Rydia didn't do honey pot missions, but her current one had started to push the line.

The parameters had been simple- kill the boss of a minor drug cartel rapidly approaching infamy before things got out of hand, in a way that wouldn't tie it back to the Varia or Vongola. Leave no traces, and let the body be found as an intimidation tactic.

She had considered a brutal slaughter of the mans closest guards, but the show of strength might encourage them instead of dissolve them; It would've given the impression that they had become big enough to catch the attention of the large fish.

Which they had, but the principle stands.

As it was, she had had a base line all planned out- slip into where the boss thought he was the safest, and kill him with no witnesses with a simple throat slash. She wasn't half bad with a hunter knife.

How it stood though, made the simplicity not nearly simple enough- the man was paranoid as all heck, and travelled everywhere with guards, even having them watch him as he slept.

Killing them would be too messy, considering he travelled in a pack of twenty, what the hell, so she had ended up looking into his hiring roster.

She hadn't been able to slip in as a bodyguard or any kind of lower level worker, since the time she would have needed to construct a suitable persona far exceeded the amount of time the cartel would have needed to jump countries.

Which they had.

And she was kind of considering just blowing up their private jet, but mission parameters.

So, she had ended up needing to grab the earliest public flight to India from Germany under her civilian persona of one 'Chiara Andros'; a ditzy heiress to a company that acted a cover for one of Vongola's above ground stations, who was fond of travelling to exotic places and going off grid in the cities.

In short, it was 7 and a half hours of using her Cloud Flame strength to prevent the person in front of her from reclining their seat despite their cursing and yells about 'broken seats', because really, first class was in no way subtle, and she had legs longer than your torso shut the hell up and deal with being upright, you're in economy.

…. She might have been taking out her frustrations in an admittedly petty and satisfying manner, though, in her defense, being Chiara meant a shit ton of face paint to make her skin seem unholy levels of pale in comparison to her actual skin, and a blonde wig that did nothing to improve her mood. Not to mention the contacts, and okay, maybe she was a bit paranoid.

Though considering recent police activity, she remained of the staunch opinion that it was very much needed.

Disregarding that, she made it past customs with a smile and a surreptitious hiding of her face from a lot of cameras in ways she perceived to be 'natural', because she didn't particularly want people to start linking Chiara to the collapsing of major underworld operations on an international scale.

It took her another week to hunt down the cartel into the throes of Delhi, and the metropolis did little to put her at ease- the high crime rate did though, since police resources were likely to be spread thin if she avoided the more active areas.

The boss was very fond of the active areas.

This mission clearly hated her, and she couldn't even use Varia resources since she had taken the job under the clause in her contract that allowed her the ability to take freelance jobs as long as they didn't compromise the Varia or Vongola; which meant she was working independently, and fine.

It wasn't the first time.

Would have been a shit ton easier if she had been assigned an idiot.

Her recon finally seemed to give her a break when the boss moved his modus operandi into the red-light district, leading back to her previous thought-

This mission was seriously pushing the limits of what was and was not considered 'Honey pot.'

Because the only time the paranoid bastard left his guards behind was when he was getting it down in some shady backside club with drugs shuffling with every card deal.

Three broken hands from unrelated parties, one eye gouged out with a broken glass containing a drugged drink, and at least two people shoved into janitor closest later; and she had finally noted a pattern under the flashing lights and cheap beer.

This sleazy, overweight man in his thirties, who was incredibly short compared to most of these heeled women (and her barefoot, never mind the heeled ankle boots she had worn for the purpose of fitting in), who smelt weirdly like avocado, was apparently trying to hit on every female of the Indian origin before the night was over or people stopped throwing up.

Which was…She was fairly certain she hadn't imagined that one woman in a sari who had backhanded him and tried to choke him with her dupatta before her clearly drunk fiancée pried her off and away.

Sighing, because whatever, it made her job considerably easier, how had she not noticed before, Chiara Andros strutted into one of the bathrooms stinking of cheap cigarettes, and Hibari Rydia walked out.

She smoothed her bangs away from her face, and that, combined with the still in grey contacts and covered up scar, made her practically unrecognizable.

Only the sharp bone structure and rich skin tone gave her away.

Well, that and the height.

Slipping into the crowd, she allowed a faint pang of annoyance at the amount of sweaty human beings in close contact with her, before managing to catch the man's eye.

And if her smile was a little too fake, a little too sharp, a little too I haven't slept in 18 hours chasing you down, and screaming 'sociopath'- She thinks she can be forgiven.

She doesn't even try and dance, (its not like she could- seriously, a squad of elite assassins, and not one of them can club dance-), but a simple sway of her body and roll of her hips has the man practically salivating over her legs; which is great because anything else would have made her look like a flailing baby giraffe.

Dark lighting can only hide so much pinwheeling.

It's a bit pathetic; the red dress is long enough most considered it modest, and she's very clearly hiding a knife in the pretty bow cinching the waist, but okay avocado man.

Which is how she ends up dragging a dead body spending 20 minutes positioning him to look like he was slumped over his drink- it would be suitably traumatic for whatever civilian or drug trafficker so much as pokes him, and she considers her job there done.

By which point she finally spots the mini security camera blinking at her from behind a winked-out light, and what the fuck.

Her poker face slides into form, and because she's 70 shades of done, and 30 shades of 'They totally saw my face' she smiles in a way she knows looks dangerous, and salutes the camera with two fingers.

Then, she strides away with utmost confidence, and books it like hell is on her heels the moment she leaves the bar, because she has no doubt that the footage will at some point find its way to the FBI division set aside just for the Vongola.

She's just glad Chiara hadn't been caught on cam, because her dress is a bit obvious.

As it is, she's already out of the country when a subtle alert goes up, and even though the footage was too grainy to make out more features other than the skin tone over a million people share, Squalo never lets her live down the rookie mistake.

(Never mind that it works out, since they now think the 'Regal Berserker' has an Indian civilian persona and not a swiss one.)