A corpulent hulk of a man lounged poolside at his secluded villa in the Italian countryside, soaking in the the delicious afternoon sun, blissfully unaware that the perimeter had been breached, that the unconscious body of a member of his security team was stuffed into a dumbwaiter, and that a staff uniform was missing from the closet on the other side of the sprawling complex. He motioned in his usual way to signal that a refill of his tray of snacks was necessary. He sipped at his iced drink, pleased inordinately at the little umbrella garnishing the glass. A serving girl emerged. Her body was remarkably average, but there was a strange dignity to how composed she was and how she carried herself while ferrying his food. Her eyes were cold, but her face was cute. Perhaps he'd have some fun with this one tonight. That was his last thought before she reached into her blouse, produced a pistol with suppressor, and gave him a Mozambique Drill.
She scowled. The job had been textbook, but the execution lacked creativity, he was slumped with an unpleasing asymmetry, and she had hoped to end with the flourish of him splashing into the pool.
A few days later, and halfway across the world, Amelia logged into the hardened connection of the international brokerage for assassins. None of the listings caught her eye. She closed it and opened up the only other app on her phone, a recent addition: Tinder. As a person in an occupation where photographs were to be avoided, her profile picture was a badly posed, unflattering selfie. Despite it and her terse bio, she had gotten a match.
Her hands, that could possess an unnatural steadiness when molded around a firearm or pulling garrote wire taut, nearly fumbled her phone. She could take life remorselessly with dispassionate detachment, but swiping right made her heart flutter like a frightened bird. Somehow, her timid hellos progressed to a date.
Her conditioned response was that the ideal place to be was the rooftop across the street, behind a scope with a view down into the large glass windows, a steady bipod, and a stable cheek weld, instead of seated in plain sight at a dining table, sipping ice water through a straw, convinced that every pair of eyes in the room was zeroed on her. She only owned this black dress, tailored to her lithe acrobat's physique, because she had needed it once to infiltrate a party at an embassy.