Psycho POV

For this mission, I was in costume to blend in. It's a large gala for rich people. Rich people who became rich from selling drugs, sex trafficking, and other things like that. But who am I to judge, I'm here tonight to put a bullet through four men's' heads. Can't say I'm much better than them.

All the men are dressed in expensive suits and the women are practically dripping with diamonds. I had to steal a large, expensive ruby necklace to fit in. The necklace matched my off-the-shoulder gown with a long slit in the leg—which provided easy access to my pistol.

Typically, I'm only wearing black—black jeans, black long-sleeve, black boots. This is the first time in a while I've been asked to go undercover. And I must say, these six inch heels definitely take some time to get used to.

I scanned the crowded, sparkling hotel ballroom for my targets. Rikkard Ivanov—a tall, lanky man who's very high up in the Petrov Mafia. Abram Volkov—Petrov's favorite assassin. He will be harder to kill but more fun than killing Ivanov or Boris Ikanov—Petrov's main weapon supplier.

Ivanov was surrounded by three women who had way too much plastic surgery but he didn't seem to mind as he still felt them all up. I swallowed the bile in my throat at watching him disgustingly stare at women who passed by. Killing him will be so satisfying. I can't wait.

I slipped by him and snuck something into his drink. He should definitely be heading into the bathroom soon, where I'll be waiting on him.

Two minutes later, just on schedule, he sauntered into the restroom. He quickly raced to get inside a stall. Before he could even close the door behind him, the click of my gun caught his attention.

His eyes met mine. I saw him. I saw the lipstick stains on his collar, the wedding ring on his hand, the scared look on his face. The look that begged me—no, pleaded for me—not to kill him. But I did anyways.

Red was so not his color.

Next was Boris. I thought it'd be more entertaining if I saved the assassin for last, don't you?

Boris was rounder than the other two and was practically glued to the buffet table. His small eyes, scrutinizing the place, watched everything carefully. I had to be swifter than I was with that dumbass Ivanov.

I put on my best 'clumsy girl smile' and walked over to him, pretending I didn't know how to properly walk in my heels but stumbling and wobbling.

Once I neared him, I let out a fake chuckle. "Ha, guess I can't really walk in these things." I gestured down to my heels. Boris politely smiled back but turned his head after.

I continued. "And this dress is so tight, like how is a girl supposed to breathe? Am I right?" I said. At this he chuckled behind his drink. I took the chance to take a step closer.

"You wouldn't by any chance be able to help me out of it, would you?" I asked with a raised brow. He spit his drink out a bit and had a coughing fit. As his attention was turned, I poured a little something something into his glass of wine and a little bit more on his dessert plate—for some flair.

I flirted with him until he finished his drink and food then proceeded to wait until his legs became wobbly. But, it never happened. I waited for twenty minutes for him to fall over but there he stood, huge and red-faced.

Jesus-fucking-Christ, how much poison does this guy need to go down?!

I must've misjudged his weight. Damn. That's all the liquid and powder poison I brought with me. Welp, girls gotta do what a girls gotta do.

Although he didn't seem to be dead enough right now, he sure as hell seemed drunk enough. So, I pretended he said a funny joke and lazily threw my arms around his neck. He seemed pleased, until the needle pierced his skin. I began nudging him to the door now, for simply pulling him by his feet out of this party seemed like a little bit of a bad idea.

"Come on, Big Guy." I chuckled into his ear as he stammered for something to say.

We made it two steps out the back door and into the alley before he fell forward, right on his face. I tried to hold back a laugh, I really did—I swear.

Grabbing his feet, I began pulling him towards the dumpster. He moved slower than the other two did so I upped my strength and he was in the dumpster in no time.

Here comes the fun part—killing the assassin.

I began walking back into the building until I heard voices approaching. I turned around to hurry inside but the door was now locked. I placed my hand over the gun on my thigh and watched a group of men corner me into the alley.

Russians? Police? I tried to think of all possible groups they could belong to.

One of the men stuck out. He was dressed in an expensive looking suit, the brand I don't know—to be honest, I don't know any expensive brands.

The dark wouldn't allow me to see his face but his height and built would be intimidating for any other woman cornered in a dark alley. Me? I'm having fun.

"Little Lady, what are you doing here all alone?" He asked. As he stepped closer, I saw the bulge of a gun in his jacket.

I used my best innocent voice, "I got locked out of the party," I pointed back to the locked door behind me.

One of the men behind the one in the suit came up to me, "Here, Sweetie I'll help you." His slimy hand reached out to yank me towards him. I went to kick his hand but he caught my leg. His grip wouldn't budge so I jumped up and kicked him with the other leg, successfully hitting him in the head and knocking him out cold on the ground.

I giggled at his crumpled form but composed myself when I felt the stares of the other men, especially the piercing blue one of the one in the suit.

"Who are you?"

He took a careful step closer, making sure to be cautious around me—seeing as one of his men was on still the ground crying from getting too close to me.

On his third slowly taken step, the moonlight crept onto his face. Once it was finally illuminated, my heart fluttered. I didn't know if I still even had one but the increased thumping in my chest when I saw him corrected me.

His tanned skin, perfectly chiseled face, and intimidating aura almost made me forget his question—almost.

"I believe Psycho is what most call me." I raised my chin proudly. His dark brows pulled together in confusion.

"You are Psycho—the infamous assassin?" He chuckled darkly.

"Yes, but you can call me Daddy." I winked. I couldn't help myself.

He didn't seem too amused.

He quickly stomped over to me and went to grab my neck. Just when his fingers were a centimeter away from grabbing me, I interrupted, "I wouldn't do that." My smile from before fading into an emotionless stare.

The intimidation and darkness in my voice rivaled his and out of shock, he staggered back.

Watching him, he seemed like he wanted to come back up and rough me up but thought it was better not to. Smart man.

He decided to state his argument from a few steps away. His glare made up for his distance and if I was anybody else, I would be shaking in my boots.

"If you," he pointed an accusing finger, "are lying to me, I will make sure you regret it, little girl. Don't forget that." He turned around to his men and they began to walk off.

I nodded. "Two are in there. I was about to finish up but I was interrupted." I gestured yo the dumpster.

"What?" He snapped as he turned back around.

"Are you really so shocked that a female is a better assassin than both you and your men combined that you forgot about the whole reason I'm here?" I crossed my arms in satisfaction as I noticed the recognition of what I meant register.

His long legs brought him over to the dumpster and he opened the top, examined the bodies, and gave me a blank stare.

"Listen here, Buddy, we aren't having a staring contest or some shit like that." His men's mouths dropped open at my choice of words directed at their leader. "I did what I could of my job, now do yours and pay me for the two." My voice grew more serious.

I should head out, quick.

I strengthened my glare.

This time, I could've swore I saw the corner of his lips curve up, but it quickly slipped off of his face.

He stalked over to me and held out a wad of cash. I examined it and ran my fingers along the edges of the crisp 100-dollar bills before fully grabbing it from his hands.

I raised my eyes—then had to raise them a bit more—to look at him. The dark, silky hair, the slight stubble along his chin and jaw, the smooth curve of his full lips. I wonder how they would feel on my-I need to get away from here.

This was unprofessional and foreign to me. Never have I felt a pull to somebody before—especially not like this.

I looked at the only exit, which was blocked by his men, whom I really did not want to deal with right now.

"Gotta blast." I said before hopping on the dumpster, reaching for the window above it, using that to reach the ledge, then climbing up from the ledge to the roof before making my way out of their sight—all in heels, might I add.

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