The Hitman's Return

Pedro

The safe house was gone.

Samuel drove past it at 2 AM, just to confirm. The building was dark. Quiet. But he saw the telltale signs. A car parked too far down the street, a figure moving in the shadows near the entrance. They were still watching. Still waiting.

He kept driving.

Vale had given him a new location. A motel on the edge of the city. Cash only. No questions asked. The kind of place where people went to disappear.

Samuel checked in under a fake name. Paid for three nights. The room was small—a bed, a bathroom, a flickering TV that only picked up static. It smelled like bleach and old cigarettes. It was perfect.

He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled out his notebook. The one he'd been keeping since the day he got out. Every name. Every connection. Every piece of the puzzle.

Silas Kane — The ghost. The man behind everything. No known face. No known location. Operates through proxies.

Leonardo Riggs — His ex-partner. The man who framed him. Now a captain. Kane's puppet.

Victor Ashford — Christina's father. Forced her to leave. Funded the frame job. Connected to Kane.

Judge Harrison Vance — Presided over the trial. Took bribes. Sentenced him to twenty years.

Senator Elizabeth Crane — Political ally of Kane. Signed off on the corruption.

Margaret Banks — His stepmother. Stole his father's business. Likely connected.

Christina Banks — His ex-wife. Forced to leave. Victor's puppet. Innocent? Complicit? He didn't know anymore.

His daughter — Ten years old. No name in the notebook. Just a photograph. Just a face he'd never held.

Samuel stared at the list. So many names. So many bodies to bury.

He pulled out the photograph of his daughter. Studied it again. Her dark hair. Her bright eyes. Her gap-toothed smile.

She looked so much like Christina. But she looked like him too. The stubborn set of her jaw. The way she stood with her feet apart, as if bracing herself for a fight.

She was his. And one day, he would find her.

But first, he had to finish this.

***

The next morning, Samuel drove to the precinct.

Not the main entrance. The back. The parking garage where Leo kept his car. He'd memorized the layout from his years on the force. Every exit. Every blind spot.

He parked in the shadows and waited.

At 8:15 AM, Leo walked through the garage. Alone. No security. He was on his phone, laughing at something. Carefree. Unburdened.

Samuel watched him. His hands tightened on the steering wheel.

Soon. Not yet. But soon.

Leo got into his Mercedes and drove off. Samuel followed at a distance.

The route was familiar. Leo was heading to La Maison again. The same restaurant. The same private booth.

Samuel parked across the street and watched.

Leo entered the restaurant. Ten minutes later, Victor Ashford arrived. They sat in the same booth. Same private corner.

Samuel's jaw tightened. They were meeting again. Less than twenty-four hours after Victor had nearly died by Samuel's blade.

Arrogance. They think I'm dead.

He waited. Watched.

An hour later, Leo and Victor emerged. They shook hands. Parted ways. Leo drove off in one direction. Victor in another.

Samuel followed Victor.

This time, Victor didn't go to the warehouse. He went to a house in the suburbs. A large house. Expensive. The kind of house that screamed old money and generations of privilege.

Samuel parked down the street. Watched as Victor walked up the driveway. A woman greeted him at the door. She was blonde, elegant, late forties. Not Christina. Too old.

Victor kissed her on the cheek. They walked inside together. The lights flickered on in the living room.

Samuel pulled out his notebook. Added a note: Victor's house. Suburbs. Blonde woman. Wife? Mistress? Investigate.

He sat in the car for another hour. Watched the house. Noted the security cameras. The guard who patrolled the grounds every thirty minutes.

Then he drove away.

Vale was waiting at a diner across town. The same rundown place. The same corner booth.

Samuel slid into the seat across from him. Ordered coffee.

"Victor's moving," Samuel said. "He met with Leo again. Then he went home to a house in the suburbs. Big place. Security. Guard patrols."

Vale nodded. "I know the house. It's his primary residence. He lives there with his second wife—a woman he married after Christina's mother died."

"Second wife?"

"Elena. Former model. Twenty years younger. She's the one who convinced him to cut Christina off. She wanted the inheritance for herself."

Samuel's fists clenched. "So Christina wasn't just a pawn. She was collateral damage."

"Everyone is collateral damage to Victor. He only cares about himself."

Samuel stared at his coffee. The steam rose in lazy curls.

"Tell me about Elena," he said.

Vale's eyes flickered. "What do you want to know?"

"Everything. Where she goes. Who she meets. If she's connected to Kane."

Vale was silent for a moment. Then he pulled out his phone. Scrolled through something. "Elena has a routine. Gym every morning at nine. Lunch with friends at noon. Shopping in the afternoons. She's predictable."

"And her contacts?"

"Mostly socialites. Women with money and no real purpose. But there's one name that stands out. A man she meets every Thursday. At a hotel downtown. Same time. Same room."

Samuel leaned forward. "Who?"

Vale looked at him. "Her brother. Pedro."

Samuel felt the blood drain from his face. .

"Pedro," Samuel repeated. "He's Elena's brother?"

"Half-brother. They share a mother. He's been connected to Victor's business deals for years. And he's been connected to Kane."

Samuel's mind raced. Pedro.

"He killed Jeremy," Samuel said. "Leo was just the face."

Vale nodded. "That's what the intel suggests. Pedro is a cleaner. He does the dirty work for Kane. He's the one who pulls the trigger."

Samuel stood up. "I need to find him."

"Not yet. You're not ready."

"I don't care."

Vale grabbed his wrist. "Banks. Listen to me. Pedro is dangerous. More dangerous than anyone you've faced so far. He's trained. He's connected. And he's been expecting you."

Samuel pulled his arm free. "I don't care."

"You should. Because if you go after Pedro before you're ready, you'll die. And then you'll never get to see your daughter."

The words hit like a blow. Samuel sagged back into his seat.

"Then what do I do?" he asked. His voice was quiet. Broken.

Vale leaned forward. "You wait. You plan. You gather more intel. And when the time is right, you strike."

Samuel stared at the table. His reflection stared back at him, exhausted, consumed.

"How long?"

"A few days. Maybe a week. We need to find Marcus's routine. His weak spots. His patterns."

Samuel nodded slowly. "And Christina?"

Vale's expression softened. "She lives in the same house I told you about. She's happy, Banks. She's moved on."

"Does she ever mention me?"

"I don't know. I haven't watched her that closely."

Samuel pulled out the photograph of his daughter. Stared at it.

"One day," he whispered. "I'll find a way to her."

"One day," Vale agreed.

Samuel tucked the photo away. Stood up.

"I'll be in touch."

That night, Samuel couldn't sleep.

He lay on the bed in the motel room, staring at the ceiling. The flickering TV cast shadows across the walls. The static buzzed in his ears.

He thought about Victor. The man who'd orchestrated it all.

He thought about Pedro. The man who'd killed Jeremy. They hadn't met yet.

He thought about Silas Kane. The ghost. The puppet master. The man who'd destroyed everything.

And he thought about his father. The man who'd died alone, believing Samuel was a murderer. The man who'd cut him out of the will. The man who'd been manipulated by Margaret and her schemes.

Samuel closed his eyes. Sleep came slowly. Uneasily. He dreamed of fire. Of revenge. Of bodies piling up in his wake.

And when he woke up, he knew what he had to do.