THE LAST CONTRACTChapter 1 - The Man Who Doesn't Miss

The first rule of survival is simple:
Never look into the eyes of the person sent to kill you.
He always looked back.
The rain fell in thin, cold needles over the city skyline. Neon lights flickered across wet asphalt. Midnight traffic hummed below like distant machinery.
From the rooftop, he waited.
Still.
Patient.
Unseen.
Ethan Virelli didn’t believe in luck. Luck was for amateurs and gamblers. He believed in preparation — angles, wind speed, escape routes, heartbeats.
Especially heartbeats.
Across the street, inside the 32nd-floor penthouse, a man celebrated something expensive. Champagne. Laughter. Guards at the door. Cameras on every corner.
None of it mattered.
Ethan adjusted the suppressor.
Exhaled.
The glass shattered before the sound reached the room.
The target dropped instantly.
No scream.
No warning.
Just gravity doing its job.
One shot.
That’s why they called him The Man Who Doesn’t Miss.
He was gone before the body hit the marble floor.
By the time security realized what happened, Ethan was already inside the stairwell, blending with shadows, coat zipped high against the rain.
No rush. No panic.
Professionals never run.
He reached the underground garage, unlocked a matte-black motorcycle, and disappeared into the city like smoke.
Another contract closed.
Another ghost story added to the streets.
Ethan didn’t kill for ideology.
He didn’t kill for revenge.
He killed because he was good at it.
And because someone always needed someone else erased.
But tonight felt different.
His phone vibrated once.
Encrypted message.
Unknown sender.
He didn’t like unknown senders.
He stopped under a bridge and opened it.
“You’re being hunted.”
No greeting. No signature.
Just coordinates attached.
Ethan stared at the message for a long second.
Hunted?
No one hunted him.
He was the hunter.
He wiped the rain from his face and checked the rooftops out of habit.
Nothing.
Still…
Something in his chest shifted.
Instinct.
And instinct had kept him alive longer than anyone expected.
Back in his apartment — minimal, cold, almost empty — Ethan ran the coordinates.
They led to an abandoned subway station beneath the old industrial district.
Trap?
Probably.
But the message included something else.
A name.
One he hadn’t heard in seven years.
Adrian Kovač.
The only man who ever survived Ethan.
The only shot he ever missed.
He remembered that night.
Snow instead of rain.
Blood instead of champagne.
A burning warehouse.
Adrian had disappeared into flames while Ethan watched the building collapse.
No body.
No confirmation.
But in his world, no body meant unfinished business.
And unfinished business always came back.
Ethan loaded fresh rounds into his pistol.
Checked the knife at his back.
Turned off every light in the apartment.
If Adrian was alive…
Then someone had trained him.
Improved him.
Sent him back.
And if someone had the resources to rebuild a man like that…
This wasn’t a contract.
This was war.
He picked up his helmet and paused at the door.
For the first time in years, his pulse wasn’t perfectly steady.
Not fear.
Anticipation.
The hunter might finally have competition.
And if someone wanted to test him—
He would make sure they understood why he never misses.
Ethan stepped into the night.
The game had begun.