Snapping Point||Book 1

10.

As early as 5:30 AM, the sound of her footsteps rustling around my room stirred me from my restless slumber. I flicked on the TV, hoping for some distraction, but the screen offered nothing of interest. Sometimes, keeping an ear to the ground about Bologna or Italy at large could prove useful in our line of work.

The faint light from the screen cast peculiar shadows across the space. Should have amplified the sense of solitude that enveloped me but it only served to dump me in a daunting atmosphere. Aware of the urgency to leave the estate before attracting unwanted attention, I compelled myself off the couch and headed towards the door—the very door she believed could secure her from a man like me.

After a moment's hesitation, I rapped my knuckles against the wood, the sound echoing in the stillness of the morning, but accompanied by a news caster's voice. Once. Twice. And then, on the third try, I heard her footsteps draw near.

There she stood, upon opening the door, draped in a towel, water still glistening on her skin. I should have anticipated she'd just come out of the shower. Deep down, I knew it, but I came anyway, driven by a reckless impulse to assert my presence, to intrude upon her privacy, to steal her luxury of comfort for my own deplorable cause.

Her hair, woven into a myriad of braids, draped lazily around her shoulders, lending her a soft, relaxed air. It was the same look a woman wore after spending hours in a man's company, rushing to the bathroom for a refreshing shower.

She left the door ajar, which was a subtle signal of caution, perhaps wary of any potential overreach on my part. But little did she know, she had already predicted my every move. I stood there, just a step away from closing the gap between us, from pulling her close and satisfying my insatiable thirst—a curiosity to know exactly what she tasted like since she had smelled so sweet. I could almost taste the forbidden fruit of her lips, feel the warmth of her skin beneath my fingertips.

Regardless, I hesitated, trapped between my impulse and restraint. Drawing away from her didn't exactly do anything, as I could still almost feel the heat of her body, the pulse of her heartbeat echoing in the silence.

As I peeled the T-shirt from my body with a swift motion, I caught her squint-eyed gaze fixed on the tattoo etched into the skin of my back, visible through the mirror's reflection.

My demons danced on my back, providing a distraction while she lingered, those damn eyes tracing the patterns in a way that burned the edges of my ink. Her gaze sparked a fire at my core, and that threatened to vilify us both. I wasn't about to let her get under my skin, so I swallowed it, squashing the temptation before it could gain enough foothold to eat away my self control. This wasn't the time, nor the place, to surrender to her piercing scrutiny.

Eventually, I stood firm, wrestling with my darkness as she remained just out of reach, separated by the barrier of another closed door. She was back in the bathroom.

By the time she emerged from there, dressed in the black dress and blonde wig Max had procured for her, frustration grated at my already thin self-discipline. The dress clung to her curves in all the wrong ways, and the wig did little to enhance her appearance. It drew my eyes down before I caught myself.

Max had picked it out, probably thinking it was fitting for the role she was about to play. But it was too much, too obvious. Any fool in a dark alley would see her and stop dead in their tracks, falling prey to her facade.

The dress rode up to mid-thigh, its fabric so thin it bordered on transparent, leaving little to the imagination. The neckline plunged dangerously low, revealing more than it concealed, while the back dipped even lower.