911 | james barnes

009

4:51pm, May 2, 2013

Milan, Italy

"Yes, I'll be fine. I've completed harder missions blindfolded." Violetta assured Klaus, taking the glock from his hands with force, sliding it into her right thigh holster. Dressed in her signature black suit, she had more knives and bullets strapped to her than normal, yet despite Klaus' advice, she was only taking the single gun.

"Lack of execution will result in serious punishment, Violetta." Klaus reminded, turning back into the large black helicopter she was standing beside.

"Extraction time TBD. I will await your check in. Goodbye, Black Widow." Klaus announced, the blades whirring to life, a familiar sound for Violetta, yet this time it felt like more of a goodbye than Klaus normally gave. With a sigh, she leant down to pick up the black duffle bag that contained her garment for this evening, a long glittering gold dress, its straps thin as a hair's breadth, the neckline sinking into the valley between her breasts. The fabric was lightweight, though felt expensive with a long slit exposing her leg and hip. It was as though the agency forgot how young she truly was.

Walking along the catwalk that connected the helipad to the penthouse suite she had been supplied gave Violetta a sickening feeling within her stomach. Something about this mission felt wrong, but she had no instinct as to what it was. Retrieving the manilla folder with her target's details and photographs, she relaxed onto the large plush bed. It was much more lavish than the small dorm room she had back at the Red Room, and Violetta was eager to sleep on a bed without cold metal burning the flesh of her wrists. However that would need to wait as the gala began in two hours and there was never any harm in turning up to an event on time. Besides, Violetta wanted some extra time to peruse the gorgeous architecture of the ballroom the event was in.

A steaming hot shower and two infuriating fights with a blowdryer later, Violetta stood before the mirror in the ensuite bathroom, hands tracing the curve of her hips and waist, the dress accentuating her athletic figure. Her snow white hair fell down her back, pin straight and tucked behind her ears. A gold smokey eye warmed up her grey eyes while a flattering nude colour was swiped across her pouty lips. A knife was strapped to her upper right thigh, out of view of curious eyes. Her feet slid into a pair of nude red bottom Christian Louboutin heels, the extra height making completing her mature look. Manicured hands reached for a nude clutch hidden in her duffle bag, large enough to slide her trusty glock into without looking too suspicious. Luckily there was little to no security at the event that night, otherwise Violetta would have needed to rely on her hand-to-hand combat skills, which were exceptional by any merit. Though the gold dress and high heels would have made it all the more difficult.

"Miss Gatie, may I have this dance?" A deep voice whispered, his large hand resting on the small of her back, waves of hot breath assaulting the nape of her neck.

"Why of course. How could I deny such an offer?" Violetta flirted, her hand grasping his outstretched one. Being spun delicately around by her hand, she came face to face with one of the most dangerous mafia bosses in the world.

"I've heard so much about you recently. Such a dazzling woman could never escape the spotlight." He continued dancing to the classical song being played by the nearby orchestra, his feet in time with the counts, his hips flowing effortlessly along to the melodious sound.
"You flatter me, Mr Sergi, but please, do continue." She joked, her hands sliding seductively up his arms, around his neck. Her face showed pure unadulterated lust as his eyes reflected a similarly growing desire.

"Please, darling, call me Gian." He growled, pulling one of the hands from his shoulders into his own, his pace predatory as he maneuvered them out of the way of dancing bodies, toward the private offices and rooms located on the second floor of the mansion. Her giggles were flirtatious and sickeningly sweet as his primal desire grew hungrier for the seductress. He kicked through the door of an office at the end of the corridor, far away from other partygoers. His broad body pushed Violetta against the hard door, his lips attaching to her neck as his hands wandered across her body, the slit in her dress allowing him access to her thighs and ass.

"Oh Gian. I want to show you all the things you're doing to me. Take a seat and let go." Violetta's voice hypnotised him as he stepped backward, his eyes devouring her body against the door. His legs hit the chair before he fell into it, the bulge in his pants growing for Violetta's hungry eyes. Sauntering over to him, she straddled his lap, discreetly moving her dress to the side, enough for her to have access to the knife when the moment was right. Gian's hands gripped her hips with a strength she was not expecting, eliciting a gasp from the woman slowly grinding into his manhood. As his lips ducked down to kiss the exposed valley between her breasts, Violetta's hand reached for her knife, raising it in the air before bringing it down in a powerful swing, stopping the Sergi's movements, the skin of her breast sucked between his teeth as he nibbled softly on the flesh. As Violetta stood from the chair, knife sticking opposingly out of his back, she leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his cheek, hard enough to leave a lipstick stain. With Gian Sergi's tie undone, few buttons messily popped off and a mark on his cheek, he was the poster boy for the Black Widow's victim. Violetta gathered herself, smoothing out the wrinkles in her dress and cleaning up the slightly smeared lipstick from her chin. Upon opening the door, she was met with a redhead in a black catsuit and a tall blonde man holding an American flag frisbee.

"Violetta." Natasha stated before the frisbee was cracked onto her forehead, causing her small body to collapse, a growing bump on her forehead.

"I still don't like that." Steve muttered, picking the girl up in his arms after sliding the shield into place on his back.

"It's cognitive recalibration. It's fine." Natasha muttered, the two sneaking back down the hallways they came in from. Running out from the back door and to the expansive field, they spotted the Quinjet hovering a few feet above the perfectly manicured golf course. Climbing aboard, Clint took one look at the teenager, muttering to himself as he turned around.

"Cognitive recalibration, my ass."