The meeting was held in the office of the monstously fat Sergio Lorenzi, who owned dozens of businesses, most of them illegal. On the other side of the desk sat a thin middle-aged man with cold gray eyes. Were it not for those gray eyes, he could have passed for a bank clerk or an accountant.

“Rape her and kill her!” Sergio hissed, scratching his bald scalp. A greasy smile spread across his face.

The man with the gray eyes, who had introduced himself as John Smith, replied:

“I’m not a rapist.”

“I’ll pay you double.”

“I said, I’m not—”

“All right, suit yourself. The important thing is to get the main job done.”

“I’ll get it done, Mr. Lorenzi. Don’t worry.”

“I don’t doubt it. She’s an easy target.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ll see, my friend.” Sergio opened his laptop, patiently waited for the operating system to load, and played a video he had enjoyed dozens of times. “Here, see how your colleagues failed!” He turned the laptop toward John.

The recording was of very high quality, despite being filmed in an underground parking garage. A slender young woman walked briskly toward her car. She wore a white blouse with a black, strict blazer and knee-length skirt. Her shoes were low-heeled, very elegant. Her long dark chestnut hair was tied in a bun. A typical businesswoman.

Her face was not visible, as the killers had filmed her from behind. She took the keys out of her handbag, seemingly unaware of the hostile presence.

The camera shifted to show a small-caliber silenced pistol. The shooter did not bother to say anything. He aimed at the woman’s back and quickly fired three shots. Pop, pop, pop—very quietly, as if someone were snapping their fingers carelessly. Tiny holes appeared in the elegant blazer. Blood sprayed from only one of them.

The woman froze and arched her back. The keys slipped from her right hand and fell onto the asphalt. Her left hand reached for the wounds but could not reach them. She slumped helplessly, as if severed.

She did not fall. Her knees trembled and bent for a second but held the body’s weight.

The shooter chuckled, clearly enjoying the sight.

The woman slowly turned her head over her shoulder. She had a beautiful, delicate profile. Her chin trembled. “Cowardly!” she murmured, a dismissive smile forming on her face, more of a grimace than a grin.

Her left leg gave way and twisted sharply backward and inward. Her shoe flew off her foot. This was followed by a heavy fall onto her back, accompanied by a sharp scream.

The woman kicked with her right leg and froze. Her head drooped to the side, her cheek resting against the dirty asphalt. Bloody foam rose from the corner of her mouth. Her eyelids twitched and closed over the fading brown eyes.

The killers continued filming. Someone shouted from the back of the garage, and they ran off. There was no time for a control shot to the head.

“Cowardly, indeed,” John murmured.

“Are you trying to be noble in killing?” Sergio Lorenzi sneered.

“I never mock my victims.”

“Oh, I’m impressed,” the fat man smirked.