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Matteo
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I'm a ghost.
I'm trained to not be seen or heard.
Rule One: Serve the Agency. Rule Two: Take no hostages. Ever. Rule Three: Leave no trace.
If I complete the mission I get paid.
The Agency's rules are clear-cut. So what the hell am I doing with this woman?
I shut the door to the bathroom with a soft click leaving Alina to shower. She's in a bad state. As feeble as a twig. Being left alone with Oleg and then watching him get shot only centimeters away. It's all too much for her to bear and now she seems to have snapped.
Ignoring her soft, dismal cries coming from the other room, I head to the safe to remove the weapons from my holster.
I slam each one onto the metallo with unnecessary roughness.
Tonight hasn't gone as planned. I got the job done but it was messy and I despise messes. Normally I complete my missions from a distance, never having to get blood on my hands. It's what makes me the skilled agent that I am. But now that Alina's in the picture, I have to adjust.
Resisting the urge to grind my teeth, I shut the door of the safe. I wait until I hear the quiet hum of the lock before straightening my spine and standing back up to my full height.
I stretch my back and snap my neck side to side, satisfied with the loud cracking sounds as my body releases the tension that's been built.
Oleg's home security staff was an insult to every person in the field. Despite their incompetence with firing their weapons and hand-to-hand combat, the second man to burst through the door managed to put up a decent fight—after I had disarmed him of his gun. Maybe with some real training, he could have landed a punch. But not likely.
After putting my weapons away, I continue through my protocols. I head to the table with the untraceable laptop and open it up.
My fingerprints are the only ones that can access this computer. If someone were to try typing on the keys, the system would self-destruct and all of the information would be lost and the cache would be wiped clean. It would essentially become a useless metal contraption with a screen. A convenient safeguard to keep The Agency off the grid.
I log in to the encrypted server and type Target #28143 Terminated into the message board, notifying The Agency that I have completed the mission.
I jab the enter button with a little more force than necessary before leaning back in my seat. I cross my arms over my chest as I wait for verification from the Director that the message was received.
After a moment, words begin to appear on the screen in front of me. A robotic voice reads each word as it's typed. It's the same message I receive after every mission.
Agent 7 check back in at 1100 tomorrow for a status update and a transfer of funds
Once they confirm Mayor Borkov is dead, I'll get paid. It's how The Agency has always done things. Just as I'm about to shut my laptop I see another message being typed.
I groan, knowing what it pertains to before reading it.
Status of Target #28144?
I type the word Incomplete and hit enter. More words appear across the screen as the robotic voice speaks once again.
Complete the mission by 2400 tonight or the mission will be reassigned
"Fuck!"
I run my hands through my hair with a heavy sigh before tilting my gaze toward the bathroom, listening. I hear her again. She still hasn't stopped crying.
I turn back to the computer, typing hastily. I find the encrypted file I'm looking for and click on it.
TARGET #28144: ALINA LENKOV
I skim my eyes over each line, scrutinizing every word.
Her short bio reads:
Target #28144 was first employed as a sex worker by Vladimir Agafonov in 2019. Target is believed to have gained business affiliations with sex trafficker and arms dealer Valdimir Agafonov.
Threat level: High
I flick my gaze back toward the light seeping under the door. The Alina I have come to know is anything but a threat. She is skittish and meek—though admittedly at times she can get a bit mouthy—she's far from dangerous. She couldn't even manage to use a coltello da burro against me.
I can't contain the smirk that lifts at the corners of my lips briefly when I think of the way she slyly slid the butter knife down the front of her pants at the cafe. She didn't think I was watching her, but I see everything. Especially her.
I shove away from the table to pour myself a nightcap. It's late and I'm exhausted. To top it off The Agency putting a hit on Alina has me thrown off of my game. I understand Agafonov and Borkov, they are criminals, but Alina? Where's their proof she's involved with the likes of them? Where's the multi-page file on her like I receive on all my other hits?
I don't kill innocent men. Or women for that matter. I need more information. And I need it soon.
Just as I have the rock glass in hand, my ears perk. I hear Alina cry out that she can't breathe. The threat of looming danger has me reacting on impulse. I drop the glass back down onto the wet bar causing a clatter and the glass to crack.
Without a knock, I storm into the posh room filled with steam billowing from the shower. The glass walls surrounding her are almost entirely fogged over but I can make out a shillouhete of a fragile Alina bracing herself with one hand, while the other claws at her heaving chest. The downpour of water is hitting her back, making her hair appear as dark and shimmering as tumbled onyx.
She was so desperate to get clean she didn't undress. I sweep my eyes across her slumped body, her breaths are heavy and labored.
"I can't breathe!" She cries out again, eyes pinched shut, oblivious to my presence. "Oh my god..." she whispers to herself, her voice overflowing with alarm. "Oh my god," she repeats over and over again through shattered gulps of air. Nothing seems to calm her, instead, hearing her own frantic words only seems to cause her to panic more.
"Alina." I bark, trying to catch her attention over the sounds of the shower and her vicious sobbing. She doesn't hear me. Her hyperventilating form is too consumed with worry. She's having a full-blown panic attack.
Beh, cazzo. I step closer. "Alina!"
Another arduous sob pours out from her quivering lips and a vice in my chest tightens.
My eyes narrow speculatively. There's no way this woman is a threat to anyone.
She saw too much tonight, there's no denying her reaction. It's the exact reason I'm questioning my intel. When I first apprehended her I had no idea the truth. But now that I've had time to get to know her, I don't believe for one second she had ties to Vladimir in the form of a business relationship.
If she did, she would have been privy to this kind of violence well before now. The only thing that man did in terms of business, is groom Alina, isolate her from the people she worked with, and use her for his own demented pleasure.
Her too-small frame continues to shake as her hand moves from her chest to cover her swollen mouth. Her fingertips tremble as she sobs against the glass.
I can't watch any more of this shit.
My feet seem to move of their own accord as I storm closer and yank open the door. My dress shirt and slacks cling to me the instant I step under the warm spray of the soffione. I reach a hand out and touch Alina's shoulder.
"Alina."
I stiffen when she immediately turns into me—just as she did when I extracted her from Borkov's home earlier this evening. Her arms wrap desperately around my middle as her head finds refuge against my chest.
I hesitate, I don't know what I'm doing. I've never had to comfort a woman before and now I'm doing it twice in one night.
Almost on instinct, I wrap my arms tight around her waist pulling her flush against my chest. The touch of her body flush with my own warms me instantly. I have this inscrutable need for her to feel safe. With me.
Suddenly—as if she can no longer handle the weight of her own body—her legs give out. I catch her before she falls and together we sink to the shower floor.
Frantic, she grasps onto the collar of my shirt, crawling her way onto my lap. She continues to sob into my chest—begging for air—as the water rains down all around us.
A bit awkwardly, I lift a sore hand and rub her back. I whisper to her soothing words in Italian hoping it will calm her. I continue until her sobs dissipate and her breathing is no longer frantic gasps but instead soft, hiccuping breaths.
"Alina." I say after some time, my voice low and contrite. I don't want to startle her but I can't allow myself to hold her like this for any longer. I've already broken enough rules for her. Plus, I have much work to do and not a lot of time. "I'm going to get you out now, sì?"
Her body quivers as she nods. The two of us are completely drenched to the bone, and despite the warmth of the water Alina is shaking uncontrollably. She's in shock. I reach up and shut off the water before standing up and helping to pull her up.
We step out of the shower together. My arm is braced around her back for support. I turn her to face me. "We need to get you out of these clothes." I tell her.
Her eyes blink up at me and for a moment I'm taken back by their color. They are a complexity of different hues, flickering with intensity, reminding me of a scorching flame. As blu as the water at the deep end of the sea and as bright as the moon against a starless sky. A color I've never truly seen, until now.
I clear my throat knowing she's waiting for my next command.
"I'm going to lift your dress over your head and wrap you in a robe, va bene per te?" I ask. "I won't look." I reassure her, remembering how frightened she seemed when I stood in the dressing room with her this morning.
She nods weakly. I hold her gaze as I bend slowly and tuck my fingers under the hem of her dress. It's difficult to get a good grip with how it's clinging so fiercely to her skin. Slowly, I pull it up over her thighs, bunching the material in my fists when I reach her hips. Her eyes dance between my own as she gradually lifts her arms up above her head. I watch, intrigued as her gaze drops to my lips before lifting back up to meet my eyes once again.
I pause with both of my hands grazing the bare skin of her waist and our breaths tangling in the short distance between us.
Fuck, if she isn't distracting. The way she is staring back at me with those wide-set eyes and plump red lips, I can't help that I feel something. Something more than pity.
I take a long steadying breath before lifting the dress up and over her head. Pulling the soaked material over her arms and untangling it from her hair. I never allow my eyes to leave hers, no matter how tempted I am to let them drop.
I step around her to fetch a robe that's hanging in the bathroom compartment across the room while she removes her bra. When I turn, I find her back to me, watching me from over her shoulder.
I step up to her with the robe slung over my arm. With my free hand, I brush her wet hair off of her shoulder. I open the robe and help her to pull her arms through one at a time. When the robe is on, she weakly grabs ties and knots it in the front.
"Thank you," she whispers.
"Prego," I say squeezing her hand before turning away from her and heading back to retrieve a robe for myself.
With my back to Alina, I unbutton my dress shirt. My muscles flex as I peel it from my body and toss it aside. I unlatch my belt and do the same for the button of my dress pants, I tug both the slacks and my boxers down in one swift movement and then my socks.
I hear a gasp from behind me. I swivel to find Alina staring at me in the reflection of the mirror. I follow her eyes, they trail from my shoulders where my tattoos begin, down the length of my body, over the curve of my ass, to my ankles where the tattoos end. My entire body is covered in them. Every one of them a symbol of The Agency. Like a religion, every stroke is a representation of the bond within the brotherhood.
Tension between us is palpable when her gaze finally reaches mine in the reflection. They widen slightly as her cheeks bloom a cherry blossom pink realizing I've been watching her this entire time. She turns away from me quickly.
I finish dressing, tugging the soft white robe around my body before turning back to her.
I usher her out of the bathroom into the cooler air of the suite with my hand against her lower back. Slowly she makes her way to the bed, her body sagging with exhaustion with every step. I help her climb up and under the covers, pulling the blanket up to cover her petite body.
Her back is to me when I walk away.
"Prova a dormire." I say before going to the closet to get dressed, "try to sleep." I walk out into the hallway, leaving Alina alone in the hotel suite.