The pearl white Ferrari Aventador gracefully came to a stop in front of the illustrious Hellfire Club, it's driver exiting without a word and tossing the keys to an eager looking valet as he strode confidently past the crowds of on-lookers and photographers. To them, he was Joe Manganiello, and they'd never know any different. His disguise was perfect. He moved like Joe, acted like Joe, he'd ever practiced for weeks to sound like him. He casually waved to the adoring and swooning fans of the real Manganiello in the crowd but didn't bother with the reporters. To top it all off, he even had the real Joe Manganiello's invitation to the Gala, which he promptly withdrew from the pocket of his specially tailored Hugo Boss suit. Never fear, Manganiello was alive, but he'd wake up with one hell of a headache in the morning. After ambushing him in his hotel room, the hired gun had meticulously applied his previously prepared disguised and assumed his role for the evenings events. The suit, while stylish, was really more of a weapon than anything. From top to bottom it concealed a hodgepodge of gadgets and weapons he might need.
Satisfied with the invitation, the killer was allowed in, the velvet rope removed just long enough for him to slip inside, away from the uproar of the crowd outside into the elegance of the club itself. Taking a glass of Champagne from a passing waiter he idly made his way through the crowd, mingling with the other guests and carrying on just as the real deal might have, while simultaneously searching the crowd for his target, his hand resting on the small, integrally suppressed pistol hidden away in a custom fitted inside the waistband holster. "Lets see if I've still got it..." he thought to himself, a devious smile hidden behind the glass of Champagne he'd raised to his lips.