She remembered the name of every person she had killed in Panem. Glimmer. Marvel. Gloss. She had caused the death of many others. Each one a competitor in the Hunger Games. Each one a casualty of war. Each one just as brutal as the last. Each one it's very own special brand of Hell; the kind that visited her deep in her nightly slumber. The kind she could never escape from.

Until the day she had come here, to this world. There was little difference between the attitudes of Panem and the La Cosa Nostra: killing was an honor, death was celebrated, it needed to be done. Yet here was different. Those slain weren't innocent children and teenagers like herself. They were older; they were guilty. They had lied, stole, cheated, committed crimes. They had killed. And with each man or woman she ended the life of, she had begun to feel a little gratification. This wasn't unfair, this wasn't a game. This was justice. And at that realization, the nightmares freed her from their grip, and she could at last sleep easy for the first time in years.

And so, Katniss Everdeen had continued to add to her list. The corrupt cop in Boston. The thieving whore from Las Vegas. She worked her way up from small time prey- for this was no different than her beloved hunting, was it?- to the bigger, more dangerous game that her Godfather and cousin Sammy Garcini supplied.

Her lips twisted into a sadistic smile and she continued her trek down the cracked sidewalk of Brooklyn, New York. Dusk had begun to settle into the city around her. Men and women alike dressed to the nines in their evening best traveled in packs or pairs, rushing to make their weekend plans. To dance, to sing, to- though it was shrouded in secrecy- drink their nights away. And though they jostled her rucksack as they ran past, some laughing in glee, nothing could snap the young woman out of her reverie.

Connor O'Deal. The kill that had really started this entire contract. A drunken slob of a man who could barely take two steps without piss dribbling down the inside of his legs. The gun against his forehead had been successful, though the clean-up was deemed messy and unprofessional by the Godfather. She had taken care to make sure it was nothing less than perfection since.

Who had been next? She knitted her eyebrows together in thought, jamming her hands deep into the pockets of her leather hunting jacket as she walked. Ah, Daniel LaRue. French bastard. Easiest kill by far. A well timed push in front of a train, the rest had taken care of itself. That one had been deemed an accident. Then who? Jason Dennison. The man who looked like a rat. A moonlight stroll by the Hudson River one moment, a quick shot to the temple and a long swim the next. He hadn't been found for weeks.

And then...? Oh, of course, her personal favorite, Sean McGinley. Katniss had found him at his favorite booze lounge, and with little convincing procured an invitation back to his apartment. His apartment that conveniently was twelve stories high. After holding him at sobbing gun point to pen his own confession of depression, he had taken a nasty tumble out of his bedroom window. Suicide. What a shame.

A satisfied sigh escaped her lips, and immediately the dark-haired girl pressed them together in disapproval. Though she would love to revel in her own glory, the fact remained that there were still two men left on her radar. Two more men until the job was done; two more men who, when removed, would no longer jeopardize the L'alleanza Leale drug trade. With a shift of her shoulders she quickly ducked down an alleyway, shuffling quickly to conceal herself behind a dumpster. If her calculations were correct, her next target would be along this very path any moment.

After weeks of tracking and tailing, Katniss had come to know Donnie Morelli as a creature of habit. The same breakfast every morning, the same ride home every night. The same newspaper on Sundays, the same dinner with associates on Wednesdays and now, the same speakeasy on Saturdays. Without a moment of hesitation the grey-eyed girl shrugged her rucksack off of her shoulders onto the littered ground quietly. Her hand searched the contents quickly, her eyes narrowed in concentration as she fished through papers and fabrics until her fingers grasped, and closed around, the cold steel of the pistol she had come to know very well.

With a small exhale of breath she pulled the gun from it's hiding place, holding it close to her body. Her eyes mapped out the space in the alleyway, calculating every step that would need to take place. The door to the speakeasy was around the corner to her left. The patch of alleyway she had chosen, next to the dumpster, was the darkest, preventing her from being seen at first glance. She had a matter of seconds to scare away whatever nightly companion Donnie had picked up, then put her gun to the back of his head before whatever associate of his manning the door heard the commotion. In and out, easy as pie.

Though she had been expecting it, her breath caught in her chest as she heard the footfall turn down the darkened alleyway. Katniss pressed her back against the brick building behind her, trying her best to conceal every inch of her slender build. The timing needed to be perfect, and she could barely contain her excitement as her heart began to hammer against her chest, begging to be let out and kill the man that was certainly only three... two... one step away...

The dim lighting of the building around the corner cast a glow onto Donnie and his companion: the lithe blonde she had seen him with in weeks prior. This was the closest she had been to the man and with a large lump forming in her throat she realized how attractive the scumbag was up close. His dark hair reflected what light was available, his bright green eyes catching the rest. She was momentarily lost as she studied his angular face, wondering if under different circumstances he was the type of man to ever look her way twice. 'It doesn't matter, Katniss,' her brain hissed, yet somehow she was disarmed, thrown off her objective. Slowly the blonde began to giggle at whatever suave murmur the man had let slip to her, and it was almost too late that Kat realized they were past the mark she needed them to be at.

Wildly, like an untamed cat, she pounced from her sitting place beside the dumpster and cocked her gun at the back of Donnie's head.

"Stop, stop right where you are," she said, trying to keep her voice at a reasonable volume. They were closer to the speakeasy door than she would have liked, but she would have to make do.

Neither the man or woman moved, though the blonde did let out a small squeak of fear and attempt to throw a glance over her shoulder. Donnie's body tensed, and Katniss could sense he was ready for a fight.

"Hands where I can see them," she hissed, and almost automatically the pair held their hands aloft from their body, the woman's handbag swinging like a pendulum from her delicate hand. She felt bad for the woman, Sarah she had learned a week prior, for having to get caught up in this. The man was alluring, yet she ought to have known better than to associate with the dangerous type.

"You," Katniss said with pity in her tone, kicking the woman in the back of her stocking-lined calf softly. "You need to leave. Back out onto the street. Go home. Don't say anything to anyone or I will find you and kill you. And your dog. And your daughter."

The reaction was immediate. With a small sob of fear the woman turned on her heel and ran out of the alleyway, clutching her purse fearfully with wide-eyed horror. Katniss had done her research well, and hoped that her threat on the woman would keep anyone from sniffing around any time soon. Her eyes fixed once more toward the back of the dark-haired man's head, and with a deep breath she gave a small smirk.

"Mr. Morelli, I have a message from Godfather Gar-"

Her words caught in her throat as the man swung around swiftly, violently, and it was not until the last possible second that she saw the glint of metal in the dim lighting. Not a gun, but rather a knife. During her brief exchange with the woman he had managed to grab his weapon, and was ready to strike. Instinct took over as she took an unsteady leap backward, unfortunately not before the knife grazed at her cheek. A sharp, stinging sensation trailed along the path the knife had taken, but before she could register the pain she was on her back, the man on top of her, the knife trying to find it's way to her throat.

'Fuck, fuck, fuck,' was all her inner voice cried. No help at all. With every instinct inside of her welling up and telling her to scream, to fight, to flee, she knew that it would only end with more of Donnie's family, end with a more violent death. She needed to take care of this, she needed to finish the job. The disappointment and punishment that awaited her back at the headquarters would surely be no match for the predicament she was in now. But mostly, she needed to survive.

'MOVE KATNISS!' a louder voice inside her head screamed.

Wedging her left hand between the man's upper body and her own throat to stave off the attack, she attempted to use her right hand to level her gun at the side of his head. It was no use, Morelli was strong, and attempted to pin her down further, bearing his weight on top of her. She couldn't steady the gun to get a clear shot off. With a low growl she took her gun and hit the man in the side of the head. And again. And again. It was ineffective for killing him, yet the more she struck him the more lax he became on his grip. Taking a risky maneuver, she knocked his knife hand from her throat and punched him square in the nose. He grunted loudly, but not before retaliating by grasping her right hand and slamming it against the ground. Her gun clattered away uselessly, hidden beneath the dumpster that had moments before been her hide-away.

The noise was enough of a distraction for her to roll him off of her and turning, she started to scramble and crawl her way over to her gun. She was caught short by the man grabbing her ankle and, without warning, the knife bit into the back of her calf.

"AH!" she momentarily screamed, before biting down on her lower lip. Silently cursing, Katniss kicked out with her bloody leg and caught Donnie in the face once more. He finally let go of his grip, allowing her to close the gap between her and her pistol. Reaching out for it, she turned, watching him furiously, unsteadily standing to her feet and hobbling back over to where he now lay on his back, clutching his face.

He was laughing.

Standing over him she shook her head, pointing the gun toward his forehead.

"You piece of shit," Katniss spluttered. "You are a God-damned piece of work, you know that? You could've made this easy."

Donnie laughed harder, moving his hands from his stunning profile. His face was red; red from the impact her hunting boot had made against his forehead, red from the blood that poured generously from his nose. It trailed down his cheeks, into his mouth, and his laugh became a haunted gargle as he stared up at her.

"Give it up, Miss Everdeen. You fucking stupid whore, we've been tracking you. We know you're coming. HE knows you're coming," the man babbled incoherently between his gasps of air and wheezing laughter.

Her blood ran cold as she lowered her gun to her side.

"What do you mean?" she all but whispered, still well aware how close they were to the speakeasy, and sure that their scuffle had not gone unnoticed.

"Ha, you're a kid. You're out of your depth. If the Godfather wants us to give up control, he's going to have to come stop us himself. You think we haven't noticed you? You think we didn't know where you were, what you were doing at all times? Connor, Daniel, Jason, Sean... we've been watching you, Katniss."

The man sputtered blood as he laughed and coughed, tossing his knife to the side and shaking his head. "Don't bother leaving me any 'messages', sweetheart. We heard you loud and clear the first few times. Finish your job, why don't you, but know that your time is coming to an end. You're in for a shit storm."

Such a disgusting mouth for such a beautiful man, she couldn't help but note. Though his words were meant to be cutting she couldn't help but notice they were tinged with the slight, sweet sound of fear and uncertainty. The girl was not one to back down from a challenge, however, so Katniss swallowed her rising panic. Tucking her pistol into the back of her trousers she stepped forward, leaning instead to grab Donnie's knife. She crouched down next to him, her leg stinging with every movement, and held the knife out in front of his face, taking her time so he could calculate her next move.

"I can't wait," was all she said after an extended period of silence, before she drew the knife across the man's throat, putting him out of his miserable existence.

Wiping the handle of the knife clean on Morelli's jacket, she tossed it carelessly back onto his body. She took once last glance at his once handsome face, shaking her head. Like the world had suddenly resumed around her, the distant sound of traffic and the squeaking of the door around the alleyway corner alerted her to her predicament. Painfully she dragged her right leg behind her as she went to retrieve her rucksack, and as quickly as her injury would allow, hightailed it out of the alleyway.

The men and women of the Big Apple were too preoccupied with their impending soirees to notice the teenager with blood flowing freely from her cheek and her leg. Under their own ignorance she managed to hobble three blocks down before she was considerably slowed down. Katniss was tired; the shock had begun to wear off and her injuries were proving to be more than she could handle. She couldn't move any further. And, though she didn't want to admit it, the cryptic message Donnie had for her had unnerved her. Swinging into the nearest payphone booth, she ripped her rucksack open and found an extra jacket. Immediately she wrapped it around her leg, wincing as she did so, before digging in her bag once more for change.

With unsteady hands she placed the coins into the slot and began to laboriously dial the phone number of the one person who needed to hear this above all others. Her breath was ragged as she cupped the receiver toward her ear, her eyes frantically watching any and all passerby- paranoid they might notice her and put two and two together with the body that was certain to be found in the alleyway any moment. The phone buzzed impatiently, irritating her, five, six, seven times before he answered with a bark.

"What?" said an annoyed Sammy Garcini, his plans for the evening no doubt being put on hold to answer the call.

"Godfather," said Katniss, her voice low, wounded, exhausted. "I need help. I'm at 5th Avenue. Can't get to the safehou- I mean, apartment."

"What the hell are you talking about? What's going on?" he asked urgently.

Her eyes began to droop sleepily as she muttered into the phone.

"Sams," she said wearily, calling him by his family nickname, "I think we have a problem."

To be continued.