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Chapter 1: Arrival at the Continental

The revolving doors of the Continental Hotel moved with a soft hum while Marco, wearing an elegant black suit, entered the lobby. The place had an air of discreet opulence; the dark-colored carpets muffled the footsteps, and the chandeliers hung heavy over high ceilings, casting a warm glow over the marble floors. There was an unusual silence for a hotel in the center of New York, as if the outside world was miles away.

Marco walked to the reception with a firm step, his expression impassive like always. Behind the counter, the concierge looked up and gave him a professional smile.

"Welcome to the Continental, sir," said the concierge with a neutral accent that did not revealed his origin. "How can I help you today?"

"I have a reservation," Marco responded, without stopping to observe the lobby discreetly. His eyes moved quickly, catching every detail. The emergency exits, the security cameras hidden in the corners, and the discreet presence of the security guards.

The concierge nodded and typed something on his computer before looking back at him.

"Of course, sir. Your room is ready. Seventh floor, suite 702. I hope you enjoy your stay."

Marco took the key that they offered him and headed towards the elevator. While he was waiting, a figure caught his attention from the lobby bar. A bald man, dressed in an impeccable black suit, was sitting alone at a table, carefully polishing a pair of silver cufflinks. Marco recognized him immediately, although he had never seen him in person. He was known in the world of assassins as the "Agent 47," a man shrouded in legends and rumors. A hitman whose methods were as precise as they were lethal.

The "Agent 47" glanced up for a moment, his cold, expressionless eyes met Marco's. It was a silent acknowledgment, a confirmation that they both understood who they were and the type of world they operated in. Marco nodded slightly, a respectful greeting between colleagues, before entering the elevator.

Once inside, Marco pressed the button for the seventh floor and waited for the doors to close. During the ascent, he thought about what he knew of the Continental. It was much more than a hotel; it was a sanctuary for professional killers from all over the world. A place where the rules were clear: no violence was allowed on hotel grounds, and any breach of this rule resulted in certain death.

When he arrived at his suite, Marco swiped the keycard through the lock and entered. The room was spacious and luxurious, with an impressive view of the city. He left his suitcase on the bed and went to the window, watching the flickering lights of New York. The silence of the room was broken by the soft hum of his phone. A text message appeared on the screen, just one word: "Meeting".

Marco didn't need more details. He knew it was a summons for a mission, something that required his immediate presence. He quickly changed clothes, choosing a more discreet outfit: a black leather jacket, dark jeans, and boots. He tucked a knife in his right boot and a silenced pistol in the holster hidden under his jacket.

He left the room and headed to the meeting room in the hotel's basement, a space reserved only for the most discreet operatives. When he arrived, the room was almost empty, except for a man sitting at the end of the table, reviewing a file. He was an older man, with a face weathered by years and scars that spoke of a life of violence.

"Marco," said the man without looking up from the file. "Take a seat."

Marco sat down in front of him, without saying a word. The man finally looked up, his gray eyes reflecting the fluorescent light of the room.

"We have a job for you. Something that requires your… special skills." He paused, watching Marco closely. "A difficult target, well-protected. But we believe you are the right one for the job."

Marco nodded. He didn't need details yet; he knew he would receive them in due time. In his world, information was delivered in small doses, just enough to complete the mission. The man closed the file and slid it over to Marco.

"Your contact will be here in an hour. Read the file and get ready. And, Marco…" he said as he stood up, "remember the rules of the Continental. We don't want an incident in our hotel."

Marco nodded again as the man left the room, leaving him alone with the file in hand. He opened it and began to read, his eyes moving quickly over the pages filled with photos, diagrams, and notes.

The file contained detailed information about the target: a former intelligence agent named Sergei Ivanov, who now dedicated himself to selling state secrets to the highest bidder. Ivanov had betrayed his country, and several organizations wanted his head. He had taken refuge in a luxurious mansion on the outskirts of the city, surrounded by bodyguards and state-of-the-art security systems.

Marco studied the floor plans of the place, memorizing the escape routes and the locations of the guards. He knew that the mission required precision and stealth; any mistake could be fatal, not just for him, but for any innocent person who might get caught in the middle of the operation.

After reviewing the file, Marco headed to the hotel's armory to gear up. He knew he would need more than his knife and pistol. He chose a silenced sniper rifle, ideal for eliminating targets at long range without being detected. He also took a set of lock picks and a small explosive charge, in case he needed to open a door or create a distraction.

Once prepared, Marco left the hotel through a side entrance, avoiding being seen by the guests. He headed to a nearby garage where a black car with no plates was waiting for him. He got into the vehicle and started driving towards Ivanov's mansion. As he drove through the dark streets, his mind was focused on the mission. There was no room for doubts or hesitations; every move had to be calculated with precision.

He arrived at Ivanov's mansion around midnight. The place was surrounded by a high fence and patrolled by armed guards. Marco parked the car at a safe distance and got out, taking his sniper rifle. He moved stealthily through the bushes, approaching the perimeter without being seen. He knew that the best chance to eliminate Ivanov would be from a safe distance, taking advantage of the cover of night.

He found an elevated spot from where he had a clear view of the mansion and set up his rifle. He looked through the telescopic sight, searching for his target. The guards patrolled with flashlights, and the mansion lights illuminated the windows, but there was no sign of Ivanov.

He waited patiently, keeping his breathing controlled and his muscles relaxed. Finally, a figure appeared in one of the second-floor windows. It was Ivanov, easily recognizable by the scar running across his left cheek. Marco adjusted the sight, aligning the crosshairs with Ivanov's head. Time seemed to stop as his fingers tightened on the trigger.

A muffled shot broke the silence of the night. Ivanov fell backward, disappearing from view. Marco didn't wait to confirm the kill; he knew that a well-placed shot was enough. He picked up his rifle and started moving again, getting away from the place before the guards could react.

He disabled a section of the fence using the explosive charge and slipped through the gap. He moved quickly towards his car, staying in the shadows to avoid being seen. He knew the guards would be looking for the sniper, but they wouldn't have time to organize an effective search before he was long gone.

Once inside the car, he started the engine and headed back to the city. The mission had been a success. He had eliminated Ivanov without being seen, and he had left no traces that could lead back to him or to the Continental.

Upon returning to the hotel, he entered through the same side entrance and returned his equipment to the armory. He went up to his suite, closed the door behind him, and let himself fall onto the bed. He had fulfilled his duty, as he always did.

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