Elias|| The hitman

The silencer clicked into place with a satisfying finality.

Elias Kade didn’t ask questions. He had spent too many years in this business to care about the names on his contracts. People who got in the way, people who pissed off the wrong men—it was all the same. He executed, got paid, and disappeared. Efficiency was what kept him alive.

He moved through the darkened apartment with practiced silence, the lock on the front door having given way in seconds. The target was alone. That was good. No security, no witnesses. A clean job.

The intel had been simple: a journalist who had been running her mouth a little too much, stirring the wrong kind of trouble. Elias had expected an old man with a cigar, or some washed-up activist trying to relive past glory. Instead, when he pushed open the bedroom door, gun raised, he froze.

A girl.

You were curled up on your bed, laptop still open beside you, a half-empty mug of coffee long gone cold on the nightstand. The soft glow of the screen cast shadows over your face, making you look even younger than you were. Twenty-three, according to the file. A political journalist.

Elias inhaled slowly, grip tightening on the gun.

He had killed women before. Even younger than you. But something about this job felt wrong. The type of wrong that settled in his gut like a warning.

Because if they had sent him—not a warning, not a scare tactic, but a kill order—then someone very powerful wanted you gone. Now.

And that meant you were dangerous. Elias exhaled through his nose, adjusting his grip on the gun. Just a pull of the trigger, and it would be done. Quick. Quiet.

But his instincts were screaming at him.

He wasn’t the kind of man who hesitated—hesitation got people like him killed—but something about you didn’t fit. You weren’t some corrupt politician or a criminal who had stepped on the wrong toes. You were just a journalist. A young woman writing articles, speaking the truth, pissing off the right people.

And now they wanted you dead for it.

You stirred in your sleep, shifting slightly, and for a moment, Elias thought you were waking up. His finger twitched on the trigger.

Then his gaze fell on the laptop screen.

The article was still open, the headline clear:

“Exposing the Rot: How Senator Alessi Built His Empire on Lies, Blood, and Corruption.”

Alessi.

Elias had worked for him before.

A slow realization settled over him like ice: whatever you had written, it was big. Too big. If Alessi had gone straight to ordering your death instead of ruining your career first, then you had something damning on him.

And Elias had just become the cleanup crew.

He clenched his jaw, his own code warring with his orders. Killing was his job. But this? This was something else.

Another glance at you. Your breathing was steady, your face peaceful. Completely unaware that death was standing in your bedroom, deciding your fate.

Elias cursed under his breath and lowered the gun.

If Alessi wanted you dead this badly, maybe Elias needed to know why.

And maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t going to kill you. Elias moved back, pressing himself into the shadows of the dimly lit room, his heartbeat steady despite the shift in his decision. Killing you would have been easy. It should have been easy.

Instead, he was now considering the dangerous alternative: letting you live.

His instincts rarely failed him, and right now, they were telling him one thing—if he walked away without figuring out what you knew, he’d regret it.

He needed information. Fast.

Stepping closer, he reached for your laptop. The moment his fingers brushed the trackpad, the screen flickered, illuminating a half-written paragraph. Your research was meticulous, sources linked, documents embedded—far too much for just another hit piece.

His eyes narrowed as he scanned the text. You had uncovered more than just dirt on Alessi. There were mentions of offshore accounts, shell companies, and, most importantly—names. Names of people Elias recognized. Some still alive. Some not.

Shit.

No wonder Alessi wanted you dead.

His jaw tensed. He could just take the laptop, wipe any trace of your work, and disappear. But Alessi would just send someone else. Someone less likely to hesitate.

His gaze flicked to you again. You were starting to stir, shifting beneath the covers as if sensing his presence.

Elias moved on instinct. He reached out, clamping a hand over your mouth just as your eyes fluttered open. A sharp intake of breath—panic. Your body tensed beneath his grip, muscles going rigid as you realized you weren’t alone.

“Don’t scream,” he murmured, voice low, commanding.

Your eyes, wide with terror, locked onto his. You nodded once, breath shaky.

Slowly, he removed his hand, but his other remained close to his holster. If you made a wrong move, this moment of mercy could be a mistake.

“Who sent you?” you whispered, voice hoarse.

Elias hesitated, then answered honestly. “Alessi.”

You swallowed hard, and in that instant, he saw it—fear, yes, but also something sharper. Determination.

“I knew it,” you breathed. “I knew he’d—” You cut yourself off, eyes darting to your laptop, then back to him. “Are you going to kill me?”

He should. It would be easier. Cleaner.

But instead, Elias did something that surprised even himself.

“No,” he said. “I’m going to get you out of here.” Your breath hitched. Confusion flickered across your face, quickly replaced by suspicion.

“Why?”

Elias didn’t answer. He didn’t have a good reason—not one you’d believe, anyway. Saying “I have a bad feeling about this job” wasn’t exactly reassuring.

Instead, he grabbed your laptop and closed it with a snap. “Pack a bag. Essentials only. You have two minutes.”

You didn’t move.

“That wasn’t a request.” His voice was calm, but the steel beneath it was unmistakable.

You hesitated for a fraction of a second longer—maybe debating whether you could make a run for it—but then you must have realized the truth. If he wanted you dead, you already would be.

Swallowing, you threw off the covers and scrambled out of bed. Elias noted the way your hands shook as you yanked open drawers, stuffing clothes into a backpack with frantic energy.

Smart girl. You weren’t wasting time asking pointless questions.

Elias scanned the room, forcing himself to stay focused. He had less than ten minutes before Alessi’s people started getting suspicious. If he wasn’t out of here by then, someone would come looking.

And he really didn’t feel like explaining why his target was still breathing.

You zipped up your bag and turned to face him, still wary but resolved. “Where are we going?”

He should have had an answer to that. But this entire night had gone sideways, and for the first time in years, Elias was improvising.

“Somewhere safe,” he said.

“Safe?” You let out a hollow laugh. “I just had a hitman break into my apartment. I don’t think ‘safe’ exists anymore.”

He smirked. “Then you’d better stick with me.”

You didn’t look reassured, but you didn’t argue, either.

Elias reached for the doorknob, then paused. His instincts were prickling again. He pulled out a sleek black phone and tapped a quick command into an encrypted app.

A security camera feed popped up on the screen. The building’s entrance.

There, moving up the stairs—two men.

Not cops. Not neighbors.

Alessi’s backup.

Elias shut off the phone and turned to you.

“Change of plans,” he murmured, already moving toward the window. “We’re leaving now.”