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MATTEO
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I watch as Alina obediently walks away toward the ticket counter and realize that she's still dressed in nothing but a baggy camicia, skimpy cotton shorts, and white socks—dirtied on their bottoms.
I scowl in her direction, plagued with an array of unwanted emotions.
Concern, irritation, desire.
Each one crashes into me like a car smashing into a brick wall. It's surprising and painful and unwanted, all at once.
Having feelings for another human being has always been an arbitrary concept that I've never understood.
Long before I could talk, it was ingrained in me not to feel. Not for myself, and especially not to feel for others. Growing up in The Agency, apathy was taught like an art form. Either you possess the skill naturally or you must be trained to hone the craft.
I have always believed I was naturally gifted in the art of not giving a fuck.
That is, until I met Alina.
She's different.
And knowing that all of these people are seeing her vulnerable and bare has a growl forming in the back of my throat. A guttural sound that is undoubtedly fueled by protectiveness erupting within the deep confines of my chest.
My eyelids close thinking of last night and how her nipples teased me through the thin white material of my camicia she was wearing—the camicia she's still wearing. My eyes pull open and narrow on her retreating body. The memory of the soft skin of her breasts beneath the rough press of my fingers has me wanting to kill any man who lays an eye on her in this moment.
Dio mio, she makes me feel everything and I fucking despise it.
I shake my head ridding myself of such volatile thoughts. Alina is distracting and distractions will get us both killed.
Keeping pressure on my bicep with my good hand, I dig into my pants pocket with the hand of my injured arm and retrieve my burner phone. My fingers, now stained with my own blood, have a slight shake as I punch in the only phone number I know.
"Marco." He snaps.
"It's me." I pinch out. I've been shot once before, years ago, but it was a mere graze of my leg. This time is worse. Much worse. I can feel the bullet lodged in the meaty muscle of my bicep every time I move even the slightest bit and I'm still bleeding a concerning amount.
As soon as we get on that train I will need to remove the bullet and Alina will have to assist me.
"Mr. Seven, it's been a long time." He breathes into the receiver, sounding surprised to hear my voice. To him, my silence over the past couple of years has either meant that I'm alive and off the grid or dead, but there has been no way for him to know for certain.
"I have a job." I tell him, cutting to the chase.
My eyes flick to Alina to see that she has made it to the front of the ticket counter line.
"Of course, sir." He answers immediately.
"I need you to wipe interior and exterior security camera footage for the past thirty minutes and for the next hour at Okruzhnaya Station." I request knowing that I can trust Marco to come through.
The Agency has engrained in me their values from the very beginning. Rule One: Serve the Agency. It's what I have done the last twenty seven years of my life. The only thing I have done with my life.
The third rule of The Agency is to Leave no trace. We work together as a brotherhood to clean up after each others' assignments when needed. And though I trust my brothers—or atleast I thought I could— I have always had a voice in the back of my head that has told me to also lookout for myself. Me, not the brotherhood.
And I've done so with Marco. He doesn't work for The Agency. He doesn't even know that The Agency exists. He was a high level hacker I found on the dark web and has been a trustworthy and reliable cohort for the past ten years. He saves my ass when I can't save it myself and I pay him handsomely for it.
"Yes sir."
I go to pull the phone away before I hear his voice again.
"Oh and Mr. Seven?" Marco grabs my attention before I can hang up.
"Yes?" I ask, intrigued.
"Take care of yourself."
My eyes flick to my arm with a grimace before realization dawns on me.
I lift my gaze toward the ceiling. I trail my eyes along the rafters of the building, searching each metal support beam until I find it. A white security camera hidden in the corner, pointing directly at me. A little red light blinks a slow rhythm at its base, alerting me that I'm being watched.
I dip my head at the rounded black glass of the camera's eye. "I will." I reassure him before pulling the phone away from my ear and lowering my gaze.
I'm slipping the phone back into my pocket just as Alina comes hurrying back to where I'm still standing.
I look her over. She looks frightened and exhausted. Her skin is milky and pale, causing the bruises along her neck and inner thighs to boaster their presence. Red-ringed marks—faint but very much visible—curve around her delicate neck where Borkov's grimy fucking hands choked her. While the bite marks he gave her are now marooned and scabbed, forming a destructive path from foot to head.
I swallow down my rage. If I could kill Borkov all over again I would. But the truth is, I did this to her. There's no one to blame but myself.
Alina thrusts her hand out between us the moment she is standing in front of me; the thin paper tickets pressed between her small fingers. The watch I gave her is still wrapped delicately around her wrist, loose and the face turned inward.
"Platform four," she states blandly, looking up at me.
I meet her eyes.
They are ringed in red from all the tears she cried last night and slightly pinched as if she's trying her damndest not to show an ounce of emotion. Yet I see it. Behind the forced resolve and puffy skin, I see the contained animosity she holds strictly for me. The betrayal of this morning. It's there simmering under the surface like magma bubbling beneath the crest of a volcano.
It's undeniable the fear I've put her through. I've known it from the beginning—the pain I've caused. I've purposefully scared her into submission. I've put my hands on her to assert dominance and power. She's always been a pawn in the game The Agency sent me to play. All the while I've used the tactics they've taught me to get what I want.
She has every right to hate me.
I turn away from Alina, unable to gaze into the pools of hurt any longer. She deserves to be safe, which means getting her as far away from me as possible.
As soon as we get to Montepulciano, she'll never see me again. I'll make sure of it.