feckyeslife

When he lost sight of her through the windows of the borrowed mansion, he was patient. Ever constant sweeping would always reveal her again, her red hair standing out like a beacon to him.

She had changed partway through, dressed in the same crisp white shirt and black vest of the serving men and women. Soldat's lips curled briefly. It was a clever decision. Poison was much easier to administer when you were trusted to handle the food. No need for split second passes over glasses or waiting for the target to adjourn to the restroom. Natasha would be able to spin the tray in her palm to give their first target one of the dosed crudités.

Natasha vanished again from view. Soldat noted how the fashion label owner was whisked away by his personal guard, never to reappear again among the fawning public. One target down. Next was Novikov's wife, Dalia. She was the real interest from their client, from what Soldat had gleaned from the dossier. Novikov was the bankroll, but Dalia was the ringleader. The one who had bought and sold intel a little too close for comfort.