Stefano Visconti

Sie ging auf den Barkeeper zu und ließ ihn hinter sich:

– Geben Sie mir eine Pistole.

Der Barkeeper sah sie missbilligend an:

– Pistolen haben wir nicht, nur Gewehre, Miss. Seine Worte machten sie leicht wütend. Er glaubte wohl, sie sei dumm. Natürlich kannte sie sich mit Waffen nicht aus und wusste nichts darüber, aber ihre Treffsicherheit war schon seit ihrer Kindheit ihre Stärke.

– Na gut, – sie stützte die Ellbogen auf den Tresen und legte das Gewehr an die Schulter. Sie zielte auf ein Wildschwein, das geradeaus lief, und schoss. Das Wildschwein fiel um. Sie drückte erneut den Abzug und streckte ein weiteres Wildschwein nieder. Seine Worte machten sie leicht wütend. Er glaubte wohl, sie sei dumm. Natürlich kannte sie sich mit Waffen nicht aus und wusste nichts darüber, aber ihre Treffsicherheit war schon seit ihrer Kindheit ihre Stärke.

– Schauen Sie zu Hause nach. Das ist die Adresse von jemandem, der Ihr Talent braucht.

Her hand unclenched and the crumpled piece of paper fell onto the blanket. She grabbed it and spun it around. the address and time “12:00” were written. Nothing else. No name, no initials, nothing more. She remembered the bartender's words that she would be expected next Friday

Diana looked out the window, seeing a two-story building made of red and white brick. In the darkness, its roof was beautifully illuminated and the sign “Shipping company SV” was brightly illuminated under it.
she came in

Excuse me, miss, who are you seeing?

She shuddered when she saw the guard in front of her
Diana hesitated, not knowing what to answer. Who is she going to? Who else would explain where she is! What should I tell him? That she was drinking at a bar with friends, and the bartender slipped her a note with this address. Maybe it's not too late to leave?

“I...” she whispered quietly and looked into his eyes, not knowing what to come up with.
-Are you going for an interview?
“Yes,” she nodded, watching as the guard picked up the phone and called someone. Miss, go to the second floor to the right, please.
Diana nodded to him and walked in the indicated direction. She stepped on the tiles, her heels clicking, afraid of accidentally falling.

• Come on in
  – the secretary commanded, and Diana stood up abruptly, surprised at her quick reaction.
  Muffled light. Coolness from the open window. Large spacious office. Diana exhaled, and seeing the long office table, went towards it. It was empty. Not a single piece of paper, clean. She sat down on a chair and covered her face with her hands to catch her breath a little from the excitement and strong beating of her heart. God apparently gave her a minute.
• You're so worried.
• Well,
• he said quietly,
• They told me about you.
• What is your name?
  She was ready to scream and run to the door, but without looking away she continued to look at him.
  – Diana Oliver.
  A black-haired man in a suit sat in front of her. Not at all what she imagined him to be. But there was something powerful about him. Something that gave her goosebumps. Power Money She was afraid to imagine what else. Force. Cruelty.
  – How old are you, Diana?
• Nineteen.