towards the platform. I grabbed the rail and pulled myself up onto the platform.

Without missing a beat, I sprinted towards the end of the fire escape and grabbed the rail. I pushed myself up and over the railing, jumping off the edge and down into a nearby alleyway.

I rolled as I landed, absorbing the impact before I gracefully stood up and turned the corner. Faint sounds of automatic rifles began to fade from the distance as I made my way towards my vehicle.

I dug into my pocket, pulling out my keys and pressing the push to start feature. I turned the corner to see my all-black LaFerrari roar to life, making a large smile stretch across my face as I opened the driver's side door and slid into the leather seat. I carelessly tossed my sniper rifle into the passenger seat before taking a much-needed deep breath.

As my adrenaline died down, I felt a sharp, shooting pain in my arm. I cautiously took off my leather jacket that was now drenched in blood, and evaluated the wound in the rear-view mirror. It was deep and jagged, definitely in need of a few stitches, but that inexperienced prick missed my artery so it would be fine.

It was a forty-five minute drive to the safe house, and bleeding out from a knife scratch was not on my list of "Ways I Would Like to Die." I took off my white tank top, exposing my black lace bra, and wrapped it around my arm to slow down the bleeding. I bit a piece of the fabric between my teeth, pulling it with my head to tighten it as much as possible.

I peeled out of the street and made my way towards the safe house, making sure to take the long route in case I was being followed. As the street lights passed by me in a blur, I felt blood drip down my bicep and my thoughts drifted to the "assassin" that has added yet another scar to my body.

Ace motherfuckin' De Luca.

Out of the thousands of assassinations I had executed, he was and continued to be my only failed mission. We'd been out to kill each other for eight years. And for eight fucking years I'd been hunting him down only for that fucker to reappear again and again.

Ace was the heir to the Italian Mafia, as well as their "best assassin". The Italian Mafia wasn't our only rival, but they were definitely the biggest pain in the ass we had.

The Italian Mafia and the American Mafia had been at war for decades. Our hatred for each other started when my great great grandfather was killed by Ace's great great grandfather. (A lot of greats, I know.) Since then, it'd been nothing but bloodshed between our two families. Wives, uncles, children, husbands... countless casualties on both sides. We were killing each other mercilessly in pursuit of revenge that had long outlived our ancestors.

My knuckles gripped the steering wheel, turning white as I imagined all the ways I would kill that annoying prick. I wanted to make sure his death was so agonizingly painful that when I was done with him, he'd be begging for the blessing of death.

Lost in my thoughts of torture, I didn't notice how much time had passed. I recognized the area immediately and felt relief pour through me as I neared the safehouse. I pulled into the isolated street and made my way through the lush forest surrounding me. Our safe house was away from the hustle and bustle of New York; we liked to keep our isolation, for obvious and illegal reasons.

I pulled up to the first checkpoint, scanned my fingerprint, and watched as the black iron gate slowly slid open.

"Welcome home, ma'am." The guard spoke, attempting to keep his eyes off my exposed chest. I acknowledged him with a swift nod as my Ferrari roared past the gate.

I made my way to the second checkpoint and typed in the ridiculously long code my father insisted on having. He changed it every week. I praised my photographic memory as the second gates swung open.

I pulled in front of our mansion, which had more security than the damn White House, and parked in front of the garage. I walked out, and threw my leather jacket over my shoulders before locking my car. I made my way to the fifteen foot tall double doors and swung both of them open roughly.

Like always, the House was alive with movement and noise from the gang members that lived here. But as the doors swung open, the usual bustle that accompanied the mansion vanished, leaving only the sounds of my boots hitting the marble floor to pierce the tension in the air. I scowled at the members who were blatantly staring at me, watching as I walked through the manor in nothing but a bra.

"Horny motherfuckers," I thought to myself.

I made my way to the kitchen, my favorite place. I opened the fridge and grabbed a water bottle and an apple from the counter. As I was about to take a bite from my apple, I paused mid bite, feeling a presence to my right. I glanced over to the table where at least 20 men were staring at my breasts, mouths open.

"If you want to keep your dicks attached to your body, I'd recommend turning the fuck around." I hissed before taking a loud bite from my apple.

Their bodies immediately turned, and they turned their attention to different areas of the room. I felt satisfaction run through my body. I loved the effect I had on people.

I made my way to my father's office, eating my apple on the way there. There were multiple wings within our mansion, all obnoxiously large. Walking from the kitchen, which was in the east wing, to my father's office in the west wing felt like a mile walk.

As I finally made it to his office, I barged in without knocking, causing his two double doors to explode.

"I see you still haven't learned how to knock." My father stated behind his desk, puffing on an expensive cigar in his equally expensive suit. I glanced over to see my mother sitting on his desk, leaning against his chest with her cheeks flushed.

What the fuck did I just walk into.

"Sorry to interrupt." I said as I eyed them awkwardly while I walked to a cabinet. I swung it open, and grabbed an emergency medical kit and walked over to a couch in the corner of the office.

Noticing what I was wearing, my father quickly covered his eyes, mumbling a curse under his breath as he shook his head.

Due to my father's position he needed to be an intimidating man, and being a 6'3 trigger happy Mafia boss, it wasn't hard for him. His tan skin and dark features made him look exotic. His black hair was always styled in a long crew cut. My father always tried to be clean shaved, yet he always had a five-o-clock shadow adorning his sharp jawline at the end of the day. Even at the age of forty-seven he worked out every single day, and would happily take down anyone who stood in his way.

"Allegra Skylar Grey. Please tell me you did not walk through the house wearing THAT?!" My mother screeched in anger. I glanced down at my revealed chest before looking back up at her unphased.

I got most of my features from my mother. We shared the same icy blue eyes, high and pronounced cheekbones, full heart shaped lips, and a slightly upturned nose. My mother was the type of woman that was naturally beautiful, and only wore makeup for special occasions. My mother had never taken a liking to fighting and was delicate. But what she lacked in muscle, she made up for in brains. She was the glue and the heart that kept this organization running, and my father often relied on her intuition and knowledge to help run the legal side of his businesses.

"Oh this?" I laughed. "It's better than bleeding out." I said sarcastically as I placed my jacket next to me and nodded towards my arm. The blood had now completely soaked through the white fabric of my shirt, causing blood to drip down my arm and onto the hardwood floor. She bit her tongue, but concern flashed over her eyes as she looked at my wound.

My mother should have been used to this lifestyle by now, and the dangers that came with it. She never approved of the lifestyle I'd chosen, mainly because unlike other Mafia heirs I was actually given a choice.

For as long as I could remember, my father had been grooming me to take over the Mafia. He trained me personally in sharp shooting, Taekwondo, Jiu jitsu, and any other martial art form that would help me survive the dangers that came with this lifestyle. My rigorous training ended when I turned eighteen, and my parents gave me the option of having a semi-normal life. But instead, I chose to continue what my ancestors started. To me, it was a privilege and an honor to carry on the Grey name, as well as someday lead this glorious Mafia.

But my mother was born into a normal life. She was studying to be a neuroscientist when she witnessed a murder by none other than Xavier Grey, my father. He swore her into Omertà, and it's been happily ever after since. Three years later she became Beverly Grey and a year after that their favorite child was born: me.

My parents were the typical power couple. But the thing I admired most about them wasn't their businesses, the Mafia, or their financial success. It was their relationship. Even after being together for decades, they still acted like newlyweds most of the time.

It was nauseating, but cute.

"It's just a scratch, mom." I reassured her with a smile as I took out all the necessary equipment to stitch myself up. I didn't like others touching me.

I grabbed a cloth and started to clean the wound. It burned like hell, but I showed no emotion and hid my discomfort from my worrying mother.

Silence filled the air until my father awkwardly cleared his throat.

"Allegra, we've been meaning to talk to you." He stated as he lifted his chin.

"I'm all ears." I said, looking down at my arm as I pressed the needle into the wound, creating the first stitch.

"The yearly ball is coming up soon." My father stated cautiously. I could tell he was treading carefully, picking his words strategically in an attempt to not piss me off.

Yet he was failing miserably.

The fucking yearly ball, I thought to myself. I enjoyed the mafia life, but hated the formalities. Every year, the leader of the Mexican Mafia threw a stupid ball as a way to bring together every crime family in the world.

Chapter 3

Ridiculous, I know.

And every year, it was a "peaceful" environment to talk business and create alliances. It was like a Met Gala for fucking criminals.

"Mhmmm." I hummed as I created the second stitch, still not looking up.

"It's next week... and-" He said awkwardly.

"I get it. Don't kill anyone there." I said quickly, annoyance dripping off my words as I created the fourth stitch.

"I'm serious, Allegra. We cannot cause any trouble with the Mexican Mafia. If you overstep your boundaries again, I cannot save you. Our partnership with him almost ended because of what happened last year." My father said sternly as he stared at me.

"He fucking started it." I mumbled as I looked up at him for a moment.

My quick fingers finished up the sixth stitch on my arm, and I cut the excess thread away. I sighed as I stood up and stared at my parents with narrowed eyes.

I knew exactly what he was referring to. Last year, Ace and I... had a little altercation. And by "little altercation," I mean we were trying to kill each other... again. Eventually our little quarrel destroyed all of the decorations, tables, chairs, and anything else you could think of. It was absolute chaos.

"I promise I'll keep the peace. Besides, the ball is a time for prosperity and joy among murders and gangsters, right?" I said sarcastically as I rolled my eyes.

"Your sister will also be attending." My mother spoke out with a tight-lipped smile.

"Sister?" I hissed out angrily. "I have no sister." I said coldly as I crossed my arms.

"Allegra, it's been over a year. Everyone makes mistakes and I'm sure Victoria-" She said quickly.

"Doing something intentionally is no mistake, mother." I growled, cutting her off.

I had one sister, who was a complete disgrace to this family. Victoria never took her training seriously, had no values, and didn't know a thing about fucking loyalty. She never wanted a life in the Mafia yet used our money and power to get whatever she wanted. She moved to LA to pursue a career as an underwear model, leaving me to inherit the family business.

"She's coming with her... boyfriend. They will be here tomorrow, so please control yourself." My mother said cautiously as her eyes widened slightly.

"I thought he knew better than to show his face around here." I snorted. "You better tell that sad excuse of a sister that if she even looks at me the wrong way, I will not hesitate to snap her neck." I said seriously as I stared at my mother.

I heard my father let out a string of profanities under his breath as I walked away laughing, slamming the door behind me, causing the walls to shake.

After a fifteen minute walk to my room, I swung the doors open to my sanctuary. My room was mainly black, with red and white accents throughout. I stepped into the bathroom, and started the shower.

It was a large walk-in shower with waterfall shower heads covering the entire ceiling within it. There was a bench to sit down in the corner away from the water that was lightly decorated with a vase, my shampoo, conditioner, soaps, and some flowers in a glass container. Probably the only girly thing in my entire room.

I opened a drawer in my vanity and pulled out a waterproof wrap. I gently wrapped my arm, careful not to pull on my new stitches, and stepped in the shower. I tilted my head back and sighed.

I lathered my hair with shampoo, enjoying the lavender scent. My shoulders relaxed as I closed my eyes, letting the hot water wash away the dried blood that adorned my skin.

My eyes shot open when I heard faint footstep come from my room. Remaining calm, I continued to lather my hair, listening as the steps got closer.

I looked in the reflection of the glass wall to see my bathroom door slowly start to move, with the tip of a silencer sticking out of the opening.

I waited for the door to open further to reveal a very large arm dressed in all black. From the looks of it, a very large and muscular man was attempting to sneakily step into the bathroom.

Not today, motherfucker.

I quickly reached into the vase, pushed aside the flowers and grabbed my emergency glock. I always made sure to keep a weapon near me at all times and had different guns and knives planted throughout the house.

I quickly hit the shower door with my elbow, opening it before I shot him in the forearm. A deep scream filled the bathroom as he immediately dropped his weapon.

With shampoo still in my hair, I ran out of the shower and kicked the door open to my room. The assailant was attempting to run towards my balcony when I shot both of his kneecaps.

I walked over to him as he fell to the floor, gripping one of his knees while he let out an agonizing scream. At this point, our useless security finally became aware that there was an intruder. I sighed as I heard their thundering footsteps approach my door before it swung open, revealing two guards with their guns drawn.

"A little late, dontcha think?" I said sarcastically as I looked at the man on my bedroom floor before turning around to face them.

Their mouths flew open, eyeing my wet naked body. I rolled my eyes before I shot one in the right shoulder and the other in the left.

"Next time, do your job properly." I stated seriously as I rolled my eyes and walked into the bathroom. I grabbed a silky black robe and quickly tied it around my body before waking back into my bedroom.

"Yes... S-sorry, ma'am." They both gasped while gripping their now bleeding shoulders.

I walked over to the still screaming intruder and stomped on his head, knocking him out instantly. I ripped off his ski mask and clenched my jaw as I laid my eyes upon the hideous man who tried to take my life. He was older, too pale to be an Italian or Mexican. Probably an assassin of some sort, and obviously not a good one to have his face covered in scars.

Colorful tattoos covered part of his face and neck. I ripped off his shirt, examining the ink that adorned his skin. He was muscular, and by muscular, I mean enormous. He was at least 6'4 or 6'5, and looked as if he was on a steady diet of steroids since he was a teenager. My eyes scanned his tattoos until my eyes wandered to a familiar marking on his chest.

My jaw clenched as I examined the familiar brand in the center of his chest.

"Inform my parents about this situation. Take this fucker to the basement and make sure he doesn't die." I said to the bleeding guards. They nodded and immediately started to drag the unconscious body out of my room with their good arms.

"Oh, and get someone to clean up this shit too," I yelled out, waving my hand at the fresh blood that now decorated my floor.