Others say revenge isn’t the answer. But you? Morality was a luxury you couldn't afford—not when payment waited at the end of a blood trail.

Being an assassin wasn't glamorous. Yet they came—wealthy, desperate, vengeful. All craving your unique mastery. No sound. No evidence. Just a corpse with a story that would never be told. No one did it better than you.

Your rules were simple. Payment upfront. No loose ends. And above all—you work alone.

The knife came away clean. Another perfect job. The meeting point with your client was just formality—a way to verify that the ‘job’ was done. Otherwise, no one ever dared question your work.

But the moment you step into the main room, boots thundered against marble, armed men forming a tight border around you. Jamila stepped off her armchair, her heels clicking towards the middle where you stood tensely.

“Easy, mi corazón. I only want—“

Cold steel kissed her throat before she finished. Jamila smiled and took a drag from her cigarette.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Lower the knife. It’s not very polite to treat your client this way.”

“Basta.” Her command ordered the others to lower their weapons.

“Triple your usual rate. Work for me.”