#four billy

Sasha's hands covered in white gloves wandered on the steering wheel. She had waited for this moment since she joined the team, and here it came: she was in Paris, waiting for One and Two to come out of the Villa Saïd in the 16th Arrondissement in Paris to step on it. This was the adrenaline rush she needed right here and right now, and nothing else. Five sat by her side, nervously checking the entrance of the Villa, expensive cars going in and out every few minutes, minutes nearer to the moment Sasha could drive as she always did: Kubica had to be awaken. She sat in a nice black car, a black Renault RS, slender and not very noticeable, nothing too flashy as she was once told by Piotr and from then stuck to that rule. Unless told otherwise. But now, they had to blend in, as rich tourists waiting for anything, their husbands, their friends, girlfriends? Who cared as long as Kubica sat behind the steering wheel.

Three proudly called the two of them “bonitas” as he picked their disguises, flowery dresses and satin shawls on their hair, glasses for Five and none for Eight. They looked adorable, nothing suspicious in this chic district, and that was the whole point. Sitting in the front seat, nobody remarked them as they seemed to carelessly chat about the new Louis Vuitton's collection, the one with red scarves and leather bags, whereas Eight asked Five if she had any new information coming from Two. But still nothing. No blond head in sight, nor One's face, no running, no people covered in blood. As a small talk, Five told her how Two got injured in Florence, and what a bitchy patient she was moving around and even going out as she lost a shit ton of blood to shoot some of the guys: this women was unbelievable. Sasha smiled, hands stiff. She could feel the leather under her palms, she felt the engine, this clean machine only waiting to go faster and faster. She could sense it.

“Bonjour demoiselles,” Eight heard in her ear along with Five: Three's voice from the car parked near the Place de l'Etoile.

“Something wrong,” Sasha asked, ready to speed up at any moment.

“Twenty one still inside,” he asked.

“Yes, they are,” Five replied looking at Eight, a bit nervous. “This shouldn't take too long if... Mierda, here they are,” she shouted as she saw from the corner of her eye One, covered with blood and Two having his back as they advanced towards the car. Five went to the backseat, already taking her medical supplies as Sasha had her hand on the lever, ready to go.

“What the hell you did,” Sasha asked, as One was put into the car by Two before she shot some bullets towards the villa and making her way next to Eight.

“He fucked up,” Seven's voice resonated in her ear. He stayed on the top of the building facing the villa, ready to snipe, and apparently he saw the whole scene.

“Go,” Two shouted, as Sasha put her foot down, wheels screeching, One's head bumping on the door as Five tried to make him stay still, him and his bleeding arm.

“Gentle millenial,” he screamed, all painful and fussy.

“Fasten your fucking seat belt, you” Sasha yelled as she sped up on the Avenue Foch.

“Idiot,” Two completed calmly. “To the Place de l'Etoile. He got fucking shot as I tried to gently talk with the man hiding his stick. And this idiot out there threatened him.”

“Three, path's clear,” Sasha's voice was strong, waiting for a reply.

“For the moment yes, staying here until Seven joins me,” he confirmed as she heard a car following them on the avenue.

“I'm not an idiot,” One protested, wiggling and Five had no other choice than slapping his head. “What was that for,” he exclaimed.

“Don't move or I'll be obliged to cut your arm off or take you to a hospital,” Five seemed stressed, as sweat drops appeared on her forehead, but she didn't lose cool.

Sasha drove, wheels screeching, the engine roaring under her control, One cursing along with Five and Two looking peacefully at the road. Three made a good job, she heard him faking a foreign delivering some stuff to the souvenir shop around there, the mafia men weren't pleased at all as they cursed him, making Two smile under her breath. But Sasha had no time to laugh, focused and tense: everything she loved in this job. She remembered perfectly the ways she had to take to reach the Quartier Latin – without Two's help – to reach Four, waiting for them on an old building. A grand finale, he said to her with a huge grin. Nothing good, absolutely nothing good.

“Where are you,” she heard Four's voice inside her head now, as she tried to avoid the cars in front of them and not get caught by the guys behind as Two was ready to shoot some of them.

“Not so fucking far from Notre Dame with dogs... Pigs behind me, three cars for the moment” she correcter herself, One's cursing distracting her from talking as Five scolded him endlessly. “And the mafia of course, five cars. Hope your plan is bomb or I'll have to speed my way to the 91 as soon as I can!”

“We'll be able to lose half of them, pigs and mafia, so be ready to drive fast: trust me!”

“Do I have a fucking other option,” she yelled, a little smirk on her face as she avoided another car while turning next to the BVH Marais, feeling alive and ready. “I guess I have to trust the Eastern guy!”

“Hey, lovey dovey Eastern people,” One interrupted as he laid on the backseat, trying his best to not move as Five tried to get the bullet out of his arm, “we're not on a love mission, you're not Three and Two, so fucking do your thing before I lose my fucking arm,” he yelled, Two rolled her eyes, before looking at One who just mouthed yes I know.

“Coming to you,” Sasha replied, ignoring One's whining, focused on the mission, and the grand finale.

She turned down the road after the bridge, arriving until one of the universities, this was the old building Four talked about, ready to be destroyed it seemed. She sped up, as the cops and the mafia were trying to catch them. She prayed for Four's plan to work out, truly. And if not, improvisation. She improvised many times, in a city she knew but here she felt like in a damn maze, and was still impressed by her ability to find her way out there. As she entered the large street next the building, she felt gas. No way. She sped up, fingers crossed, hoping they wouldn't get injured even more. A great noise, dirt all around, the building fell. Right on the road, right on the cars following them. And now, she couldn't tell how many of them followed them, but she had a moment to lose them, taking another path, and fitting in the flow of the cars. To Corbeil-Essonnes. The place police feared and French mafia too, because these people were something. And luckily, they loved the ones messing with Frenchies.

“Four, do you copy,” Sasha asked, as the adrenaline rush came down. On the road around Paris, she almost lost all of them. Almost. “Four, do you copy,” she insisted, as Two looked at her, intrigued. “Three, you're still in Paris?”

“Oui, mes beautés,” he replied as she could almost imagine Seven rolling his eyes as Three spoke.

“Four went mia,” Sasha said, focused on the road between One's groans.

“We leave the kid behind, he'll be fine,” she heard. One's voice. She tightened her grip around the steering wheel. No, she wouldn't lose her Eastern partner in crime. She gave him a dark look through the mirror before addressing Five.

“Five, if he says that again don't you fucking dare taking that bullet off his arm, and if you do I'll fucking kill him myself,” she threatened as Two chuckled under her breath, nodding as she looked at Eight, before turning her head back abruptly at the window.

“Don't worry Eight, we won't leave him again, as One wanted,” Seven said through the device.

“Again,” Sasha exclaimed, her voice full of reproach. “You're a sick team, and a sick man One!”

“Stop talking and drive,” he retorted, hissing between his teeth as Five still tried to get that bullet off his arm.

“We're not leaving until we find this problematic boy of ours,” Seven said and Sasha could hear Three's humming.

“You see these guys, you see them,” One shouted, moving all around,as a car sped up until reaching them and Two grabbed her gun and pulled the trigger. One less. Five just sighed.

“We need to lose them, you can do this,” Two asked and Eight looked at them, smirking.

“I absolutely can,” Sasha replied. Speeding up? She was born to do this.

~~~

Pretty quickly, Sasha managed to lose them all, with Two's help and her knowledge of the roads here – something Sasha missed truly to master this evasion properly. On the backseat, Five managed to get the bullet out of One's arm, not without him cursing for many, many long minutes as her and Two were trying to totally lose these guys. And they succeeded. And so did Seven and Three, finding Four.

“Good news,” Seven's voice almost blasted in everyone's ears, “Four's alive, his mic went off during the explosion.”

“Great,” One groaned, as Sasha sighed in relief. She grew close to all of them, but him and Five especially, and she dreaded the moment she would lose them under any circumstances. She already lost Piotr and Magda. “See, Eight? Nothing to be worried about with Four, he's a grown boy!”

“Yeah, thought you were too but you screamed during the whole thing as Five was trying to get that bullet out your arm,” she replied, driving calmly as Two just nodded. Eight made her laugh, sharp remarks, really nice to hear.

“... You have the right to remain silent,” he pursued and looked at Two to change the subject. “So, the usb key?”

“I have it, don't worry One.”

“I do worry, we never know with you,” he complained as Two rolled her eyes.

As Sasha drove towards the hotel they were staying in, Two and One discussed about the usb key, some details about what they needed there and how to get round the CIA's protections against intruders on their files. Three and One would certainly work on that.

They arrived in the hotel almost forty minutes before the others. Sasha was amazed by the calm of the man at the reception desk when he saw One's arm covered with blood, cursing as he held it. Two spoke to him in French, explaining some things Sasha had no idea about, as she looked at Five who just looked helplessly at her to escape One's ramblings. A sound, the doors of the elevator opened and two men with two massive guns came out, not even casting a look at the small group gathered around the desk. Two told them that this place was safe for any criminal, and that here having a gun was nothing abnormal, but seeing it with her own eyes, as she was accustomed to hide her weapons in Poland, made it look even more surreal than it actually was.

They had three rooms to share, Eight with Five, Two with Three and the rest of the group together. As soon as the group arrived to the room where the three men were about to stay, One decided to display all his electronic devices in order to begin to hack the whole key, with Two's knowledge. Five was still searching through the medical bag they carried in the car for some medicine for One, and trying to stitch his wound, as he typed on the keyboard. And Sasha, Eight, stood next to the large window from where she could see the parking lot, looking for the boys to arrive. And she saw them, her face lightened up instantly. Four was the first one to jump out the car, his hoodie on his blond locks and all covered with dust, she could see it distinctly from there. Seven carried his gun in one hand, not seeming to care too much about people who could see him – he must have noticed some men carrying weapons here – and Three had his sunglasses on, and walked confidently towards the entrance. Sasha told to the group that they arrived. A dozen of minutes later, Three opened the door, carrying a bag with him, followed by Seven and Four.

“Was it all worth it,” Seven asked as he put his gun on the bed that was his now.

“One says it is,” Two replied, looking over One's shoulder. “The man we got had many information, I worked with him in the CIA, and that key is our key to some true good information,” she continued, putting her hand on her hip.

“So what's the status of the research,” Three asked, standing next to Two.

“Either you fucking let me work this out, or you go fuck in the elevator or whatever,” One snapped, and Five put some medicine next to his left hand with a glass of water. She took a deep breath.

“Nasty move,” Seven commented. Four, who remained silent until now, leaning against the wall, only nodded with a hum.

“So sorry I'm not a romantic,” One ironically apologized, “but either you two move your asses and help me a bit with this or this mission will me meaningless!”

“I'm out,” Seven said, standing up to avoid the argument or the tension between the three of them.

“Coming with you,” Four stated, following him.

“I'm staying here Eight,” Five said to you, as you gave her a look. “Need to watch this bad boy right here,” she precised, pointing One's arm.

Sasha looked up at the sky, the day was intense. The late afternoon sun bathed her skin as she sat on the edge of the backrest of the bench the three of them were on. Seven was smoking his third cigarette by the time, and its smoke spread around her, perfuming her hair that she had let out of the shawl earlier. How uncomfortable she felt in that flowery dress. She regretted not changing her outfit before the coming of the guys to be totally at ease, but now it was too late and she had no intention to go up and to listen to One rambling and screaming – as she did in the car, while driving.

“Is One always such a pain in the ass when you're going on missions,” she finally asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence they were in for about ten minutes now.

“He's even worse than that,” Four snapped before Seven could actually answer, which made him laugh and cough at the same time. “Let's be real mate, he's absolutely a pain in the ass!”

“I can only agree,” Seven commented, after this coughing moment. “I heard about Florence, your first mini-mission,” Seven said and Four simply nodded, “and I was here after Hong Kong... Yeah, he's absolutely a pain in the ass.”

“Great to know,” Sasha sighed, throwing her head back in annoyance. “He's always so 'leave them alone, they'll be fine' too?” This question burned her lips since the moment he told her to not worry about Four, about a teammate. Her new family. And family is to be protected. Especially when this family is the only link to the living world.

“Left me behind two times, once he came to rescue me,” Four whispered, looking down on his feet on the bench. Sasha could hear sadness in his voice, and she looked at him for longer than intended. Seven threw his cigarette in the sand. “Wanker...”

“Buddy, you remember Hong Kong,” Seven asked before putting his hand on Four's shoulder and Four's puppy eyes rose to look at him. “The boat in the last deadly mission? The desert situation? The infiltration? This morning?”

“Always you,” Four snapped, and she felt hurt. So he didn't even notice that she wanted to put a bullet into One's head. And then it struck her. 'Again'. This was what Seven said to her, 'we won't leave him again'. Sasha remembered how mad she felt in that moment, how her blood boiled for somebody wanting to let one of their teammates behind, how it pissed her off. “No offense,” Four said looking at her before turning back to Seven, “but nobody seemed to care this morning. Fuck me if I'm wrong but...”

“I did,” Sasha interrupted him abruptly. She looked into his eyes with her pale blue ones, and she couldn't seize the emotion in them. Confusion? Gratefulness? Happiness?

“She told Five that if One tells another time that he leaves you behind she'd kill him,” Seven completed and Four seemed absolutely lost. He had lost contact with all of them after the explosion, and he knew that only Seven would look after him during the mission – dragging Three with him. But he never expected Eight to be on his side. But he should have. “That was a power move, girl,” he commented, presenting her his fist to bump it and she gladly did it.

“Nice to know that others care,” Four whispered, ashamed of his assumption about her. She looked back at him, her hand on his shoulder now, and she smiled.

“People do care,” Eight assured, with a comforting smile on her face. “We're not bloody murderers.”

“Three was,” Seven jokingly commented and Sasha just rolled her eyes before looking at him.

“You're ruining the comforting emotional moment now, Seven,” she complained with a chuckle before taking her hand off Four's shoulder and joining her hands.

“My friend, often told me so,” Seven said, a faint smile on his face before looking at her, eyes lighted up. “You heard the story about my friend who cried his eyes out during my funeral and made a full show so One couldn't stand it and made me leave my own funeral?”

“He what,” Sasha repeated, amused by the description of his friend but mostly for One's annoyance.

“This story never fails to make me laugh,” Four said and straightened his back.

“So basically, the guy cried when he watched the Barbie Swan Lake when we were little, no joke,” Seven began with enthusiasm. And for a second, Sasha spaced out.

Ballet. Ballerinas. She missed dancing sometimes. Whenever the subject was brought up, she could feel her whole body tense. She remembered every move she once made, every feeling she had, her mother's eyes too. Sasha tried to focus on Seven's words, but the more she wanted to forget, the more her brain tried to remember. Not too attentively, she listened to Seven's story, smiled and tried to hide the best she could her sad expression.

How she wished to be fifteen again, and to feel her mother's hand on her shoulder.

“You're alright Eight?” Four's voice brought her back to the world of the living, not letting her fully drift away.

“Yes, yes,” she quickly replied, with a little smile. “I spaced out for a moment, nothing to worry about.”

“Still the mission on your mind,” Seven asked, his hand reaching for another cigarette.

“Yeah and... Ballet,” she finally admitted. The words hurt as they came out of her throat. She couldn't believe that she brought this subject herself.

“People tend to block on that part, believe me, Four also did,” Seven said mockingly as Four just slap his back in response which made Seven laugh even more.

“Well, I used to do ballet.” Here she was, sharing her life with these people. This was the fault of the French sunset, its orange colors and the breeze caressing her cheeks.

“Like, ballet ballet,” Four asked, and Sasha rolled her eyes with a smile.

“Yeah, you know, the parkour but you do all in ballet shoes and you bleed and basically you know, nothing too heavy,” she replied with a smirk before Seven picked up on that.

“This explains a lot about you,” and she looked at him, a little bit confused, “you are disciplined and reckless, and you look angelic.” This was literally the first time somebody associated what she did with discipline first, and not being fragile. Not being someone to take care of, but someone who could take care of themselves, someone who was reckless.

“The perfect combo to become a good driver,” she laughed, not being able to hide how happy she was about Seven not judging her fragile.

“The perfect combo to become a good person,” Four added, and Sasha just looked at him, struck by what he just said. This was sweet and kind. His eyes were shining, he was probably grateful and she smiled, thankful.

~~~

Sasha spent the night talking with Five, both of them venting about One – who clearly felt better now – and his mood swings that both of them had to experience during that day. Laying one next to the other, they exchanged bed secrets just like the ladies did a long time ago. Sasha spoke about her mother even more than usual, mentioning how Seven talked about ballet today and how it brought back some memories to her.

How vivid her mother's expression was. How vivid her mother's eyes were in front of hers. How painful it was to feel this way again, as she was so far from home, far from where her heart stayed. She hid her mouth under the blankets, as Five looked at her with a tender smile. Sasha had found somebody who would listen to her, somebody she could listen to, somebody she wouldn't be ashamed to tell what she felt. Five became her friend. And she would never exchange this soul sister for anything in the world. She smiled as she looked at her, and Five giggled as she snuggled against hair. Amelia. Her name was Amelia. This was what One never wanted, but they became like sister in so little time, able to kill one for the other, protecting one another, living and dying for each other. Just like with Marta; but here, she could only rely on Amelia and that was everything she needed now.

~~~

“Eastern Europe, prostitution, kidnapping and killing,” One began to say as Sasha crossed her arms on her chest looking at him, she almost rolled her eyes.

“You're making a podcast for a lame tv channel,” Four commented, sitting on the table of their headquarters – as One wanted them to call the room in which they had everything for their work.

“Millenial, don't you interrupt the...”

“Boomer,” Sasha asked, and One gave her a death glare which made Two chuckle and Amelia just sat there, trying to not laugh too much.

“Will do as if millenials weren't trying to sabotage my plan,” One commented before looking back at the screen and clicking on it to show them the picture of a woman: Mila Babicheva.

Target number two. She was the government, the puppet master and a killer queen with gunpowder and amphetamine. Sasha had heard about her back then, when Piotr spoke about a new deal with the Russian mafia, but she never really paid attention to it and eventually Piotr seemed to let the idea go. And now, she heard about her crimes – or she truly acknowledged them, because before joining the savior crew, she had no real problem knowing that people killed people because of interest, no, but then she saw the sad truth One presented during his powerpoint presentation. She saw the girls being saved by some policemen, the ones kidnapped to work in nice neon pink houses without having the chance to see the light again, she saw the poverty the government made, she saw the pain in people's eyes. She saw whatever she refused to see because of her hate for her father. She saw what she was once part of and she was ashamed. Her mother would be ashamed.

So she joined the Ghosts. And now had to listen to One, in the desert they came back in after their mission in Paris and the information Two and Three managed to collect with the usb key. The Lady in Rouge, she seemed to like French. She owned everything from the air the people breathed to the vodka they drank – Four found that cliché, but totally accurate. Her puppets were docile, and everybody seemed do love and respect her – just like you love the person who can kill you with a snap of a finger. And there was the plan: infiltration of the said mafia. Not a big deal, not until One revealed who he wanted to be the infiltrates.

“So who you're sending for the local mafia queen,” Seven asked, furrowing his eyebrows and looking at Sasha and at One one after the other.

“National nationalist mafia queen,” One quickly corrected before changing the slides, “besides we can't do this Murat style because she has a strong fanbase...”

“Did he just used the word fanbase,” Four asked, looking at Sasha who just rose her shoulders.

“So I'm sending Two,” he continued and Two shook her golden hair in agreement.

“Nice, always dreamed about being a Slav girl,” she said with a smirk and Three winked at her.

“Trial by fire, Eight you're going in.” Sasha fluttered her eyelashes in astonishment. What had he in mind by sending her back to the mafia which was so close to her home country? She looked at Amelia, slightly confused but when she gave her a reassuring smile, she relaxed a bit.

“Nice to be back in the business,” she commented before looking closely at the picture of the woman with red hair.

“Four you're enrolled too,” One continued, throwing at Four a beanie he had next to him for no apparent reason – probably because Four stopped listening. “You'll be the fool card, the free man, blah blah,” One continued gesturing at him.

“Wanker,” Four commented under his breath.

“Three, Five and Seven – odd numbers – are staying here with me. Not to be touchy or whatever but you guys are too... Exotic.” Five arched an eyebrow, staring at him.

“Exotic,” she repeated.

“That sounds racist,” Seven added.

“Some Eastern people tend to be racist,” Sasha replied, not too proudly and Four slightly nodded in agreement. “A loud minority, skinheads we call them and usually they have close ties with the mafia.” She looked at Five with a caring look, what horrible things mafia could have done to her if she was in. “Besides, with Four we know more or less the Slav area, we'll just need to give the memo to Two.”

“Perfect,” she said, detangling her blonde hair with her fingers as Three put a hand on her shoulder.

“So, now we have a plan,” One concluded. “But, for the moment we need more information about the whole thing, how to introduce you to the mafia, to build your personas...”

“We're having a movie night, you want to join us Eight,” Four asked her with his head only inside her trailer after he opened the door.

After the whole meeting, she had to stay alone and to think. To think about her coming back into the mafia, again. She would lie if she said that she wasn't scared. She absolutely was. And she didn't want to bother the others with her feelings – not again – so she withdrew for a longer moment. She feared an impromptu encounter with one of the people from her previous life, she wouldn't know how to handle this encounter. She wouldn't know how to lie to them, to these people who once called her family. Sometimes, she regretted that decision she took during that night. And even if she knew that Three was about to find a plan for the three of them, she was nervous. Yet excited to know who she was about to be in this another life, her third one apparently.

And Four showed up, out of nowhere offering her a movie night. An offer she couldn't refuse. She sighed only before getting up to follow Four, under the bare sky dotted with stars.

“Ready to be back on tracks,” he asked her, with his hands buried in the pocket of his blue hoodie.

“As I'll ever be,” Sasha replied with a little smile. “But for real, it's just... Too much. Like, I left them and I'm joining them again only after a couple of months? That's just crazy.”

“We'll have to handle this,” he resumed the problem with this only sentence. “”Let's hope that Three will give us a nice role to play because I just can't stand being either out of that game or the delivery-boy,” he complained before they reached his trailer as Sasha giggled.

“I'm sure you're making a great delivery boy,” she teased him as she stepped inside.

“Oh shut up,” he reacted as he rolled his eyes.

Seven and Amelia were already laying on Four's couch. It was really the first time that she went into his trailer for another purpose than work, and apparently when his trailer didn't look like a total mess full of maps, it seemed pretty decent. The large burgundy couch seemed to be pretty comfy, and full of unhealthy food – but with Amelia's supervision, everything was allowed here – which were good news. Seven and Amelia stopped arguing for a second about the movie they were about to chose – just to greet Sasha and Four – before demanding them to pick a side. Space Jam or Home Alone. It hurt Sasha to let Seven win, but she had to admit that Space Jam was something, and she got a handful of popcorn thrown onto her face from Amelia when she picked his side.

“No junk food for you,” she threatened Sasha as she stuck her tongue out.

“No, have some pity,” Sasha said, as she sat next to Amelia and Four sat between her and Seven.

“Have some pity for those with taste,” Seven added making things even worse as he clicked on the laptop in order to start the movie.

“You're the next on my list, Seven!” They shared a laugh before the movie started.

Sasha rested her back against the back of the couch, Amelia's head on her shoulder during the movie. And from time to time, she felt like dozing off. She caught herself fluttering her eyelashes in order to stay awake, and felt strangely warm when she opened her eyes after missing a few scenes. Four had put a blanket on the two of them – Amelia and her – and Sasha found her head on Four's shoulder as they were asleep now, all of them. For a moment, she felt a warm feeling coming from her chest, she felt safe and home, with all of them, with Seven by her side,  Amelia  - her new sister – and Four – her Slav mate. Mostly with Four for some reasons.

~~~

Three's plan was way more than perfect, it was sublime. Dreaded and admired. Sasha couldn't have asked for a better disguise and a better character to impersonate. She chewed her gum as she wrapped a strand of hair around her index. These shorts were outrageous, just like Weronika. Three insisted very much on this girl's poor manners and her easy virtue. She apparently was supposed to be a hooker, a good driving hooker who used to seduce her clients to let her boyfriend – Nikita, who was the brain of the couple – steal from these people. As much as Sasha, Four had to change his look, fully. He got a handful of long-sleeved shirts with very original patterns to wear which suited him – not.

The Ghosts spent month trying to get some information about Mila's gang in the US, about somebody who would come there and give them an opportunity to introduce themselves. And the opportunity was called Wasyl Petrotchenko. One of the Lady in Rouge's man. He was about to close a deal and to have a little accident with a too curious man about what he was doing. One was the man. And who else would save Wasyl? Bingo.

Weronika and Nikita were just passing by in this hotel, Eight trying her best to keep her legs crossed with these short shorts – she wished Three would have thought about her comfort in these – and Nikita having a conversation with a man at the reception. Sasha had a huge sport bag next to her as she eyed the hall, she spotted Four first talking with the receptionist with the thickest accent he could, which, according to herself, wasn't the best idea, and then she spotted their target. Nonchalantly, she stretched her back, hands high in the air and One came in. She felt nervous as hell. From now, she wouldn't see Amelia anymore, for a few months probably because all of this wasn't a small job, no, this was a full-time job. Pretending. Faking smiles. With only one ally by her side: Four.

“Wasyl Petrotchenko,” One asked as he put his hand on the man's shoulder.

“Who are you,” the man aggressively asked, looking left and right.

“Somebody who will be glad to talk with you, in private.”

“I wouldn't if I were you,” the man said, rising his voice slightly. But enough to let Four hear what was happening.

“Oh, you don't know me Wa...”

“You have a problem sir,” Four cut him off, casually walking towards them. He frowned at One, hands in his trouser's pockets, he looked so casual as if it wasn't a death threat to be there and to try this.

“You're lucky, Wasyl. You fucking really are,” One said, stepping outside the building as the two mean looked at each other.

“Thank you young man,” Wasyl said to Four as he gave him his hand.

“Always a pleasure to help.”

“Babe,” Sasha said, trotting her way up to them with her huge bag, “what's wrong?”

“Nothing doll, just some jerk being disrespectful to this man.” She clung to his arm, with a smile and looked at the man.

“Oh, you're with your lady here, young man,” the man said, eyeing Sasha who felt his very eyes undressing her. But Weronika shouldn't mind. Sasha did.

“Weronika,” she presented herself coyly.

“And I'm Nikita.”

“We're coming from the same family apparently,” the man happily said. “What you're up to here?”

“Moving from town to town, just to... Survive, you know,” Four said with heavy undertones that the man seemed to catch immediately.

“Interesting... You should come and meet me in a restaurant tonight, I'm meeting with some friends, I'd like to present you to them,” he offered before handing him a paper. “Bring your lady, it will be a nice evening.”

They got it.

~~~

They got in. Apparently, entering the mafia wasn't as hard as it seemed – when you were Eastern of course. Sasha had forgotten how good it felt to be surrounded by people talking about money, about heists and about a lot of things, and how she could think about what type of car they would need for this mission or how fast she could drive. But Weronika was a hooker, a good-driving hooker but no more. So, she had to look nice and smile, and stay quiet. She had a nice red headband with a little bow on it, and wore a beautiful – and tight – short red dress while sitting next to Four, him having his arm on the back of the couch as she could lean closer to him.

They were trained for that, and, strangely, the first time they had to hold hands and pretend to be a couple for a whole day wasn't as awkward as expected. Sasha tried to understand Weronika, and it seemed easier with Four by her side as Nikita. She told Amelia how disturbing it was to be this comfortable with fake-dating him, and Amelia just rolled her eyes and mumbled something about obliviousness.

And, during that evening, they drank. Never enough, never too much. They drank until the party was over and they had to be back in their hotel, they drank until the man told them that he would call them on the next day to tell them what they could do for him as thieves – as he winked looking at Sasha who coyly smiled and bite her lower lip with her index wandering on the corner of her lips. They seemed to had won it. They felt like king and queen of this mission – not even thinking about Two who had still to enter the mafia in a way or another.

As they walked in the hallway of the hotel, Sasha began to tipsily agitate her hands as she slowly danced her way through the long red carpeted hall. From time to time, she tuned back to look at Four with a smile.

“Don't tell me you didn't enjoy this evening,” she teased with a little giggle.

“Was nice,” Four replied, looking for the keys in his pocket. He couldn't look at Sasha for a longer moment without thinking about her as his girlfriend, not only a fake one but as someone he desired, right now, as drunk as he was. But he had to stay calm.

“You look so concentrated, Niki,” she said to him, brushing his nose with her index. She also wanted to tease him, and to maybe have more. And when she arrived in front of their door, she leaned against it, before Four came up to her. “Want to have a little fun,” she asked as she put her arms around his neck.

“We're drunk,” he tried to say but she put a finger on his lips, encouraged by her tipsiness.

“Not enough.”

He opened the door. She pulled him, grabbing his shirt, against her chest, kissing him passionately. She couldn't get enough of his tongue as she kissed him harder and harder. She lacked air, she had to catch her breath as they parted for a second, her forehead against his.

“Give me all you got Four,” she gasped as he looked deeply into his pearly green eyes.

“Only if you give me everything tonight,” he replied grabbing her by her waist.

“You know that Eight is two times Four,” she asked running her hand through his short blond hair. “I'll give you even more than that.”

She let herself fall on the luxurious bed behind them, Four letting her go. Her long blond hair falling all over from the ponytail she made earlier. She looked at him, lust in her eyes. The Polish angel, looking at him, laying on the dark sheets, her pink lower lip bitten, she screamed innocence but her attitude was anything than that.

“Will you give me your babies, Four,” she asked, teasing him as she ran her hands through the strands of her messy hair. “Pretty please.”

“Don't you fucking Melanie Martinez me or I'll go nuts,” he answered with a hoarse voice as he looked at her, then he humidified his lips with his tongue.

“Maybe it's all I want, Four,” she replied going on her knees, resting on her hands behind her back. “You'll watch me for the rest of the night or we'll have some fun?”

“Stop teasing me Eight, I have a hard time controlling myself right now,” he whispered as he went on the bed, moving forward to reach her and to kiss her neck. “Really hard time...”

“You don't have to, you know I love everything you do,” she gasped between the kisses he gave her in her neck. “Please, please Four...”

She could feel his bulge as he leaned against her, she was really excited too. She ran her fingers under his shirt, stumbling upon some rough scars under her finger tips. He moved back, to take the shirt off, and as he did so, she took her dress off too revealing her black laced bra. The only thing she loved more than comfy clothes was lace. He looked at her with a burning desire, she definitely turned him on: she had that power over him.

“We should stop playing Eight, let's get serious.”

She whispered back “As you wish, Niki.”