ALESSANDRO: Book 3 of The De Luca Brothers Series [COMPLETED]

22:

The bike roars to life, an angry beast on wheels ready to eat the miles between me and my destination. The familiar feeling of small knives, daggers and guns tucked into every part of my clothing reassures me, knowing that I have a good chance of survival; what I'm trained to do.

Don't look at the odds my angel, look at your capabilities instead.

I close my eyes and take a calming breath, letting myself relax on the ravenous machine and recalling every moment of my training. I become used to the weight of the small video tape recorder strapped to my chest, the entire reason I'm to go.

If I succeed, I'll become an official member of the gang. I know nobody has had to prove themselves with such a big task beforehand, but I know what I can do. I've been trained since birth to be a killing machine, that's what happens when your father is a secret agent who aspires you to not be the same, but better. Only he died and my mother abandoned me, leaving me with my aunt. Pro-parenting be like.

Without another thought I pull away from the barren shed, the helmet feeling snug around my face. The black skinny jeans hug me tightly like a second skin, only in good way. I wear a vest, underneath a green hoodie and a leather jacket over the top.

My mission is to ditch the bike a safe distance away from the mansion in the woods, hide it within shrubbery before approaching the mansion and getting a baring of what is happening by recording an estimate of numbers, what the security is like and any blind spots. If there is any chance that I can go inside without causing an uproar I should take it without hesitation and see if I can locate Gufo and potentially rescue him. Otherwise gain as much info as I can without compromising the mission.

From memory I drive for hours, remembering the route. Having good memory is a key part of my training, it saves your life more than you realise. Especially when you're on the run, you can always avoid backtracking and find different ways to confuse the enemy.

Even with the multiple hour drive ahead of me, I won't let myself think of Leone. Can't let myself think of Leone. He's a distraction who just takes, takes, takes. Yes I want to be taken- if anyone gets my gist- but not taken for granted. That's a major turn off. It also hurts.

However I'm not gonna think about it. Like putting a plaster on gun wound.

By the time I've reached the outskirts of the woods it's midday. I had stopped off twice for a quick break, otherwise I rode relentlessly.

I instantly pull into the woods, not using the trail, rather dodging trees; after five minutes I stop, hiding deep in the woods but I know the general direction I must walk. Looking around, I take off my helmet and hang it on the handle. I kick the stand and get off, shrugging off my leather jacket and laying it on the seat. I search around for twigs and branches thick with leaves that can be used to cover my bike. Something to make it be seen without a second glance.

I pull my hood up and tuck my blue strands behind my ears, making sure that my hair doesn't stand out against the wilderness. Once I'm sure, I pull out a pistol from my hip holster and click of its safety, placing my finger on the side of the trigger as to prevent myself from accidental fire. I inhale a shaky breath as to calm my nerves, cracking the muscles in my neck and allowing my heart rate to steady. Once I'm certain I'm ready I continue, keeping a sharp eye and listening out for any noises.

The birds chirp and chitter, singing songs whilst swooping sky-high in their simple, solace lives. The leaves crunch beneath my feet, the sound once comforting now only heightening my nerves and putting me even more on edge. This is officially the most extreme mission I've ever done, however I can't let it get to me.

Look at your capabilities instead.

My grip tightens on my gun, the silencer screwed on offers little comfort as well. I wish I could be one of those little shitty birds right now.