Rome, Italy | 09:13 hours

Lexi and Sam sit comfortably in the back of a cab, as they make their way down the streets of Rome. Lexi admires the architecture of the ancient city, while Sam occupies himself with his tablet. He's buried in a new book he discovered just before departing the United States. Sam loves to read. His mother always made sure he had a book in front of him throughout his childhood. 

Lexi peels her eyes from the foreign world outside and turns to her husband. She glances down at the tablet. "Can you put that damn thing away?"

Sam looks up at her. "Why?"

"Look where we are!" She points outside the window. "We're in freaken Rome and you're busy with that stupid tablet."

"If I may remind you," Sam begins, "you're the one who gave me this thing for Christmas. So, it's not really my fault." He smiles.

"Yeah, I'm kind of regretting it," says Lexi.

Sam chuckles as he returns his attention to the tablet. "Oh!" he suddenly says. "I almost forgot. I was supposed to remind you to sign up for that practical shooting competition - the one at, uh-"

"Oh shit. Yeah, the cut-off's today, right?" interrupts Lexi.

"Yeah, I think so."

"Dammit... Yeah, I need to do that." Lexi turns back to the window. "Hopefully it's more challenging than the last two," she mutters.

Sam grins as he looks at her. "It's getting tough to find someone who can do what you do with a pistol. Well... except myself."

Lexi looks back at him, with a smirk. "Yeah, whatever." She returns her gaze to the window. "Sam, this place is amazing."

Sam leans toward his wife to peer out the window with her. Just then the cab pulls into view of the fountain.

"There it is!" She exclaims, pointing at the collection of majestic statues towering over the water. Her excitement is quickly stifled by the waves of tourists crowding in for a better view.

"I hate tourists," she mumbles.

Sam laughs at the irony. "Well, you'll blend in well with that stupid hat," he says, slapping the bill of her bright orange Texas Longhorns cap.

"Hey," she says, smacking the back of her hand against his chest. "I gotta represent my people. And besides, it ain't my fault your Gators sucked last season."

Sam laughs again as the cab comes to a halt. "Okay, let's get going."

He tosses the tablet into his backpack and pays the driver. Then Sam and Lexi step out of the cab and cross the street hand in hand, fighting their way through the crowd.

The couple spends the day enjoying their vacation in bliss. Their phones are stuffed away, as are any intentions of dealing with anything work-related. They've labored thousands of exhausting hours, day and night, building their company. Lexi and Sam have done most of the dirty work themselves and their security firm, Dark Angel, has grown exponentially. Now it's time to ease back and let someone else manage the day-to-day business while they enjoy the money rolling in. 

Once returning to the hotel to recover from their touring, Lexi badgers Sam to take her to a nearby nightclub. The joint was recommended by a local resident they met earlier that day. After finally conceding to his wife's request, Sam procrastinates dressing, while Lexi untangles the cord of her curling iron and prepares the bathroom vanity for battle. Her makeup bag topples over, spilling its contents across the counter. It's a mystery, even to herself, why she insists keeping the bag full of so many products she rarely uses.

After fixing her hair and touching up her face she reaches for the black cocktail dress, hanging from the bathroom door. She looks at her husband, lounging on the bed. "Sam, go put your pants on. We're gonna get going in a sec."

Sam pulls his attention from the television and glances down at his legs. Wearing only a pair of boxers and a T-shirt, he turns to his wife and answers her, defensively. "Why? You don't like what I'm wearing? I thought I'd shake things up a bit and just throw on some shoes."

She stifles her grin. "Go put on some freaken pants."

"Oh fine," he says, snickering to himself. Shutting off the television, he strides across the room in search of his clothes.

Lexi steps into the dress and pulls the straps over her shoulders. She then zips it up in the back and examines herself in the mirror. Satisfied with what she sees, she strides over to the bed and plops down to slip on her black stilettos. As she does so, she takes a brief moment to admire her perfectly pedicured toes. In preparation for their anniversary, she had her nails professionally painted bright red with intricate white patterns drawn on her big toes. Lexi flexes out her hands, appreciating the work done on her fingernails as well. The feminine decorations seem foreign to her. Rarely would she be willing to spend the time or money to get herself dolled up this way - so on these rare occasions, she enjoys flaunting it.

She stands and faces her husband to find him half dressed and gawking at her. Surprised by the dumbfounded expression on his face, she asks, "What?"

He relaxes his posture and continues to silently gaze at his wife with a dazed smirk.

Enjoying the attention, she places her hand on her hip and shifts her weight to the other leg. "What?" she repeats, with a crooked grin. "Sometimes I can look pretty, okay."

Sam strides toward Lexi and gently caresses his large hand against her cheek. "Baby, you're always pretty. Right now, you're breathtaking."

---

Miami, United States | 15:24 hours

Jason Snider strides back into his office and sits at the desk with a fresh cup of coffee. He stares at the computer monitor in front of him and then checks his watch. 'About an hour and a half left,' he thinks to himself. The work day has been pretty slow and he's ready to get out of the office. Perhaps he'll sneak out early. He's not meant to be trapped like this; he prefers to be on the road. As a former Marine infantry officer, he's developed a passion for living on the move.

Of course, working as the CFO for Dark Angel has its perks, when compared to his counterparts at other corporations. First of all, the dress code is fairly loose; today he's sporting a pair of blue jeans and a brown T-shirt. On top of that, Jason's fat salary does well to compensate his riotous living and still leave him enough money for lucrative investments. But the biggest perk of all will never be on record; every once in a while, shrouded in the darkness of espionage and illegal black operations, he still gets paid to shoot bad guys.

Jason's Jarhead attitude masks the brilliance that lies beneath. No person, in his or her right mind, would assume this drunken, profane, womanizing, bar fighter would be a financial wizard. After studying Accounting and obtaining his officer's commission, Jason threw himself full force into the Marine life. He's a decorated fighter and known for putting himself on the front lines just as much as the Marines under his command. Even with consistent reprimanding from his superiors, Jason placed himself in the heat of the battle as often as his duties would allow. This quality made demonstrating any serious battle coordination difficult, thus making promotion nearly stagnant. 

Jason minimizes the spreadsheets on his screen. He's tired of looking at the company's earnings and spendings for the last quarter. Then he refreshes his email to see if anything new has hit his inbox. There are a few emails from employees, discussing the same dull content as always. Jason sighs and takes a sip from his coffee. He gazes through the glass wall, facing the bullpen, where two employees huddle near another's desk. He studies their interaction as they chat and then glances around his spacious office. Behind him, is a large American flag mounted against the wall. On the other side of the room is a glass case, full of trophies, medals, and photos of his Platoon in Iraq. Next to the case is a narrow, steel gun safe. The small arsenal is a unique addition to the CFO's office, ensuring Dark Angel stands out from the other companies, sharing the building. Due to the nature of their business, firearms are a regular part of the firm's decor. 

His phone suddenly vibrates against the desk, producing an obnoxious rattle. Glancing down at the device, he examines the caller ID. The contact is unfamiliar. Beneath the number, his phone displays the location of the area code - 'Venezuela.'

"Venezuela?" he scoffs. "Yeah, wrong number, ya socialist asshole."

Jason declines the call and returns his attention to the computer. Taking anther sip from his coffee, he hears his phone buzz again - two pulses in succession. He looks down at the screen. A single text message displays, from the same phone number:

Check your email.

Jason plops his mug on the desk and reaches for his phone. His thumbs quickly slap the screen, typing out a response:

who is this?

He waits. A short moment passes, before another text appears.

Jason, just check your email.

"What the fu-" he mutters. Compelled to his computer, he refreshes his inbox. Sure enough, a new message appears, from an unknown email.

He hovers his mouse over the tab and selects the message. The email is blank. Jason glances across the screen to see a single PDF attachment.

"You trolling me, dude?" he mutters.

Grabbing at his phone he sends another text.

seriously who the hell r u?

He waits. The anonymous messenger begins typing.

I hired you in France.

"Holy shit," he whispers. Jason leans back in his chair. His mind springs to France; two years ago. Snow. Late December. The job was quick and clean. The payment was good.

Dark Angel has earned a significant reputation among government agencies, international businesses, and very wealthy individuals. The security firm's rapid growth has been largely attributed to one thing above all; the blatantly illegal, but highly lucrative, contracts provided behind closed doors.

Returning to his computer, he drags the mouse over the PDF and downloads the file. Opening the document, Jason begins to read, as he grabs his mug. The first page is simple:

Overview

· Objective: Termination

· Target: Diego Perez

· Location: Caracas, Venezuela

· Timing: Before June 24th of this year

· Payment: $10,000,000

He nearly chokes on his coffee, upon reading the last bullet. After a few coughs, he settles down and rereads it. 'Ten million dollars?'  he thinks to himself. "This guy really pissed off the wrong people," he mutters quietly.

Below the bullet points lies a profile on the target, as well as the country, and political environment. Jason reads on.

Not only does Jason have the tactical understanding to carry out missions like this, but he also has the financial knowledge to clean up the dirty money. It's become easy these days, since the US government has become more accustomed to outsourcing its wars to private contractors due to the events of September Eleventh. His employers rely on him to sort through the cash from these black operations, funneling it through the company and into their personal accounts

Jason quickly researches the target. He's used to being in the dark, but that doesn't mean he likes it. 'Why would the CIA want you dead so bad?' he thinks to himself, as he stares at a surveillance photo of Perez. After taking some time to review the details, Jason leans back in his chair. Drumming his fingers on his desk, he weighs the risk of the request.

He then leans forward and grabs his cell phone from off the desk. His employers specifically requested no calls unless in the case of an emergency. He thinks for a few seconds, before making his decision.

---

Rome, Italy | 21:36 hours

"You want another drink?" Sam asks Lexi. Although only inches away from her ear, he shouts to be heard over the night club's pounding speakers.

She turns to him and eagerly replies, "Oh, I can grab us some more."

"No, it's okay!" Sam interjects. "I'd be more than happy to."

He peels away from the standing cocktail table and retreats quickly to the bar, escaping the dull conversation. She glares at him, as he walks away, leaving her with the couple they had just met. He and Lexi have been trapped in a discussion with a local couple who happened to speak enough English to carry a somewhat lengthy conversation. Francesco and Sofia are engaged to be married later in the year and had been discussing American weddings versus Italian weddings with the Remingtons for the past several minutes.

Sofia is obviously ecstatic about her wedding plans and Francesco feeds off her excitement.

Lexi likes to consider herself feminine, but there are some things she simply cannot care less about - weddings are one of those things. She and Sam put very little effort into their ceremony and made sure to keep it cheap, simple, and down to earth. Lexi didn't want to add to the family drama, by complicating their wedding plans. Her grandparents outspokenly disapproved of her Groom. Lexi's father's parents weren't too keen on the idea of their granddaughter "marrying outside of her own kind." The words still feel like a knife in her chest. How could such loving people, who she always looked up to, hold so much bigotry in their hearts?

Lexi patiently waits for Sofia to finish her Pinterest presentation. There are only so many photos of venues, dresses, flowers, and table clothes she can withstand.

While pretending to listen, Lexi observes movement behind Sofia's shoulder. Three women huddle against the wall as a single man stands far too close for comfort. She has been watching the dynamics of this group for some time. Nearly five minutes earlier, the young women had broken free of the man's awkward presence, but after relocating, it appears he just found them again. Lexi studies their body language. The man - tall, well dressed, and clearly drunk - frequently places his hand on the waist and lower back of one of the women, who shows obvious signs of discomfort. Her facial expressions indicate his foul breath and possible body odor.

Seeing this man following these girls around gives Lexi the creeps. 'He needs to go,' she thinks to herself.

In the middle of Sofia's ranting, Lexi abruptly moves past her, without offering an excuse for her sudden departure. She breaks away from the perplexed couple and closes in on her target.

---

At the bar, Sam makes sure to take his time ordering drinks. He allows a group in front of him to finish their requests before talking to the bartender.

Leaning against the bar, his grey suit jacket hangs open, showing his dark red button-down shirt. He watches the scene around him until he feels his pocket vibrating. Reaching in, he drags out his phone and glances at the screen.

'Oh, great,' he thinks to himself. The name on the display is that of Jason Snider. Jason typically reports to Lexi, as she's the one who handles the company's contracts and finances. Before leaving the United States, she made sure Jason understood not to contact them unless it was for an emergency. Seeing the name on Sam's device fills him with dread. Sam is responsible for the training and hiring of the employees. This could mean an assortment of problems, including the death or injury of a contractor.

Reluctantly, he hits the green icon and places the phone against the side of his face. Sam plugs his opposite ear, desperately trying to stifle the deafening music.

"Hey!" he shouts into the receiver. "What's up?"

On the other side of the world, Jason is trying to tell him something, but he can't quite decipher his words.

"What? I'm sorry, I can't hear you. Say that again!" He says.

Jason makes another attempt to speak, a little louder this time. Sam only picks up pieces of what Jason is attempting to tell him - something about an email and a new job.

After a few attempts, Sam says, "Hey, just send me a text! I can't hear you in here! It's too loud!"

He hangs up and waits for Jason's text message. A minute later, his phone lets off two buzzes in sequence. He checks the screen.

No message - just a series of images loading one at a time.

He selects the first image; it appears to be a photo of a document displayed on Jason's computer. He zooms in to read it closely and takes a brief moment to study the document. His eyes fall upon the compensation bullet point.

"What the hell?"

---

On the other side of the club, Lexi steps between the drunken man and the three uncomfortable women, who are desperate to avoid him.

"Hey!" she shouts, looking up at him. Lexi suddenly realizing the man is about half a foot taller than her, even in her heels. "Clearly these girls aren't interested in what you're trying to offer!"

He redirects his focus to her, laughs, and says something in Italian.

"I don't know what the hell you're saying, but I do know you're a douche" She points behind him, "So turn your ass around and get the hell outta here!"

He laughs again and steps closer to her, bringing his foul breath with him. She obviously doesn't appear to be much of a threat - much smaller than him, her hair perfectly done, wearing stilettos and a cocktail dress. She sees the three women in her peripheral vision, talking anxiously among each other and observing the scene. This guy is already invading her personal space and he has no clue where the line is.

Smiling, he reaches out to place his finger on her lips and shushes her. 'Well,' she thinks to herself, 'looks like he found the line.'

In one swift move, she grabs his hand, twists it outward, and then drives her right foot into the side of his knee, forcing him to the ground.

His face contorts and he lets out a yelp. He's down before he knows what happened. With his right hand still trapped in her iron grasp, he looks up at her, eyes now wide with fear. She then covers his face with her free palm and shoves him down on his back.

The nearby crowd scampers backward as he tumbles down to the ground. Lexi turns to the three women to see their shocked expressions.

"You girls okay?" she asks. One of them says something in Italian to the other three and they all explode with laughter. The closest to her - the one who appeared to be the main target of the man's attention - rushes in and embraces her. Clearly, none of them speak English, but as they gesture to the bar, it is apparent they want to buy her a drink.

"Oh, thank you, but I've gotta get back to my husband, before he gets lost," she protests. The three women, continue to gesture, as one of them grabs her hand.

Just then, Sam pushes his way through the crowd and approaches his wife.

"We need to talk," he says.

After brushing off the three women, Lexi replies, "Yeah. What's up?"

"Not here," Sam responds. "Let's go outside."

The tall Italian staggers to his feet and rushes toward Lexi, sputtering obscenities in his native language. He's fuming.

She plants her foot and raises her hands, ready for a fight. Before she has a chance to throw a punch, a heavy fist comes in from the side, colliding with the man's jaw. He spins, hits the wall, and slides down to the ground, where he stops moving.

"Hey! I had that handled," Lexi complains to her husband.

"I'm sure you did," Sam responds. "Come on, let's get outta