#ruby rose fic

And on this particular night, Beatrix stands on the balcony of a hotel room. Dressed in a black coat, much too large for her frame, and a pair of red stilettos, she examines the city streets below with her chestnut brown eyes. Despite the late hour, there are still groups of people stumbling through the streets and shouting their conversations for all to hear. Just as her eyes settle on a group of drunk women slipping on the ice, a pair of muscular, tanned arms wrap around her waist.

“Come back to bed, bella,” the man whispers into her ear. “It feels lonely without you.”

Beatrix smiles and turns around. She places a hand on the back of his neck and then pulls him down for a quick kiss. “What are you doing out here?” She asks.

Luca is, by far, the most attractive man she has had the pleasure of sharing a bed with. His towering height and dimpled smile, mixed with the perfectly disheveled coffee-colored curls sitting on top of his head, is a combination that could make anyone weak to the knees.

Realizing that the man is dressed only in a pair of boxers and an unbuttoned black shirt, Beatrix pulls him towards her. “You’re going to freeze out here.”

Luca chuckles. “Unfortunately, it appears that a beautiful woman has stolen my coat. Perhaps if she comes back inside, we can both be spared from the cold.”

“Perhaps,” she replies.

The couple leave the balcony, escaping from the ice and the wind chill. Beatrix slips out of her heels and tosses the coat onto an armchair in the corner of the room. She hops back onto the bed, while her lover rummages around in his duffle bag.

“I have a surprise for you,” Luca says.

“Oh?”

He climbs onto the bed next to her and holds out a thin black box. “A gift, to celebrate the occasion.”

Beatrix plucks the box out of his hands. “And what is the occasion?”

“A reunion.”

After throwing another glance and smile at Luca, she focuses her attention to the gift. She pries it open and her eyes focus on a large pear-shaped ruby pendant, resting on a delicate gold chain. “It looks expensive.”

Luca nuzzles his face into the side of her neck. His nose brushes against her dangling gold earrings, a gift from their third liaison, as he moves to place an open-mouth kiss below her ear. “Only the best for my girl.”

Beatrix pulls the necklace out of the box. “And did you get this before or after your business meeting?” She turns to face Luca and quirks an eyebrow.

He pauses. “After.”

“Must have been one hell of a business deal. If it makes you splurge on such a gift for your holiday fling.”

Luca frowns. “Is that what you think you are?”

Beatrix hesitates with her response, shifting her gaze away from his eyes.

The man places his right hand on the side of her neck and pulls her head to lay against his chest. It’s a gesture that feels almost too gentle for somebody whose hands are covered in tattoos of skulls and daggers.

“Tell me what’s wrong, bella.”

“I just,” she sighs. “I want to know who you are, who you really are. What you do. Where the money comes from.” She pulls away from him and starts to cry.

How much more of my time are you going to waste?

“I-I’ve fallen in love with you.” Beatrix tries to wipe the tears off her face, but just ends up smearing the liquid all over her cheeks. “But you have too many secrets.”

He’s too loyal.

Luca reaches out towards her. He pulls her hands away from her face and wipes the tears himself.

“I don’t care if you’re a criminal. I’ll love you no matter what, but I need to know the truth.”

The man sighs. “It’s best if you don’t know anything about my business affairs.”

There’s a deadline.

Beatrix peaks up at Luca through her lashes. His jaw is clenched and there’s a tinge of regret painted in his chocolate eyes.

I know.

“I’ve seen your gun. And your knife. Is your boss, like, a drug dealer?”

He doesn’t respond.

“I think I should go.” Beatrix slides off the bed. She heads for her purse that had been carelessly tossed near the bathroom door.

Luca rushes after her. “Wait, don’t go,” he pleads.

Can you turn him?

Beatrix whips around and shoves Luca away from her. “Then tell me who you work for.”

“I can’t.”

“You can’t or you won’t?”

Luca pauses. “I won’t.”

Doubtful.

“I’m leaving.” Beatrix responds. She grabs her purse and unbuckles the clasp.

“I know you’re upset, but I think we can work through this—”

Beatrix reaches inside her purse. When her fingertips brush against the object she’s looking for, she curls her fingers firmly around the metallic handle.

“—I just can’t share this aspect of my life with you. Not yet.”

Terminate him.

Dropping her purse, Beatrix lunges at Luca.

The man stumbles and falls backwards onto the bed. Beatrix jumps on top of him, straddling his waist. Not quite fully alert, he fails to notice when the woman raises the object in her hand. By the time he realizes what is about to happen, it’s too late to stop the dagger plunging into his heart.

Beatrix pulls the blade out of his chest and then slices open his neck. As she sits on his hips, she watches as the pristine white sheets are tainted by a deep crimson liquid. She reaches for his right hand and slips a ring off of his finger. It’s a gold ring. One that identifies him as a notable member of the Camorra.

A few moments later, Beatrix finally climbs off of him. She heads toward the armchair, grabbing her purse along the way. Settling into the seat, she pulls a phone out of her purse and calls one of the three saved contacts.

The line rings twice before the call is answered.

“Hey, you busy?” Beatrix speaks. “My boyfriend hooked me up with some amazing wine, but I accidentally spilled some of it on my white sheets. Would you mind popping by? You’re a genius at fixing this stuff. Plus, I still have plenty of wine to share.”

~ ~ ~

“At least you weren’t lying about the bottle of wine this time.” A woman, Izzy, remarks before taking a sip from her wine glass. Beatrix had met her a couple of years ago, when they were introduced through a mutual friend. Though she had been drawn to the dark-skinned woman’s sharp cheekbones and playful banter, she was more interested in Izzy’s talent for making evidence disappear.

Beatrix hums and takes a sip from her own glass. She shifts her position in the armchair, leaning back and crossing her legs.

“When were you gonna tell me that you were back in town?”

“It’s temporary.”

“Uh huh,” Izzy gestures to the corpse on the bed. “And what is this?”

“The boyfriend.”

“Okay,” Izzy nods. “Is the boyfriend’s departure from the land of the living due to a lovers’ spat? Or are you working?”

Beatrix reveals the faintest hint of a smile, before taking another sip of wine.

Izzy rolls her eyes and approaches the corpse. She leans down for a closer inspection, examining the man’s injuries and the blood pattern on the sheets. “Damn, he was cute. What a shame.” She frowns. “Didn’t put up much of a fight though, did he? I don’t see any defensive wounds. No early signs of bruising.”

A long pause follows the woman’s observations.

“Is he,” Izzy glances over at Beatrix, “Camorra?”

“You’re good with faces. I don’t think you really need to ask, do you?”

Izzy laughs before finishing off her glass of wine. She reaches for the half-empty bottle and pours herself another serving. “You? You were fucking a Camorra man? I thought you despised that organization.”

“A job’s a job, right?”

“You’re joking.”

Beatrix shakes her head.

Izzy frowns. “Someone hired you to hit the Camorra and you took it?”

The pale woman doesn’t respond.

“Jesus,” Izzy approaches her friend and leans against the wall beside her. “Bee, what kind of bullshit have you been roped into now?”

Beatrix downs the rest of wine. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

“Is the job done?” Izzy’s eyes shift back to Luca. “Was he your target? Some dude that they’ll replace before the sun sets tomorrow?”

“You’re not getting paid enough for that information.”

Izzy pouts.

“I just need you to clean up this mess.” Beatrix stands up and sets down her glass on a nearby table.

Izzy sighs and places her glass next to Beatrix’s. She shrugs off her coat, folds it up neatly, and places it on the table as well. Then she reaches into an oversized bag and pulls out a pair of black latex gloves. Slipping them onto her hands, she rolls back her shoulders and stretches her neck to relieve a minor kink in it. “And here I was hoping to waste some company dime by gossiping on the clock.”

A/N: I’m so sorry that Ares couldn’t make an appearance in this chapter, but she will be showing up in the next chapter, I promise!

If you are intrigued by what you’ve seen, I would really appreciate it if you could reblog this chapter. I literally have 3 followers right now (and one of those followers is me on my main blog), so I would very grateful for any help that gives me more exposure than what I would be able to reach on my own.

A simple assignment, really: be the translator.

As the driver eases the car into a stop, Beatrix glances out of the window. Her eyes scan their surroundings, noting the clusters of people showing off their overpriced designer jewelry and the borderline scandalous hemlines of their clothing. The New Yorkers loiter the space outside of a ritzy expensive nightclub, Das Schwein, a club that is embedded into the bottom three levels of the high-rise building.

To get the woman’s attention, Ares reaches out towards Beatrix, brushing her fingertips against the top of her hand. And when Beatrix turns to look at her, Ares pulls her hand away, signing, We are here.

The assassin nods, before opening the door and stepping out of the vehicle. She smooths the sides of her burgundy dress and takes a moment to straighten the plunging neckline. Though the winter chill encourages a splattering of goosebumps to form along her bare arms, it, for the moment, lacks the biting cold that had permeated the Chicago air.

Ares, dressed in a matching suit, takes the lead and approaches the building. Do not speak unprompted, she commands. Do not leave my side.

Falling into step behind the woman, Beatrix nods. “I understand,” she says.

When the bouncer sees the pair approach, he steps aside before waving them through the entrance. Without even acknowledging the man, Ares steps between the doors. She scrutinizes the first floor of the club, scanning over the patrons boozed up with fine liquor, the grinding bodies on the dance floor, and the sloppy touches exchanged between indiscrete temporary lovers in the booths. Her eyes land on a private elevator tucked away in the corner of the room, protected by a couple of guards.

Ares and Beatrix approach them and the guard on the left greets them with a nod of his head. “Mr. Brecher is on the top floor,” he says, pressing a button to open the doors.

Beatrix tenses at his words.

Brecher?

No, it couldn’t be.

He wouldn’t be here, not in New York. Not right now.

Ares enters the elevator and Beatrix steps in beside her. She clicks on the button for the top floor and takes a small step back when the doors slide shut. They ride in silence, undisturbed by the subtle hum of the ascending machine.

But for Beatrix uneasiness fills the silence, floods her senses with a flight response that’s impossible to act upon in this enclosed space. Threads are tugged in the pit of her stomach, snapping as they attempt to suppress the building worry, anxiety, dread.

It could be a coincidence; a different man with a shared surname.

A button dings, signaling their arrival.

When the doors open, Beatrix realizes that this easy job, this simple task of being the translator, is a far more complicated situation. Her eyes land on the silhouette of a person she had hoped to avoid for as long as she could. And her gaze drifts to the left side of his face, confirming his identity with a familiar scar etched into the skin. One that begins just beneath his eye, before curving to slice into the side of his lips.

Matthias Brecher.

Her last thread breaks, drowning Beatrix with a renewed realization that she has spent too much time dancing next to the growing flames. That frequently tempting fate would encourage it to retaliate with the most severe consequences.

The man notices the Camorra woman first. “Ares,” he greets.

She exits the elevator, stepping into the private room.

Matthias shifts his gaze to Beatrix. His eyes flicker with surprise, before an amused grin weaves itself into his features. “Well,” he says, “I wasn’t prepared for quite the surprise.”

“Matthias,” Beatrix acknowledges.

Ares’ footsteps come to a halt and she turns her head to glance back at the other woman. She watches her, studying the assassin’s face for any subtle twitches that would give away her thoughts, betray her motives.

“I didn’t think we would meet again so soon,” the man says.

Beatrix smiles, but the false joy never reaches her eyes. “Perhaps we meet again too soon,” she forces the joke between her lips.

And the words deepen the frown that’s already forming in the corners of Ares’ mouth.

Matthias slides his hands into the pockets of his dress slacks and takes a step closer to Beatrix. He chuckles, “I thought I was having a meeting with Camorra’s people, not Lilith.”

The woman straights her back, lifting her chin just a tad higher off of the ground. “You are having a meeting with Camorra,” she states. “I am here to translate on Ares’ behalf.”

The man hums, pondering over the woman’s response. “But Lilith would never loan you away for something this trivial.” He nudges his head towards Ares, “especially when it involves one party in particular.”

“I wanted a change of pace.”

“Or,” the man leans down, “perhaps the rumors are true. Perhaps Lilith’s favored rosebud has fluttered away with the wind. I’ve found that loyalty is a tough commodity to find,” he whispers, “nowadays.”

“Loyalty can be rather expensive,” Beatrix says.

Matthias takes a step away from the woman, turning to face Ares. “Would you mind if we postpone our meeting, for a just a few minutes?”

Ares narrows her eyes.

“Miss Amsler and I are old acquittances,” he continues. “Conversations with her are always a treat. And I do enjoy splurging on a bit of pleasure before getting into business.” Matthias chuckles, “You never know which job is going to be your last.”

Ares shifts her gaze to meet Beatrix. When the other woman gives her a slight nod of assurance, her eyes dart back to Matthias. She gives him a nonchalant shrug and then retreats to the small bar on the left. She sits down on one of the stools, before gluing her eyes back onto the pair.

“Come, Süsse,” Matthias places the palm of his hand against the small of the woman’s back, directing Beatrix towards the open balcony on the other side of the room. “We have much to discuss.”

When they are just far enough away that Ares is unable to listen to their conversation, Beatrix pulls herself away from Matthias. “You said there are rumors that I’ve been disloyal,” she says. “Did you know that I was working with Santino?”

“It wasn’t my first guess,” he admits. “But I knew you wouldn’t stay with Lilith forever.”

Beatrix frowns.

“I am surprised,” Matthias continues. “The last person I expected you to align yourself with would be such a prominent figure for the Camorra.”

“People have stooped to less for a few extra dollars in their pocket.”

“I’m almost offended,” the man says. “You would choose his company, before committing yourself to someone like Tarasov, or to someone like me?”

“At the time,” Beatrix leans towards the man, “I found this to be a more favorable business opportunity.”

“Must be quite the pay,” Matthias says. “Perhaps I should consider dropping my lifestyle as the boss, huh? Work as one of D’Antonio’s lackeys. After all, you must be swimming in riches. The pay must be good, good enough to convince you to work for the man who told his people to brutally torture and murder your best friend.”

The woman tenses, nails digging themselves into the palms of her hands.

“Tell me how you sleep at night,” he continues, “knowing that you’ve chosen to snuggle up to the devil himself. Do you still think of Evie? Do you hear her screams? Her pleading cries for help?”

Beatrix takes a small step away, increasing the distance between them.

But Matthias inches closer. “Or do you hear the wails of your baby?”

“Fuck you,” Beatrix shoves the man away from her. “Don’t you dare—”

“—No wonder you look so tired.”

The woman scoffs. “Is there a reason why we’re discussing this?”

“Süsse, we’re just having a conversation,” he says. “But if you want a change of topic, let’s talk about Ares.” Matthias smiles, briefly shifting his gaze to the Camorra woman. “She’s your type, no? Deadly, powerful, commands the room, when she wants to. And stuffed full with information that you could sell for quite the pretty penny.”

The man chuckles. “I know you, more than you’d care to admit. You’d never work for Santino, but you would target him, hurt him, cripple him. So, are you going to seduce his right-hand woman? Manipulate her? Convince her to confess all of those valuable secrets?”

“Targeting her would be pointless,” Beatrix says.

“Why? Because she understands the concept of sworn, unfaltering loyalty?”

“Because it would take too long,” she says. “I have no interest in wasting my time with a pointless task.”

Matthias smirks and pulls a phone out of his pocket. His fingers press against the screen, tapping on the buttons, before angling the item towards the woman. “Is that why poor Luca got chopped up into itty bitty pieces?” He taunts. “Because he wouldn’t spill any of Camorra’s dirty secrets? Was he a waste of time?”

Beatrix glances down at the phone, swallowing the nerves brewing in the bottom of her throat. Filling the screen is the image of a body, blood spilling out of appendages that had been sliced into manageable pieces. The body had been placed inside of bathtub, one that Beatrix recognized.

“Izzy may be your friend, but she is still under my employment,” Matthias explains.

“Does she give you documentation on every job she takes?”

“Just for the handful of people I care to keep tabs on,” the man shrugs. “Is your contract for intel or disposal?”

“I think it’s best that I keep that information to myself,” Beatrix says.

“I disagree.” Matthias puts the phone away, before reaching inside of the pocket concealed beneath the jacket of his suit. He pulls out a small circular object, which he holds up, displaying it for Beatrix.

It’s a Marker.

Her Marker.

Beatrix can feel the intensity of Ares’ stare, can feel her processing and examining the situation as it unfolds. And though she wants to look at her, wants to tell Ares that she wants, no, that she needs this conversation to end, she chooses to ignore the Camorra woman. She maintains eye contact with Matthias, determined to not shudder, to not buckle, beneath his gaze.

“You owe me,” he says. “We’ve made an oath, you and I, a blood contract. I’ve completed my end of the bargain, but I still need to cash in on your side.”

Beatrix remains silent.

“Tell me the truth,” Matthias continues. “Which of your many skills have you been hired to perform?”

“What would you do with that information?” She says, “If you sell it to the right buyer, I’ll end up killed, regardless of my answer.”

The man frowns. He raises a hand towards Beatrix and weaves her loose curls between his fingers. “You think so little of me,” he says. His fingers tighten around the hair, and he pulls Beatrix towards him, before shoving her towards the railing at the edge of the balcony.

The assassin gasps when the metal slams against the bottom of her ribcage. Instinct kicks in and her fingers latch onto the rails.

“If I wanted to kill you,” Matthias growls, “there are much more convenient ways for me to do so.” He releases his grip on her hair and takes a step closer. With his chest pressed against her back, he traps her between himself and the metal that is preventing her from tumbling to her death. “I have every intention of using the task you owe me. Ratting you out would be a waste of time and resources. You owe me, Beatrix,” he hisses, “not the other around.”

“Boss,” a man calls.

“What?” Matthias answers, ever so slightly relaxing his stance.

“Do I shoot?”

The man pulls away from the woman, turning towards his henchmen.

When Beatrix turns to see what the man was referring to, her eyes widen at the sight of Ares. All thirteen of Matthias’ men have their weapons trained on the woman, whom has a gun pointed directly at the their leader’s head.

“How fascinating,” Matthias says.

a/n: thank you so much for reading. if you liked what you read, please considering reblogging this chapter. every reblog truly does help a small author like me! but any likes, comments, or other indications that you enjoy this story is also appreciated!

this chapter was meant to be much longer, but i didn’t to split it into two pieces in order to prevent even further delays in getting an update out. the next chapter’s rough draft is over halfway done. if all goes well it will be published before the end of next month.

“Thanks for the help,” Beatrix says. “That guy really got the jump on me.” With the gauze secured in place, she pulls her hands away from the injured skin.

Her eyes lift to meet Ares and a moment of silence passes between them.

No problem, Ares signs.

~ ~ ~

Beatrix knows that she is being foolish, that her evolving emotional involvement with Ares will never lead to a happy ending. But against her better judgement, she allows herself to be a fool.

Ares is a distraction, one that she’s grown quite fond of. Nights of bruising kisses, breathless pants, and hushed moans are an irresponsibility that grants her a passage to escape the world she’s trapped in. With Ares, she escapes from the lingering suffocation of being under Eli’s control. She suspends her subconscious fear of failure, of the punishment Lilith would distribute whenever she had displeased her. Her thoughts replaced with a flood of colorful butterflies, fluttering in the depths of her mind. It’s dizzying and entrancing, but Beatrix becomes addicted to this feeling. When Ares coaxes her to let go, submit to break the coils building inside of her, she obeys without hesitation. And she’s overcome by the sensation of the exploding stars that consume her.

The beginning of the end is set into motion when Ares undoes the silk fabric restraining Beatrix’s wrists against the metal poles of the headboard. Beatrix looks up at the woman hovering above her, longing to leave more bruises against her swollen lips.

So she reaches towards Ares, pulling her as close as she can to her body. And she meets her lips with a kiss that’s too gentle, too passionate. It’s too revealing, but Beatrix allows her emotions to slip through the cracks, just this once. And she knows that this could be her downfall, that everything she has worked for could unravel. That growing fond of the someone could lead to her failure, her demise, her heartache and betrayal.

But she ignores that; she chooses to live within this moment. To allow herself a rare chance to experience how it feels to be with someone that she yearns for, even through the disguise of lust.

For life isn’t guaranteed beyond this night; for Ares’ lust could fade, leaving her empty and abandoned. Is it not better to grant herself one single indulgence? To quench her desire, her curiosity, before it can bloom.

~ ~ ~

Beatrix develops a cough.

It’s a tiny discomfort, really.

Just an annoying needle, pricking the back of her throat.

She tries to clear it. She gurgles warm salt water. She drinks green tea with honey. But nothing works, and as the weeks progress the cough gets worse.

Do you need a doctor? Ares asks.

Beatrix declines, claiming that it is nothing more than a simple cold. “Santino is stretching me thin,” she says. “I just need a chance to catch up on my sleep.”

It’s a lie.

She can sense that something is wrong, that something is trapped and growing inside of her. It’s something that she can’t dislodge, something she won’t be able to force out of her system.

Ares raises an eyebrow. No more nights together, then?

Beatrix laughs. She glances at their surroundings, making sure that no one is watching them. And with the confirmation that they are alone, she leans towards Ares. “We can still have our fun,” she whispers the words.

Their lips brush against each other.

And Ares smirks in response, before giving the woman a playful bite on her bottom lip.

~ ~ ~

Beatrix lurches forward into an upright position, retching and gasping for air.

The noise startles Ares, whom was sleeping beside her. She reaches a hand towards Beatrix, rubbing it against the curve of her spine.

Between coughs, the woman sputters out the words, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Ares frowns, but continues her soothing motions.

“I’m gonna grab some water,” Beatrix says. She pushes the covers away from her body and climbs out of the bed. The woman can sense Ares’ gaze latched onto her back and she turns to look at her.

You sure you okay? Ares asks.

“Yeah,” Beatrix nods. “I’m fine.”

As she enters the hotel bathroom, she closes the door behind her. Beatrix reaches for a glass cup placed beside the sink and twists the knob for cold water on the faucet. After filling her glass with the cool liquid, she takes a long sip, hoping to settle the aching pain engulfing her throat. Instead, she chokes and falls into another fit of coughing.

The glass slips between her fingers and cracks when it crashes against the marble floor.

But Beatrix doesn’t notice the broken glass, nor does she notice the sound of footsteps approaching the door. Her mind is focused solely on the excruciating pain, on her body’s desperate attempt to rid itself of whatever is lodged deep inside of her throat.

A splotch of crimson distorts the simplicity of the porcelain bowl of the sink.

And Beatrix breathes a sigh of relief and closes her eyes. The discomfort that had been etched into her throat has finally alleviated, giving her a sliver of momentary bliss. She gives herself a few moments to enjoy the sensation of breathing normally, before glancing down at the dark color tainting the simplicity of the pearl colored bathroom.

She expects to see blood.

But she sees a single rose petal.

It can’t be real; it’s impossible. There’s no way she could be so careless, so stupid. She’s just exhausted, overwhelmed by this persistent cough, by her weakened immune system. She must still be asleep, trapped in a nightmare, and she will wake up any moment, any minute now.

With a trembling hand, Beatrix reaches towards the object. And when she touches it, when her fingers brush against the soft material, she knows that she isn’t dreaming. She knows that her recklessness, her impulsive decision pursue desire has marked her. That her exit won’t be sudden, won’t be due to an unforeseen bullet to the back of the head. That, should she live long enough, her demise will be slow, painful. Utterly miserable.

There is a firm knock against the wooden door and Beatrix is quick to hide the petal inside of her fist. The door swings open, revealing Ares, concern etched into her features.

“Everything is fine,” Beatrix says, before the woman can question her. The answer is too quick, too panicked. And she knows that Ares can see right through her, but she does her best to keep herself composed.

~ ~ ~

One petal turns into two.

Three.

Four.

And soon, one petal coughed up at a time, doubles, multiplies.

Beatrix can barely breathe, can barely stand. She can’t focus on her meetings with Santino; she spends her time rushing to the bathroom to hurl petals into ceramic sinks. To flush the evidence down the porcelain bowls of toilets.

You are not getting better. Ares tells her.

But the woman brushes off the concern, insists that she’s fine.

Go to the doctor.

Beatrix sighs.

Please.

“Okay,” she says.

~ ~ ~

Beatrix already knows the diagnosis; she knows long before the words exit the doctor’s lips.

Hanahaki Diease.

Her love is unrequited.

And the petals growing inside of her lungs will eventually kill her, suffocate her.

“It’s progressing quickly,” the doctor says. “The disease has already consumed more than 50% of your lung capacity. I’m afraid that, even if you recover, there will be lingering damage.”

Beatrix stares at them, unable to muster the words that she needs to speak.

“Unfortunately,” they continue, “it’s too late for you to fall out of love with this person. Your first method of treatment is, of course, the natural route. However, you are running out of time, so you will need to act quickly. I suggest that you tell this person how you feel. Be direct, straight-forward about your feelings.

“If all goes well, and the feelings are mutual, you will be able to reverse the progression. It is important that you have this conversation face-to-face. This cure will only work if their requited feelings for you are stated out loud.”

A crack forms, breaking the composure that Beatrix had worked so hard to maintain. She laughs. It’s a desperate, defeated noise. One that does little to disguise the realization of her doom.

“I understand if you need time to process what I’m telling you,” the doctor says. “But we are working against the clock, your condition is accelerating faster than the typical—”

“She’s mute,” Beatrix interrupts.

“I see,” they say. The doctor pauses, taking a moment to type notes into Beatrix’s patient file. “Then your only alternative is surgery. It is an invasive, aggressive method. And in your current condition, it is quite dangerous. I would go in and cut away the infected ares, including the root of the disease. Right now, your chances of surviving the procedure is about 45%. The longer we wait, the higher your risk of death.”

The doctor stops speaking when Beatrix begins to cough.

When the woman pulls her face away from the palms of her hands, five rose petals are nestled against her skin.

“Hanahaki Disease isn’t contagious, but there is no sure way of knowing who is at risk of developing it,” the doctor continues. “On top of the risk for your life, there will be risk for the life of the person you love. Once I remove the root, your feelings for them will disappear. You will never be able to fall back in love with them. If this person happens to return your feelings, there is a possibility that they will also suffer from the disease.”

Beatrix frowns. “It would be impossible for me to save her?”

“This procedure is your only shot at survival, Miss Amsler. As your doctor, I advise you to act quickly,” they sigh. “But I cannot, in good conscience, recommend you do this without first having a discussion with this person. If they are in love with you, they may also need surgery in the future. It is best that you give them a proper warning, so they can be prepared if the worst case scenario does occur.”

“Thank you,” Beatrix says, “for the advice.”

When Ares inquires about the woman’s diagnosis, Beatrix tells her the truth. That an infection has manifested inside of her lungs. That the treatment is easy, simple. But she omits the fact that the easy cure for her illness is outside of her grasp. And the alternative is a path that she will not pursue.

~ ~ ~

It isn’t long before the severity of her condition becomes impossible to hide. Her health deteriorates at a rapid pace, and soon Beatrix is unable to stand for long periods of time. She frequently collapses, consumed by long fits of painful coughing. The woman is almost breathless, barely able to fill her lungs with the bare minimum of oxygen required to keep her going.

You need to go back to the doctor.

“No,” Beatrix says. “I already got my diagnosis.”

They were wrong. Ares says. You need new treatment.

The woman coughs and it’s exhausting. “Nothing will help,” she whispers.

Bullshit. Ares frowns. You are just stubborn.

When Beatrix attempts to respond, she unleashes a new onslaught of coughing. The pain is overwhelming and liquid pools in the corner of her eyes. She feels the petals sliding through her throat. They exit her body and land on the cold stone of the floor beneath her.

“It’s Hanahaki Disease,” Beatrix says.

Ares lowers herself to the ground, sitting in the empty space next to Beatrix. She places a hand beneath the woman’s chin, turning her head to look at her.

Who is the cause?

The truth almost slips out, but Beatrix quenches that instinct. Would it not be more kind, to hide the truth? To spare Ares; to save her from experiencing the guilt, the knowledge, of being the cause for her demise? And what if her affections are returned?

It would be selfish to tell Ares. Selfish to expose her heart, to force Ares to cope with the knowledge that their relationship was cursed from the very beginning. That there exists no solution in which they are both able to live and be together. Because even with the surgery, it would be pure torture for Beatrix to share her feelings, just to have them sliced away, ripped from the confines of her body. And the risk of condemning Ares to share the same fate was nothing more than cruelty.

It would not be fair.

No, it would not be kind.

Ares had not forced Beatrix into falling in love her. Beatrix had done so willingly, had been the pursuer, not the pursued.

Beatrix pulls her gaze away from Ares, focusing her sights on the stone. “Santino,” she says.

But had she not looked away, she would have seen it.

It was there, for just a split-second, painted and unconcealed in Ares’ features.

Heartbreak.

~ ~ ~

With Santino’s permission, Ares takes Beatrix away from their Camorra duties. The pair travel to Germany, locking themselves away inside of a cottage; one that is hidden within the woods of a rural town. It’s a location that Beatrix has escaped to before, a shelter she latched onto when she had first attempted to slip away from Lilith’s grasp.

Though Beatrix is embarrassed by her dependence on the woman, she is thankful that Ares was more than willing to help her. The lack of sufficient oxygen being supplied to her body leaves her weak, unable to do tasks that were once easy, thoughtless.

Just a few months ago, showering with Ares was energetic, fueled by intoxicating kisses and touches that ignited quickening heartbeats. Masked by the noise of running water, Beatrix had allowed herself to be more vocal with her sounds, had allowed Ares to fully experience each response she was coaxing from the woman. But now, bathing has simplified to the two woman laying together inside of the small bathtub.

Their routine is simple.

Ares starts the bath, ensuring that the water’s temperature is warm enough to soothe the aches permanently settled inside of Beatrix’s chest. When the water has filled the tub halfway, Ares carries Beatrix into the bathroom. She helps her undress, before undressing herself. The pair settle themselves into the water, and then Ares washes her hair, her body. She rubs her hands across the woman’s chest, hoping to alleviate some of the pain.

And in those moments, Ares wishes that she could switch places with Beatrix, that she could save her. That she could go back in time and convince Santino to ignore the woman, to refuse her offer to kill Angelo. A life where she hasn’t loved Beatrix, hasn’t known Beatrix, is a sacrifice she could make. A sacrifice she would willing make, if it meant there was a chance of Beatrix never developing this disease. Because she knows that she will never care for someone again, not in the way she’s cared for this woman. And to live the rest of her life without her embrace would be worse than torture from the cruelest of tormentors.

Beatrix leans back, pressing her skin against the woman’s chest.

Ares responds by wrapping her arms around her, embracing Beatrix in a hug that’s too intimate, too revealing of her buried emotions.

Everything is just too overwhelming. Beatrix knows that it’s no longer a matter of months or weeks, that her time left before the disease fully consumes her has been reduced to a number of days. But it’s painful to cry, an exhausting action. It eats away the little amount of air that she can hold in her crowded lungs.

“I lied,” Beatrix whispers.

Ares tightens her grip on the woman’s waist, urging her to continue.

“It was never Santino,” she admits. “It was you. I love you.”

Ares removes her hands from the woman, lifting them out of the water. I love you, she says. And then she pulls Beatrix back into her arms and nudges her nose against the skin of her delicate neck.

Beatrix is never able to speak again.

~ ~ ~

In her last moments, Ares is with her. An oxygen mask is secured in place, but it only delays the inevitable. Still, Beatrix cherishes these few extra moments, this tiny extension of time that she can spend with her lover. They lay together in the bed, covered by a mountain of emerald green blankets.

Even knowing her fate, there is nothing she would have changed. And given the chance, she would do it all over again. Because love was never something she thought she could experience; the concept of love has always felt like a gift that would never be granted. She has done terrible things to those who did not deserve it, has sealed the tragic fate of innocent people. And if this is her punishment, her only chance to repent, she accepts it.

And the truth is that she has been lucky, to survive the consequences of betraying Eli, to survive the wrath of Lilith. She has been lucky to live long, long beyond the day when Angelo had planted a bullet inside of her. Throughout her career, her life, she has come so close to embracing the hand of Death himself. Yet, she has always refused him, choosing to push him away and cling onto the robes of the Angel of Life. But the Angel is tired, tired of her relentless begging, her pleading for another day—just one more.

Beatrix accepts her fate, accepts the pain. And she does so, knowing that unlike her victims, she can spend her last moments within the embrace of someone who loves her, is devoted to her. That this is a luxury she doesn’t deserve, but has been gifted, regardless.

She wraps her fingers around the woman’s hand, pulling it close to her chest.

And she smiles, knowing that their love is requited and Ares will be safe.

a/n: hello! thank you for reading my work. if you like my content, please consider reblogging this piece. it is a simple action that truly helps a small author like me be seen by others. i do also appreciate any likes/comments you are willing to leave.

sorry for being a sad clown and writing this, but i had an idea and i was itching to write it. normal updates for hypnophobia will resume after i’ve settled into my new apartment! so you can expect that in the next 2-3 weeks, depending on when i’m able to set up wifi.

Further removing herself from the state of slumber, her brain turns on the gears, starts the process of comprehending her surroundings. She begins to register the sound of raindrops, splattering against the glass of their secluded bedroom. Exposed skin is chilled from a breeze that slips between the space provided by windows left slightly ajar. And the body behind her, the woman behind her, is stained with the scent of the jasmine perfume that Beatrix had worn the night before.

Full lips are pressed against her skin. They brush along her neck, before migrating down to her shoulder blade. Beatrix moans when she feels teeth sink into her, scratching playful markings on top of her lotus tattoo.

“Ares,” she whispers, a pleading noise escaping her lips.

The woman smiles into her skin. And then she pulls her lips away, pulls her body away.

And Beatrix panics.

She turns her body on the bed and latches onto Ares, pulling her flush against her body. She needs to feel her, to know that she’s there, that Ares is real, and that the heartbeat that she feels isn’t a fantasy that bleed from her slumber and into her reality.

Ares places a comforting hand against the woman’s back, rubbing a thumb against her. With her free hand, she brushes strands of long hair away from Beatrix’s face. She raises her head to press a gentle kiss on the woman’s forehead.

Beatrix relaxes.

She opens her eyes, blinking away the blurriness that lingers after a deep slumber. Through the window, she sees a single ray of sunlight, breaking through the expanse of gray clouds. The light illuminates the lavender flowers planted outside, on the windowsill. Then she shifts her eyes to where the warmth radiates. And she focuses on the familiar tattoos inked onto a thin arm and the heartbeat embedded into the side of a neck.

Beatrix lays the side of her face against the flat space of her lover’s shoulder. “You’re here,” she mumbles.

Ares trails her fingers against the woman’s back, tracing the outlines of a freshly healed tattoo. Though her lips are graced with a soft smile, her eyes are tinged with concern.

The couple lay together, for awhile longer, their limbs intertwined. Ares runs her fingers through the woman’s hair, untangling knots that had formed in the midst of passion exchanged. Beatrix breathes in the scent of her lover’s skin, further grounding herself into this reality.

When Ares is certain that Beatrix has calmed down, she pulls her arms away. She moves them to grip the woman’s hips, urging Beatrix to move her body.

Without hesitation, Beatrix obliges. She climbs on top of Ares and straddles her hips between her legs. Eager, she presses herself against the woman beneath her and leans down to kiss her.

But Ares stops her.

Planting a hand firmly against her chest, she pushes Beatrix to sit upright. She takes a moment to examine the woman, observing her barely open eyes, her swollen lips, and the fading lipstick smeared against her skin.

She lifts her hands, bringing them to the space between the women. Are you okay? She signs.

Beatrix blinks and then shifts her gaze to look away from Ares. She opens her mouth to speak, but pauses. “For a moment,” she finally says, “I thought you were going to disappear.”

Ares presses a hand against her cheek, turning her head back towards her.

I’m right here, she says. I’m not leaving you.

Beatrix smiles. She leans down and meets Ares in series of sweet, gentle kisses.

The buzz of a phone interrupts them.

Beatrix pulls away, sighing. She reaches for the black cellphone resting on the bedside table and frowns. A notification flashes across the screen, a message from Santino D’Antonio.

Ares slips the phone out of the woman’s fingers, turning it so she can see the screen.

“Ignore him,” Beatrix says.

Ares smiles, but unlocks the phone. She reads the message, before dropping the phone onto the bed.

He needs to see you.

“He can wait,” Beatrix responds.

Ares lifts an eyebrow. He says that it is important.

Beatrix rolls her. “He’s a big boy,” she rests her chest against Ares, “he should learn some patience.”

Ares quirks her mouth in amusement, before pulling Beatrix into another kiss. She flips them over, trapping the woman between her and the mattress.

Beatrix presses her thighs against her hips, wanting to feel all of her lover.

Ares nibbles against the bottom of Beatrix’s lips, urging her to whisper a soft moan in response. Seizing the opportunity, Ares slips her tongue between the parted lips, deepening the lust blooming between the women.

Beatrix digs her nails into the woman’s back, marking the skin with fresh scratches.

Ares pulls her lips away from Beatrix, choosing to pepper kisses along the woman’s jawline. She then presses her lip onto the woman’s neck, sinking her teeth into the delicate skin. A few moments later, she continues to trail her lips down the woman’s body. She travels across her collarbones, the space between her breasts, and along the scars etched onto her stomach.

Beatrix tangles her fingers into the woman’s short hair, impatient and desperate for Ares. Unintelligible pleas escaping from her lips.

Ares dips her head between the spread legs and—

The phone rings, screaming its godawful noise into the room.

Ares freezes, before pulling her face away from Beatrix. She reaches for the cellphone and accepts the call. The woman holds the phone up to her ear for a moment, and then passes it to the other woman.

“What do you want?” Beatrix hisses.

“Ahh,” the man responds, “a good morning to you, too.”

“Santino, get on with it.” A warning.

“The Germans have a proposal.” The man sighs. “I need you to show up for a meeting.”

Movement from the corner of her eye draws her attention. She watches as Ares untangles her limbs from the bedsheets and leaves the comfort of the fabric. She picks up a burgundy shirt from the floor, the same one Beatrix had torn off of her last night, and slips her arms inside of the sleeves. A moment later, she exits the bedroom.

“Answer me,” Santino’s voice pulls her attention back to the call.

“Which Germans are you talking about?” She questions. “Did they mention anything about what they wanted?”

“Matthias,” the Camorra man pauses, “is requesting your presence.”

“Tell him to fuck off.”

Santino chuckles. “That might break his heart. He seems to be quite enchanted by you.”

The woman rolls her eyes. “Did he mention anything else?”

“Lilith.”

Beatrix frowns. “But Lilith is—”

The man interrupts her, “Actions can lead to unexpected conflicts.” A pause. “He says that he can make it, ‘go away.’”

Silence follows, as she processes the information.

“Beatrix?”

“When does he want to meet?”

“This evening, for a late dinner.”

“I will be there,” the woman responds. She ends the call and tosses the phone back onto the bedside table.

Ares walks back into the bedroom, dressed in a clean black buttoned shirt and a pair of navy blue tapered slacks. She pauses in her steps, her eyes focused on Beatrix.

You’re upset.

Beatrix nods her head in response.

What did he say?

“That Matthias has a proposal for me.” Wrapping herself in the bedsheet, Beatrix stands up from the bed and approaches Ares. “It has something to do with Lilith.”

Ares furrows her brows. She is gone.

“It would appear that my actions resulted in,” Beatrix takes a moment to consider her words, “a rippling effect of consequences.”

Ares frowns and her eyes drift down to stare at the dark wooden floors.

“I should have known better,” Beatrix says. “Lilith’s poison contaminates all of Germany. There is no freedom from my people.”

Ares takes a step towards her, determination painted in her features. She reaches for Beatrix’s hand and pulls it towards her, placing it on her chest. Her thumb traces against the edges of an emerald, cut in a pear shape and attached to a simple gold band.

Ares removes her hold on the hand, allowing her to shape her next words. I vowed to protect you. And I intend to keep that promise.

Beatrix blinks, surprised, but comforted. “Ares—”

I will not allow harm to befall you. You do not need to ask me to fight with you, to fight for you. I will do so willingly, for as long as you wish that of me.

Beatrix lifts her hand, placing it against the side of Ares’ neck. “Thank you,” she whispers.

Ares smiles. I love you.

The woman steps closer to her lover, pulling her into her arms. I love you, too,” she says.

a/n: thank you for reading! if you enjoyed this piece, please considering reblogging it! i’m a small author, so any reblog really does help me out.

chapter four of the main series is scheduled to be released next weekend, hopefully it doesn’t get delayed any further! i wanted to release something to tie you over while you continue to wait.

Angelo’s men are probably in the apartment by now. They would be sweeping the space, calling out for Angelo and checking each room for his body. And when they discover him dead and drenched in his own blood, they will search every nook and cranny to find her, to find evidence of her. It wouldn’t be long before they burst through the back door, following her trail, ready to slaughter her in retaliation.

The woman releases her hold on the knife in her pocket and slips herself into the car.

Her fingers wrap around the cellphone. And she holds it up to her ear, just as the shrill of the ringing cuts off.

A man’s voice greets her. “It appears that you’ve completed the task,” he says.

Ares switches on the ignition of the car. She pulls away from the side of the curb and drives away from Angelo’s apartment. Glancing at the review mirror, Beatrix watches as his men slam open the back door and sprint down the wooden stairs.

“Were you doubting me, Mr. D’Antonio?” She says.

He ignores her response. “Were there any witnesses?”

“I left a specific trail for them to follow. No one will jump to accuse you of any wrongdoing. For this situation, at least.”

Santino releases a quiet hum in response. “You pinned the blame on someone else.”

“It wasn’t difficult.” Her gaze shifts to Ares, whose eyes are focused on the road in front of her. Was she taking her somewhere specific? Or just away from the scene of the crime? “Angelo wasn’t a very popular man.”

“And which of his enemies did you pick?”

Beatrix smirks. “I’m sure you are able to keep many things secret, but it’s best that you remain blissfully unaware of these details.”

Santino sighs. He’s annoyed.

“I did as requested,” she continues. “For now, that’s all you need to know.”

After a long pause, the man says, “I need you to come meet me in New York.”

“Oh?” Beatrix perks up. “Another problem you need me to take care of?”

“It’s an issue that requires,” he contemplates his next words, “a different type of solution.”

“You’re not hiring me for a hit.”

“No,” he confirms. “I want to make use of your other skill sets.”

Beatrix pauses to stare out of the car window, to examine the empty sidewalks of the frozen streets. “When do you want to meet?”

“In two days.”

“Of course,” Beatrix says. “I’ll see you then.”

“Goodbye, Ms. Amsler.”

The line goes dead.

Beatrix holds the phone back out to Ares, who slips it back inside of her pocket.

“Did anyone see you parked outside of Angelo’s place?” She asks, turning her head towards the other woman.

Ares rolls her eyes and shakes her head. She pulls the car aside, parking it in an empty spot next to the curb.

“Of course not,” Beatrix says. She reaches to pull open the handle of the door. “I need to get out of here, before someone sees us together.”

Ares leans across the car the wraps her fingers around the woman’s wrist. She pulls Beatrix’s hand away from the door and tugs it towards her. With the fingertips of her right hand, Ares places them underneath the assassin’s chin and urges the woman to face her. When their eyes meet, Ares releases her grip and pulls her hands away from Beatrix.

She brings them in front of her. And when Beatrix realizes that Ares is trying to communicate with her through the motions of her fingers, she glances down at the woman’s hands.

You’re bleeding, she signs. Ares lifts a finger to point at the woman’s head, at the spot where Angelo had slammed Beatrix against the bathroom mirror.

Confused, Beatrix lifts a hand to touch her forehead. She jerks away when she feels a burning sting of pain at the contact. Lowering her hand, she glances at the blood coating her fingertips. “Oh,” she whispers. “I hadn’t noticed.”

Ares opens the glove compartment and pulls out a long piece of gauze. She then presses it onto the wound on the forehead, causing Beatrix to flinch and pull away from the material. But Ares places her free hand upon the woman’s neck, forcing the woman to remain still.

Beatrix relaxes. She lifts her hand up to her forehead, placing it on top of the other woman’s. “Thank you,” she says.

Carefully, Ares begins to pull her hands away. She pauses, allowing Beatrix to adjust her grip on the gauze, before removing herself completely.

You knew him, she says.

“Angelo?”

Ares nods her head.

Beatrix leans back into the cushion of her seat. “How do you know that?”

I saw the way he looked at you. Ares reaches into her pocket and pulls out her phone. She pulls up a photograph and turns the screen towards Beatrix.

On display is a photograph of her and Angelo, sitting together in the booth at the bar.

“You were in the bar?”

She shakes her head. Someone else.

“You’ve been observing me,” Beatrix says.

Ares shrugs. Just keeping tabs.

Beatrix raises her left hand to press against the gauze. With her right hand now freed, she raises it in front of her. Lie, she signs.

A playful spark appears in Ares’ eyes and she smiles at the woman. We all have secrets.

“Did you share this information with Santino?” Beatrix lowers her hand.

No.

“Why haven’t you?”

Ares locks her eyes with Beatrix. She examines her, searching for any hints of weakness and deception. She can sense that the woman in front of her is an act, a shroud to conceal an endless well of secrets. She just needs to find a crack in her exterior.

Who was he to you? Ares questions.

The woman ponders her response. “An old assignment,” she says. “One of the first that I received from Lilith.”

You failed.

“I suppose that from her perspective, yes.” Beatrix blinks. “My priority was the extraction of information. I retrieved what she wanted, but not without complications.”

He found out.

“Angelo was much more intelligent than I believed him to be. He knew for quite some time that I was using him. He was biding his time, waiting for me to slip up and reveal what I was doing with the information.” Beatrix sighs. “But his boss was impatient and ordered Angelo to kill me. The next time I went to see him, he shot a bullet straight into my stomach.”

Ares raises an eyebrow. Why try to hide this?

“I didn’t think it was relevant information.”

Now you are the liar.

Beatrix laughs and shakes her head. “You’re worried that I used this as an opportunity to get my revenge and place the blame on Santino.”

Did you?

“No,” she says. “I am not one to chase a petty quest of vengeance. My instincts are more inclined for acts of survival, not pursuit. I grasp onto opportunities that keep me alive for just a day longer than before.”

Ares pauses, analyzing the woman’s response.

“I’m not interested in shortening my lifespan by framing Santino.”

Stay in the car, Ares says. I will give you a lift.

~ ~ ~

The moment Beatrix unlocks the door of her hotel room, she regrets it. Even with the lights switched off and the door opened just an inch, she can feel Eli’s presence permeating the room. When she steps inside, she sees him. He is sitting on the edge of her bed, twisting a butterfly knife between his long fingers.

“You’re back,” he says. He sounds bored, but Beatrix can hear the annoyance that is bubbling beneath the surface of his calm demeanor.

She shuts the door behind her and takes a cautious step further into the room.

“You’ve been gone awhile.” He shrugs his shoulders. “I’ve been sitting here for a few hours now.”

The woman keeps her mouth shut. She knows that if she opens it now, if she makes the tiniest peep of noise, Eli will lose his temper.

“Got a call while you were gone,” he continues. “Any guesses on what the call was about?”

Beatrix inhales a shallow, nervous breath of air. “I wouldn’t know.”

“They said that my girl, my darling Beatrix, was hooking up with Angelo Ricci. Is that true?” Eli glances up towards her.

Upon seeing her face, the twirling knife freezes in his hand.

He stands up from the bed and approaches her. His eyes trail over her open wounds, the bruises beginning to surface, and the lingering traces of blood on her skin. “What happened?” Eli demands.

“I got into a bit of an argument with Angelo.” Beatrix says.

The man sighs. “You killed him.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“For business,” the woman responds. “I can’t just waltz up to Santino D’Antonio and stab him to death. I won’t be able to kill him until I know for certain that I will be able to shoot before getting shot first.”

The man clenches his jaw.

“If you want me to kill Santino, I need to do a few favors for him.”

Eli narrows his eyes. “And what did you gain from killing Angelo?"

“Opportunities,” Beatrix says. “He promised me further employment, so I pulled the trigger.”

He raises his knife towards Beatrix and uses it to lift a few strands of hair away from her face. “And by wearing those earrings, you’ve effectively framed me for the hit.”

Beatrix stands up straight, a subtle challenge to Eli’s control over the situation. “I told Santino that the blame wouldn’t fall in his lap. I needed a scapegoat.”

“I suppose I am the most believable option,” he lowers the knife. “No one would question the motive of a man who openly hates him.”

Eli tucks the knife into his back pocket.

“But that doesn’t explain why you left without telling me,” he says. “Why you haven’t shared any of your plans with me. You’re supposed to keep me in the loop, right?”

Beatrix doesn’t respond.

“It’s one of the rules. You tell me everything. Your ideas, your plans, and your destinations. And I tell you what you need to do, who you need to meet, and where you need to be.” He leans down towards Beatrix, brushing his lips against the edges of her ear. “But lately, you’ve decided to do whatever the fuck you want to do. Where’s the communication, Bee? Where’s my little obedient pet?”

“It won’t happen again,” she says.

“Good,” he pulls away from her. “I would hate to kill you if you slip up again.”

~ ~ ~

The hot water of her shower did wonders to soothe the aches and bruises emerging on her body. And once she has washed away all of the blood and the lingering traces of Eli’s touch, she sits in the middle of her bed and dials a familiar number.

The call is answered on the third ring.

“Hello?” A woman’s voice. The word is muffled and she sounds groggy.

“Hey, Veronika,” Beatrix greets. “Did I wake you?”

The woman sighs. “If it wasn’t going to be you, it definitely would have been the baby.”

“How is she doing?”

“She screams and shits, typical baby stuff.” Veronika groans. “God, what time is it?”

Beatrix pulls the phone away from her face and glances at the clock. “It’s nearing 4a.m. for you,” she says.

A pause follows the response.

“How bad was it tonight?” Veronika says.

“I’ve had worse.”

“You sure? Cause you sound absolutely terrible, exhausted.”

“Thanks,” Beatrix releases a soft chuckle. “Don’t hold back.”

“Hey,” Veronika hesitates for a moment, before continuing her words. “I’m worried about you. I haven’t seen you in months and you barely respond to my calls or texts. I just want to know that my sister is alive and okay.”

“I’m fine.”

It’s a response that won’t satisfy her sister, but it will have to do for now.

“Really?”

“Listen,” Beatrix says. “I’m coming back to New York.”

The statement distracts Veronika. “You are?”

“Yeah, I got a new client.”

“Is that why you called?”

The assassin takes a moment to respond. “I just wanted to hear your voice. And tell you through a phone call, not a text.”

“How thoughtful.”

“Go back to sleep,” Beatrix says. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Let me know when you’re back, okay?”

“I will. Sleep well.”

Before Veronika is able to respond, Beatrix ends the call.

The woman slides off of the bed and scoots an armchair towards the large window. She settles herself into the seat and watches as Chicago is painted with a fresh coat of snow.

a/n: thank you so much for reading! if you liked what you read, please considering reblogging this chapter. every reblog truly does help a small author like me!

but any likes, comments, or other indications that you enjoy this story is also appreciated!

What the fuck are you doing?

Beatrix had uttered a simple, I’m handling it, in response.

Eli had not responded favorably to those words. He had snaked his fingers into her hair and tugged at the roots so hard that Beatrix released a small gasp of pain.

Don’t fuck this up, he hissed into her ears.

But as the clock shifts from 11:59pm into 12:00am, Beatrix enters her sixth day awaiting a response from Santino D’Antonio.

She had planted her seed, hadn’t she?

Left a bait that should be too tempting to ignore.

And yet, she had heard absolutely nothing.

It shouldn’t take this long. It had never taken this long before. People were always a little too quick to jump on opportunities of extreme convenience.

But not Santino.

Has he rejected her proposal? Did she actually fuck up this time? Misread his signals?

But he must know that she would be doing him a favor, eliminating Angelo. It would be easy for him to avoid the blame. She would take the fall and no one would even bat an eyelash in Santino’s direction.

Beatrix needed Santino to be squirming in his seat, impatient for the bliss that will arrive after this thorn is finally plucked out of his skin. She needed him to be ready to have this trigger pulled, to have this headache relieved before it has a chance to bloom.

What had she done wrong? What had she left out? Why was he—

A phone rings, pulling Beatrix away from her thoughts.

The woman blinks.

She lifts her head off the back of the plush gray armchair and shifts her eyes away from the popcorn texturing of the white ceiling. Beatrix focuses her stare in the direction of the bedside table, almost entranced by the constant ringing from the hotel’s black phone. The alarm clock sitting beside it displays a glaring red 12:27am.

After the fourth ring, the woman stands up and approaches the phone. She holds it up to her ear. “Hello,” she answers.

“Good evening, Miss Amsler,” a woman responds. “I am so terribly sorry to disturb you in the middle of the night. However, there is a gentleman here and he insists that he must speak with you immediately.”

Beatrix sighs and rolls back her shoulders. “Could you tell me that man’s name?”

A momentary pause of silence.

Finally, a response. “Santino D’Antonio.”

“Tell him that I will be with him shortly,” Beatrix smiles, “and that I will meet him at the bar.”

“Of course, Miss Amsler. Do have a good evening.” The woman hangs up.

Beatrix places the phone back in its proper position and glances at the open doors of her closet.

~ ~ ~

Dressed in a black pant suit that is trimmed with navy edges, a pair of white high heels, and a fresh spritz of perfume, Beatrix approaches the bar just ten minutes after the phone call. At this time of the night, the bar is far from crowded, but there are several lingering patrons. All of whom are focused on individually squashing away their sorrows with sips of fine brandy or shots of smooth vodka.

Upon entering the bar, her eyes dart straight to Santino. The man is sitting at a small table in the center of the room. His fingers circle around the edge of his glass, which contains an untouched serving of bourbon.

Beatrix flicks her gaze away from Santino, to focus on the table behind him. Ares is occupying the space. Her legs are crossed and her left arm is pulled back slightly behind her, resting on top of the chair. Her right hand is placed on the table, allowing her fingers to repeatedly tap against the dark wood.

Her eyes are focused on Beatrix, analyzing every tiny detail. She notes the woman’s breathing patterns. The way her eyes take a sweeping glance to gauge the room. She notices how Beatrix’s first reaction is to ignore Santino, rather than approach him.

The assassin walks towards the bartender and orders herself a glass of Riesling wine.

After he places the requested glass in front of her, she pulls a gold coin out of her pocket and sets it on the bar. Beatrix smiles at the man and wraps her fingers around the stem of the glass. She steps away from the bar and heads directly to Santino’s table.

The man raises his head as she approaches, locking himself in unwavering eye contact.

Beatrix remains quiet, as she pulls out a chair and takes a seat across from the man. She brings the wine glass to her lips and takes a long sip, before placing it on the table.

The corners of her lips are curled downward, marking her face with open confusion. “When I told you to send me the lipstick,” she begins, “I assumed you would understand my hint of discretion.”

Santino lifts his own glass, and takes his first sip of the bourbon.

“Instead,” Beatrix continues, “you choose to come here in the middle of the night. A location crowded with people that are guaranteed to recognize you. And some of those people are likely to recognize me. Does any piece of this scenario indicate a discrete means of contact, Mr. D’Antonio?”

The Camorra man reaches into the right pocket of his navy dress slacks. He pulls out a familiar tube of lipstick and places it in the center of the table. “Beatrix Amsler,” he says, “it is surprisingly difficult to track down any information about you. Your known resume is barely five years old.”

So that had been the reason for delay. A background check.

“You’ve been researching me,” she states. Beatrix picks up the lipstick with her right hand and twirls it between her fingers.

Santino reaches across the table and wraps his fingers around the top of the woman’s left hand. He gently turns it over, exposing the inside of her wrist to him. His eyes dart down towards the area, focusing solely on the black ink that is etched into her skin. A delicate rose, no larger than a half-dollar coin, is tattooed. In the bottom right petal, an “L” blemishes the simplicity.

“I was under the impression that Lilith didn’t allow her girls to seek out their own contracts,” Santino muses.

Beatrix tries to maintain her composure, but she isn’t able to stop her body from instinctively tensing up. She raises her eyes to look at Santino and attempts to ignore the knots forming in her stomach.

“Lilith also cheats her girls out of proper compensation for their work,” she says.

Santino responds with a soft chuckle. “I don’t imagine your boss would be too pleased to hear those words, no?”

Beatrix lowers her gaze back down to her wrist, distracted by the thumb rubbing against her skin. “Do you plan on ratting me out?”

The man shrugs and ignores her question. “Where is your handler?”

Beatrix does not respond.

“I’ve heard that they tend to keep a very close eye on their girls,” Santino continues. “Should I be expecting extra company tonight?”

The woman blinks and then pulls her wrist out of the man’s fingers. “You should be focusing your attention on me.”

“Is he watching?” Santino questions.

“He’s preoccupied.”

Santino retracts his hand back onto his side of the table. He picks up his glass for another sip and then leans back in his seat. “You’ve arranged a distraction?”

“Are you here for business?” Beatrix questions, with a tilt of her head. “I told you that I was interested in your money.”

“You did,” the man agrees.

“Yet, it seems that you’ve only called me here to sate your curiosity.”

Santino leans back towards the woman, pressing an elbow on the table. “Why take the risk?” He asks, after a prolonged silence.

“You’re much more inquisitive than I anticipated,” Beatrix says.

“Lilith despises me.” The man narrows his eyes. “But here you are, pursuing the man that she hates the most.”

“You flatter yourself,” the woman remarks.

Santino’s lip twitches, irritation bleeding through his calm facade. “How do you think she will feel about you, once she finds out?”

“Does it matter?” Beatrix lifts her glass and swirls the liquid inside.

The man quirks an eyebrow, confused.

“I am the one making this decision,” the woman elaborates. “I am the one choosing to help the enemy of the person who keeps me wrapped, oh so tightly, between their fingers.” She stops briefly, to take a sip of her wine. “Life is just boring, without a little risk involved.”

“Are you really this desperate?” Santino rests his glass on the table and inches his body closer to the woman. “Are you truly so bored that you would risk doing something so profoundly stupid?”

The assassin leans forward and laughs in the man’s face. “Do you really care, Santino?”

He pauses, mulling over his response. “Lilith will do more than kill you,” he says. “She will torment you, ruin you, if she finds out.”

“Is that not where the excitement originates from?” The woman’s eyes sparkle with amusement. “The possibility of if? If I get caught, I’ll certainly be terminated,” she pauses, “in a more permanent manner. But if I don’t get caught, I’ve got quite the little secret hidden in my resume.”

Santino takes a moment to ponder her response. He then raises a hand and snaps his fingers.

Movement behind the man causes Beatrix to dart her eyes away from him. She focuses on Ares, whom had risen from her seat. The woman approaches the table and positions herself next to her boss.

“I need Angelo to disappear,” Santino states, “within the next two days.”

Beatrix glances back at the man. “And the price on his head?”

“That depends.”

“Oh?” The woman raises an eyebrow.

From the corner of her eye, she watches as Ares reaches into the pockets of her dark charcoal colored trousers. When she pulls out her hands, her fingers are wrapped around a couple of knives. The very same ones that she had taken from Beatrix, the night they had met. Ares sets the items gently on the table, right in front of the assassin.

“I see that your loyalty to Lilith is,” Santino pauses, “thin, but will the chord be completely snapped?”

Beatrix reaches forward, brushing her fingers against the handles of her beloved weapons. “Do you wish to break it?” She wonders.

The man sighs. “I won’t deny the truth. There is a certain… convenience in having an outsider perform the tasks that neither I, nor the Camorra as a whole, can be associated with. Should you complete this request, I can provide you with more lucrative opportunities.”

The woman smirks. “You’re turning Angelo into a job interview.”

“An employer should always confirm if one’s skills are up to par.”

Beatrix raises her glass of wine and then brings it to her lips. Throwing her head back, she drinks the remaining Riesling. After setting down the glass, she wraps her fingers around her knives, and slips them into her pockets. She rises from the table and, while staring down at Santino, she says, “I look forward to continued employment, Mr. D’Antonio.”

~ ~ ~

Approximately twenty-four hours later, Beatrix is perched on the same stool she had occupied at this bar, just a week prior. With a glass of Pinot Noir gripped in her left hand, her eyes are glued on her target for the evening.

Angelo Ricci.

A man who refuses to blend in with the shadows.

A man who boasts about his status, who flaunts his wealth. The moment he had entered the bar, Beatrix had focused her attention solely on the man. He had waltzed in, dressed in a maroon three-piece suit, a matching tie, and a collection of chunky silver rings decorating his long fingers. He had strolled by her, failing to notice the assassin, and proceeded directly to his reserved booth. Within moments, he was showered with the finest liquor and several women in skimpy outfits.

As the night progressed, the man had grown more disheveled. Brunette hair, that was once pulled up in a neat bun, had escaped from its place to hang loosely around his face. Shot after shot of smooth tequila had warmed his skin and introduced a red flush to his cheeks. His jacket and tie had been discarded, allowing one of his playthings to unbutton his black shirt and expose the artwork inked on his chest. When Angelo had rolled up his sleeves, a smug smile plastered on his face, the women had thrown themselves all over him, cooing at the newly revealed tattoos.

It doesn’t take long for Angelo to notice the woman observing him. When the blonde beside him plants her lips on his neck to place open-mouthed kisses, Angelo makes a point of meeting Beatrix’s stare. A cocky grin sewn on his lips, he winks at her and lifts his fingers to send a small wave.

And even though the blonde’s hands have traveled beneath the table to slide up the man’s leg, Beatrix maintains her pointed gaze. She brings her glass of red wine to her lips and takes a long sip of the liquid.

Angelo chuckles and shoves the woman away from him. He leans back in his seat, laughing, and shoos everyone out of his booth. The man turns to look at one of his guards and gestures for them to approach the table.

The guard leans down towards Angelo. After the boss shouts something into his ear, the guard nods his head and turns his attention to Beatrix.

The woman sighs and chugs the rest of the wine, as the guard draws near. She places her glass on the counter, before giving him her full attention. “Does Angelo wish to play?”

The guard’s expression remains stoic, unamused. “Mr. Ricci would like to speak with you,” he says.

Beatrix hums. She stands up from her seat and brushes by the guard, walking towards the booth.

When the woman is within hearing distance, Angelo exclaims, “My dear sweet Beatrix!”

“Angelo,” Beatrix responds, with a slight tilt of her head.

The man raises his arms and drapes them beside him, across the tops of the booth. “Come on, baby, relax. Have a seat.” He nods at the empty space on his left side. “It’s been awhile since you’ve spent time in this city.”

Beatrix slides into the booth, sitting just close enough for Angelo’s left hand to brush against her right shoulder. “I was here last week,” she pouts, “but you ignored me.”

“Really?” He enquires. “Not sure how I could have missed you.”

“You were probably too busy,” the woman shrugs, “being a prick.”

Angelo grins. “You’re still upset with me.”

A pause, then, “I’m disappointed.”

“Babe, it’s been, what, five years?”

Beatrix places her forearms on the table and leans into them. “Four years and seven months, actually.”

“You counting the days, too?”

The woman blinks. “Thirteen.”

Angelo smirks and lowers his fingers, rubbing them against the woman’s shoulder. “You are definitely still pissed.”

Beatrix responds with silence.

“Why are you so upset, huh?” The man frowns. “It was all just business, right? You? Me? All of those fun nights between the sheets? Everything was a fucking business transaction.”

The woman turns her head to glare at him. “You fucking shot me.”

“Oh, baby,” Angelo smiles again. “But you’re still alive, ain’t you? Still fucking breathing and shit. Life must feel fantastic, compared to the alternative.”

“Yeah, fantastic.” Beatrix rolls her eyes and shifts her gaze away from him.

One of the bartenders approaches the booth. In one hand, he holds a bottle of champagne. In the other, he carries two glass flutes. Carefully, the man places the glasses on the table. A moment later, he pops the cork off of the bottle and pours the liquid into the flutes. With a nod of his head, the bartender places the bottle on the table, before making a brisk walk back to the bar.

Angelo lifts his arms from the booth and reaches for the glasses. He slides one of them towards Beatrix.

The woman hesitates, and then reaches out for it.

“I mean, it’s gotta be, right? Must be full of some wild fucking shit, if it’s got you waltzing right back into Romano territory.” The man smiles and raises his glass for a toast. “That was one of the hottest things about you. You did whatever you fucking wanted to, babe. Just bat those pretty lashes of yours and you’ve got everyone wrapped around your tiny fucking fingers.”

“It worked on you,” Beatrix comments.

“Might have worked a little too well.” Angelo takes a sip of champagne.

“Not well enough, considering the bullets you sent my direction.”

Angelo shrugs, brushing off her comment. “I missed your vital organs,” he responds.

Beatrix shifts her eyes towards the man. As she raises her own glass to her lips, she notes that Angelo’s eyes are focused on her wrist tattoo.

“Lilith’s rose is untouched,” he says. “You still one of her girls?”

“I think you already know the answer.”

The man gives a slight nod of his head. “I’m surprised the bitch hasn’t killed you, yet.”

Beatrix chuckles and sets her glass on the table. “It’s just a matter of time, really.”

Angelo wraps his hand around the woman’s right arm and tugs her towards him. Using his free hand, he reaches for her and tucks soft strands of her hair behind an ear. The motion exposes a large sapphire gemstone, dangling from a delicate gold chain. “Eli still has you chained up,” he mutters.

The woman inches closer to Angelo, briefly brushing her nose against his. “I doubt that anyone else would want to take me.”

Angelo shakes his head. “Baby, they want you. They just don’t want to start a war that they can’t win. Everyone knows you’re his favorite.”

Beatrix hums.

Angelo presses his hand against her throat, gently grasping onto the soft skin. “Does he know that you’re here?”

Silence. The woman’s eyes shift away from him.

But he’s persistent. “Then what are you doing here?”

Beatrix closes her eyes and sighs into his touch. “Visiting an old fling,” she says.

His grip against her neck tightens. “I’d hardly consider us a fling. You were nothing more than a whore, pretending to love me. I may not have paid you for those countless nights in my bed, but someone else was.”

The woman releases a soft gasp and wraps her hand around the man’s wrist. When he loosens his grip, she says, “Many of those nights were of my own choice. I wasn’t being paid for all of the fun we had.”

“Is that why Eli hates me so much?”

Beatrix smiles. “No, he just thinks you’re an arrogant son-of-a-bitch.”

The man chuckles and pulls his hand away from her. “Beatrix, you didn’t come all the way to Chicago, just to see me, the man who shot you.”

“I was told to leave New York for a little while,” she says.

“How long have you been here?”

“Since the end of October.”

“Clearly,” Angelo scoffs, “you weren’t really missing me that much. Not if it took you nearly two months to get on the damn train.”

“I was,” Beatrix pauses, “seeing someone.”

The man leans back against the booth. “For work or pleasure?”

“It doesn’t matter,” she says. “Things didn’t really work out.”

Angelo takes a sip of champagne, examining the woman. “What did you do?”

Beatrix takes the glass away from the man and sets it on the table. She slides herself closer to him and leans in to whisper into his ear. “I shoved a knife straight into his pathetic beating heart.”

“Are you here to kill me?” He grins.

Beatrix moves her hand, resting it against the man’s thigh. “Do you want to find out?”

~ ~ ~

Before the door of the apartment is able to slam shut, Angelo is busy shoving the heavy black coat off of the woman in his arms. His hands dig themselves into her waist, before snaking behind her to tug at the zipper of her ruby dress. The straps slide off of her shoulders and the material descends to the floor. With a hand against her chest, Angelo slams the woman against the black wall. He smiles, as he leans down to capture her already swollen pink lips with his own.

Beatrix slides her hands up the man’s torso, fingers fumbling as she attempts to unbutton his shirt. She sighs into the bruising kiss, and for a single moment, she is able to forgive Angelo for his retaliation against her. The bliss of his lust clouds her memories of the excruciating pain she suffered. Clouds the memories of when the doctor had shoved his tools into her stomach, rushing to dig out the bullet lodged within. She forgets how she had cried until her throat was raw. How even though tears had blurred her vision, she could still see and feel the utter disappointment radiating from Lilith. And how Lilith had ignored the woman's screamed apologies for her failure, ignored her pleas for the anesthesia, that the pain would kill her, that she couldn’t take it anymore, help me please, help—

Angelo pulls his lips away from her, opting to dig his teeth into the crook of her neck.

The woman releases a surprised gasp and melds her body into his. Hoping to accelerate the pace, she rips open his shirt. The remaining buttons scatter across the floor, creating a mess that goes ignored by the distracted couple.

Succumbing to his impatience, Angelo wraps his hands against the back of the woman’s thighs, and lifts her up.

Beatrix responds by instinctively wrapping her legs around his waist. She tugs at his hair tie, releasing his long strands from the messy bun. Fingers bury themselves into his hair, desperately clinging onto whatever they can.

Angelo moans into another heated kiss and proceeds to stumble his way down the dark hallway. When he enters the bedroom, he tosses her onto the black sheets of the king-sized bed. He stops to unbuckle his belt and then climbs on top of her. His mouth dives right back to the side of her neck, determined to leave dark bruises that will linger for days.

Beatrix opens her eyes, taking this opportunity to examine Angelo’s new home. Unlike his previous apartment, this upgrade lacks the charming chaos of his mis-matched furniture and scratched oak floorboards. The current decor is sleek, modern, all black. His dark walnut flooring is spotless. The apartment feels empty, void of any distinctive personality. The black walls are bare of decorations. No pictures. No posters. No fancy tapestries. It feels too perfect, too much like a model home. There is nothing reminiscent of the Angelo she had once known, of the Angelo she had pretended to fall in love with.

Angelo’s hand presses against her bare stomach. As he moves to grip onto her waist, his thumb brushes against a scar he’d never felt before. He pauses and pulls away from her slightly. Holding himself above her, his fingers trace against the edges of the blemished skin. A permanent reminder of what transpired between two false lovers.

Beatrix reaches for the man’s hand and tentatively wraps her fingers around it. She brings it up towards her face, drawing his gaze upwards to meet hers. “I think we should put this on pause,” she says, “just for a few moments.”

“I’m sorry—” he begins.

“No,” Beatrix interrupts, “don’t say it.”

Angelo removes himself from the woman and lays down beside her. Together, the couple stare at the eerily smooth black ceiling. It’s devoid of the cracks, the scuff marks, and the water stains that had permeated his previous bedroom.

After a several minutes pass, Beatrix sits up and crawls to the edge of the bed. “Where’s the bathroom?” She asks, placing her feet on the floor. She leans down to release the buckles that confine her feet inside of the black heels.

Angelo runs a hand through his hair, smoothing the disheveled strands. “Turn right, second door on the left.”

“Thanks.” Beatrix settles her bare feet on the cold floor and lifts herself off of the bed. As instructed, she turns right when she enters the hallway and follows the dark path. Her eyes focus on a large door at the end of the hallway. Three locks are turned to keep the door shut in place.

A back entrance.

When she enters the bathroom, she quietly shuts and locks the door. She reaches towards the sink and turns on the tap for cold water. Taking a moment to compose herself, Beatrix takes a deep breathe, traps the air inside of her lungs, and then releases it. She presses her hands onto the black marble countertop and stares at her reflection in the mirror. She needs to breathe. Needs to calm down. Needs to focus on the task, the mission.

Zwei.

Sieben.

She inhales.

Eins.

Zwei.

And exhales.

Zwei.

Null.

Null.

Vier.

During the course of their seven month arrangement, she had examined Angelo’s every move. Beneath his mask of unyielding confidence, resides a budding cluster of paranoia. The man kept a hidden weapon in each room of his home. Weapons that were discrete, but quick and easy to grasp in an emergency. Unless his habits had changed in their years apart, Angelo had a self-defense mechanism somewhere in this room.

Beatrix reaches for the medicine cabinet and pulls it open. Aside from one electric razor and a couple bottles of medicine, it’s empty. She pulls open the top drawer beneath the counter. A tube of toothpaste and a nail clipper. The drawer beneath it also holds nothing useful. She crouches down on the ground and opens the cabinet beneath the sink. Leaning down, she peeks her head inside and scans the top surface of the area.

Just beneath the sink, near the pipes, is an object. It is held securely in place with a couple pieces of tape. She reaches forward, pressing her fingers against it, and feels the cool metallic edge of a blade. Grasping it firmly, she pulls the knife out of its hiding spot. Beatrix rips the tape off, fully exposing the small, but useful weapon.

A knock on the door captures the woman’s attention and she quietly closes the cabinet doors.

“You okay?” Angelo calls.

“Yeah,” she responds, “I’ll be out in a minute.” Beatrix stands from her crouched position and shuts off the tap. Tightening her hold on the weapon, she angles her hand so it is tucked behind her. Certain that the knife is hidden from Angelo’s immediate view, she reaches forward to unlock the door. She wraps her fingers around the doorknob and twists it open.

The door rushes towards her, smacking her in the face. She stumbles backwards and lifts a hand to check her nose for blood.

“What the fuck?” She screams.

But a body barrels its way straight at her. Long fingers wrap themselves around her throat, constricting the air flowing into her lungs. She opens her eyes and she’s confronted by the face of an irritated Angelo. The woman wraps a hand around his wrist, digging her nails into his flesh.

“Babe,” he hisses, “you’re not as fucking unpredictable as you wish to be.” Without easing his grip, the man shoves her back, until she’s pressed against the cold tiles of the wall.

Beatrix lifts her knife, ready to dig it into his jugular. As she swings the knife at him, Angelo wraps his fingers around her wrist and slams it against the space beside her head. She releases her grip on his wrist and shoves her hand into Angelo’s face, attempting to push the man as far away from her as she possibly can. Then she lifts her right leg and slams her knee straight into his groin.

The man’s grip loosens momentarily, but it’s enough of an opportunity for Beatrix to force her body off of the wall. She slams herself into Angelo and he stumbles backwards. When his body collides with the countertop of the sink, Beatrix buries her knife into his left shoulder.

Angelo releases a pained grunt.

Quickly, the woman pulls the knife out of his flesh and moves to stab him once again.

He twists his body, catching her wrist with his right hand. When she looses her balance, Angelo slips away from her reach and forces her body to bend over the countertop. Gripping her hair, he slams her head against the mirror. He pulls her head away from the broken glass and tilts her back until she is staring up at him.

She turns the knife in her hand, repositioning it. But right as she moves to stab Angelo in the face, the man slams her head back into the mirror. Dazed, the knife slips out of her fingers and falls onto the counter.

“Damn,” Angelo wraps his arms around her waist, lifting her off of the ground. “I was really hoping I could get laid first.” He throws her body into the oversized bathtub, before climbing inside.

“What—” Her eyes are blurry and she feels as though the world is spinning too fast. “What are you doing?” She mutters.

Angelo reaches forward, plugging the drain, and then turns the faucet to release the freezing water. “You once told me how you wanted to die,” he says. “That you didn’t want it to be quick, that you didn’t want to experience a death with no suffering. That—”

“I wanted to feel every moment, every emotion, in this once in a lifetime opportunity,” Beatrix finishes. “You remember.” The water creeps towards her and when it grazes the skin of her throbbing skull, it causes a chill to run down her spin.

“Because it’s the only truth about you that I know.”

Beatrix releases a soft chuckle in response.

“What are you doing here?” Angelo asks.

The woman’s smile fades.

“You here for revenge?”

A thin layer of water inches forward, quickly coating the bottom of the tub. Beatrix shivers and goosebumps appear on pale skin. But the chill of icy temperatures helps clear the blurriness clouding her vision. “I didn’t realize you thought I was a petty person,” she says.

A moment of realization erupts on the man’s face. “You’re working.”

“I’d say it’s more a job interview.”

Angelo leans down, reducing the space between them. “With who?”

The woman’s gaze drifts away from his face, in favor of examining the tattoos that cover his body. When they had first met, his collection was small. Just a few random pieces, placed separately apart on his chest and abdomen. But now his torso was painted with ink, tiny splotches of bare skin bleeding through.

Her eyes linger on one piece in particular.

Simple lettering.

Her name.

“Are you going to kill me?” She wonders.

Could he do it?

Would he fulfill those orders he had failed to complete once before? Would he stop her beating heart? Take away the air trapped within her lungs?

He presses his hand against her throat, but not with aggression. Angelo frowns, as his thumb brushes against her jawline. He opens his mouth, but his words don’t escape. Instead, he lifts her head out of the water, and crashes his lips against her own.

Beatrix tangles her right hand into his hair and grips the edge of the bathtub with her left. With Angelo’s help, she lifts the rest of her upper body out of the water. When he pulls his lips away from her, she opens her eyes and brushes her nose against his.

“Angelo,” she whispers with a smile. She tightens her grip on the tub. And using the object as leverage, she uses her right hand to crash the side of Angelo’s head into the tile wall.

He releases his hold on the woman, instinct forcing him to lift his hands to check his head for bleeding.

Beatrix shoves the man, using his distraction as an opportunity to pull herself away from him. Her hands grip onto the right side of the bathtub, allowing her to pull her body out of the space. She presses her feet against the side of the tub walls and uses it to hurl her body over the edge. The woman releases a pained gasp when her back slams against the black marble, but she forces herself to flip onto her stomach. She props up her body on her hands and knees, and takes a moment to breathe, before staggering up onto her feet.

Before Angelo is able to fully comprehend what has happened, Beatrix digs her fingers into his scalp. She pulls his head towards her and then, with all of the strength she can muster, she slams it back into the wall again, and again.

Angelo groans and slumps down into the tub.

Blood coats the walls, sliding its way down towards the water.

Beatrix untangles her fingers and takes a few shaky steps backwards, until her body hits the doorframe. After giving herself a moment to regain her composure, she exits the bathroom and makes her way back to the bedroom. The woman heads straight for the bedside table and pulls the drawer open.

As expected, there’s a gun tucked inside. Beatrix picks up the semi-automatic pistol and makes sure that it’s loaded and ready to shoot. With the gun poised in front of her, she exits the bedroom and reenters the bathroom.

Angelo’s hand is gripping the edge of the bathtub, as he attempts, but fails, to pull himself out of the water. His blood is smeared all over his face, and when he notices Beatrix, an amused smile taints his lips. “I should have fucking killed you,” he says.

“Probably,” Beatrix responds. She fires the gun, lodging a bullet into the chest. Automatically, she repositions the weapon, and sends a shot right into the center of his head.

The man’s body collapses.

Without a moment to spare, Beatrix sets the gun on the counter. She sprints down the hall, towards the main entrance. Spotting a chair in the kitchen, she grabs it and shoves it underneath the handle of the door. The woman twists both of the locks, ensuring that the door is secured in place.

Picking up her discarded dress, she slips back into the material. While pulling up the zipper, she is interrupted by loud pounding against the front door. Beatrix freezes, taking a moment to assess the situation. A voice shouts for Angelo, followed by more fists banging against the door. There’s more than one person outside.

Beatrix glides her arms into her coat and then snatches her purse up from the floor. Racing down the hall, she makes a quick stop in the bedroom, to pick up her shoes, before heading back to Angelo’s body.

She steps around the pooling blood and reaches for the man’s right hand. Beatrix pries off one of his rings, a large silver signet, with a lion’s head etched into the metal. A gift from the head of the Romano family. After placing the ring inside of her purse, she slips the high heels onto her feet and tightens the straps at her ankles.

By the time she steps back into the hallway, the shouting and the pounding of the door has increased in urgency. Quickly, she proceeds down the hallway and unlocks the back door. She slips outside before Angelo’s men ever enter the apartment.

The winter air coats her damp hair with a layer of ice, causing Beatrix to shiver and pull the coat tighter around her body. Her wet stockings become stiff, introducing her legs to the inconvenience of painful chills and the beginning embers of numbness. She fights through the discomfort as she descends the backstairs, heels clattering against the wooden steps.

During her last few steps, she glances at the street. A black car is parked on the other side. Beatrix can see the outline of a person sitting inside. And though she can’t make out any of their facial details, she can sense that they are watching her, studying her every move.

Beatrix pauses at the bottom of the stairs. She reaches into her purse and her fingers grip onto the handle of a pocket knife. She tucks her armed hand into the pocket of her coat, before approaching the car.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading this chapter! Just to throw this out there, in case anyone is curious, I will not be exploring or truly addressing Beatrix and Angelo’s previous relationship. That particular relationship is irrelevant to current events. Though I do want to assure you that Lilith and all that jazz is going to receive further development, which should hopefully provide enough context clues to figure out how Bee got involved with Angelo.

If you happen to be curious about Beatrix and Angelo, you can go ahead and shoot me a message and I’ll be happy to answer any questions you have!

Once again, thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed this chapter, it would really help me out if you could reblog, like, and/or send me a message letting me know! 

If you would like to be informed when future updates are posted, send me a message and I’ll personally send you a message every time a chapter is posted! :)

The writer’s notes for this chapter will be posted tomorrow, May 24th. You can check out the notes for the previous chapter right here.

Beatrix sits on the bathroom floor, in the center of her organized chaos. Her focused gaze is settled on the large gold ring adorning her right hand, the same one she had taken from Luca’s corpse. The ring is almost immaculate. Its perfection ruined by a small scuff right at the edge. Luca had taken great care in maintaining the item’s integrity.

After one last lingering glance, Beatrix gets up from the floor. She looks at her reflection in the mirror and frowns. In an attempt to bring some volume back to her hair, she runs her fingers against her scalp and gently ruffles her hair at the roots. She then smoothes down the fabric of her fitted black dress, buffing away the wrinkles that had formed. Finally, she reaches for a pair of rectangular emerald earrings and secures them in place.

Beatrix leaves the bathroom and approaches the bed, where more items had carelessly been thrown. She pulls on a long navy coat and closes it shut with a tie around the waist. She slips the Camorra ring off of her finger and reaches for a slim black clutch. The woman pops it open, double checking that her purse contains a spare berry lipstick and a pocket knife, and then drops the ring inside.

~ ~ ~

Fifteen minutes later, Beatrix enters the Red Line train to Howard. She heads to the back of the car and takes a seat. The crowd is on the sparse end, for a typical Friday night. Many of the usual party-goers have opted to skip the bars and rely on the booze they’ve hoarded in their apartments.

“This is Harrison.”

The doors ding as they slide open. Several passengers enter the train, including a man with tanned skin and neatly trimmed facial hair. He is sporting an all-black ensemble of tapered slacks, a large coat, and a collared shirt that doesn’t quite cover up the rose tattoo on the left side of his neck. A large oval cut sapphire, set in the center of a gold ring, is on display on the middle finger of his right hand. Without sparing a glance at the other passengers, the man turns and heads toward the back of the train.

The doors ding once again and slide shut.

“Jackson is next. Doors open on the left at Jackson.”

The man slides into the seat next to Beatrix.

“Transfer to Blue, Purple, Orange, Brown, and Pink Line trains at Jackson.”

A few moments of silence pass, while the man quickly examines the other passengers. There are small clusters of people preoccupied with loud conversations. Those riding the train alone have earbuds glued in to block out the constant buzz of the CTA.

The man breaks the silence. “Any trouble with that boyfriend of yours?”

“Things didn’t quite work out.” Beatrix responds. “I figured it was time to move on.”

“You keep any memorabilia?”

Beatrix opens her clutch and pulls out the gold ring. “Just a small trinket.” She holds the item out to him.

He turns his head towards the object and takes it out of her hands. The man brings the ring close to his face and examines it. He hums softly and then places the ring in the pocket of his coat. “I’m sure he didn’t need it,” he remarks.

Silence follows.

“The client is growing impatient.”

Beatrix turns her body to fully face the man. “Eli, this isn’t some entry-level contract. It takes time to get through all of the red tape.”

Eli smirks and raises an eyebrow. “You wasted much of that time sleeping with the wrong person.”

The woman swallows. “I misjudged his commitment.”

The man hums and slightly nods his head. “I told you to forget about the little guys, didn’t I?” He frowns. “I told you to head straight for the man in charge.”

“I was trying to establish a safety net.”

Eli chuckles, “When has a safety net ever been useful? When have you ever gotten through anything completely unscathed?”

Beatrix doesn’t reply.

“Can you handle this assignment?” He turns toward Beatrix and stretches his right arm to rest it behind her on the seat.

Silence.

Eli continues, “This isn’t your usual… task.”

“Why bother handing it to me, if you think I won’t cut it?”

The man smiles. He lifts his left hand and tucks a strand of hair behind the woman’s ear. “I didn’t think you would take it.”

“This is Jackson.”

The train doors slide open.

“Transfer to Blue, Purple, Orange, Brown, and Pink Line trains at Jackson.”

A group of drunk teenagers stumble onto the train. A tall blond male cackles a laugh, before beginning a tale for the entire train to hear. The doors slide shut behind him.

“This is a Red Line train to Howard. Monroe is next. Doors open on the left at Monroe.”

“You’ve just been so,” Eli pauses, “boring, since Paris.”

Beatrix breaks eye contact and shifts her attention to the salt stains on the floor.

Her companion leans in and whispers in her ear. “Where did my vicious Killer Bee go?” He teases.

Her response is instant, a warning. “Don’t call me that.”

Eli laughs and pulls away. “Touchy, touchy. Why does dear Izzy get all the fun? Even when I’ve known you far, far longer than any of your other so-called friends.”

Beatrix shifts her gaze back to Eli.

“I think it’s a perfect name for a girl like you. A cute little play on words, yeah?” He places a finger underneath her chin and tilts her head up slightly. His thumb rubs across her bottom lip, smudging the lipstick. “Wear sapphires next time.” He comments. “I like it when you’ve got some blue on.”

“This is Monroe. Thank you for riding the CTA Red Line.”

Eli releases the woman and stands up. “I’ll be in touch.”

He walks off the train.

Beatrix releases a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding.

“Lake is next. Doors open on the left at Lake.”

~ ~ ~

Assuming that one has befriended the right people, finding Santino D’Antonio is far from a challenge. It isn’t often that the son of the man leading the Camorra goes unnoticed. Even those outside of his niche in society tend to stop and spare a glance towards him. It’s almost more difficult to ignore him: a finely-tailored gentleman, whom is flanked with a herd of well-dressed bodyguards.

The problem has never been whether Beatrix could find Santino. She knew exactly where he was, just moments after she first accepted the contract.

No, the problem was gaining a private audience with the man. The problem was initiating a conversation that doesn’t rouse a permanent suspicion throughout the duration of their relationship.

From her seat at the bar, Beatrix had a clear view of the Italian man, dressed in his perfectly tailored three-piece navy suit. His black curls are tamed on top of his head. And a gold Camorra ring was being illuminated by the flashing lights. With one arm propped on top of the dark leather booth, he takes a sip of red wine. Though Santino has a deathly bored expression on his face, he still exudes an air of arrogance to him.

On the other side of the booth is Angelo Ricci, an up-and-coming member of the Romano crime family. He frowns and slams his fist on the table. The man shouts something, but the blaring music drowns out the noise.

Beatrix sighs and takes a sip of her Shiraz.

By this point, the men had been in a heated discussion for over an hour. It appeared that no one was making progress in this negotiation, nor would they arrive at an agreeable compromise within the next hour.

Once again, Beatrix takes a sweeping glance at the small army of bodyguards that are loitering the areas surrounding the booth. Her eyes settle on the only woman in the bunch. The woman’s dark brown hair is cropped short and parted on the side. She is dressed in a tailored black suit, identical to her colleagues. Her shirt is buttoned all the way to the top and finished off with a black tie. Her hands are crossed in front of her, allowing Beatrix a glimpse at the tattoos marking her skin.

A few moments pass, before the female guard’s gaze shifts away from Santino and focuses on the spying assassin.

Beatrix straightens her posture and allows a small shy smile to appear on her face. She lifts her glass, as if to make a toast, and then downs her remaining wine.

The woman reveals a small, but flirty, smile. Barely a moment later, she shifts her attention back to her boss.

As Beatrix sets her empty glass on the bar, she watches Angelo finish off his Bourbon before getting up. He once again shouts something at Santino, before storming away. His guards briskly take off after him.

Grabbing her clutch, Beatrix stands up and makes her way towards the booth.

Just as she approaches, a large body blocks her path. One of Santino’s bodyguards. “Where you heading, miss?” He questions.

Beatrix paints her face with a warm smile. “I’d like to speak to your boss, Signor D’Antonio.” Her voice is laced with a false sweetness, highlighting the underlying threat.

The guard glances behind him.

Santino’s gaze shifts from his wine glass and onto Beatrix. After his eyes do a quick scan of her body, he directs his attention to the woman Beatrix had just interacted with. “Ares,” he calls.

The woman’s eyes dart to the man.

He motions for her to approach.

Within the blink of an eye, she’s by his side, ready for his instructions.

Santino makes eye contact with Ares and says something to her. Ignoring Beatrix, he turns back to his glass of wine and takes another sip.

Ares nods and approaches Beatrix. Without a moment’s hesitation, she reaches for the woman’s clutch and opens it. Seeing the knife tucked away, she pulls it out and sticks it in the back pocket of her pants. She hands back the clutch, and then begins to pat down the woman. She runs her hands along Beatrix’s ribs, waist, and hips, before reaching a hand up the woman’s dress to check the inside of her thighs. Her hands glide across the woman’s soft skin, before coming in contact with a discrete thigh holster. Quickly, she pulls out the dagger that had been secured to the assassin’s left thigh. Ares shoves the dagger in her jacket pocket, as she moves to stand up again. Finally, she hooks a finger on the front of Beatrix’s dress and pulls it away from her body. After making sure no weapons are tucked into the cleavage, she gives Beatrix a wink and then lets go of the dress.

Beatrix approaches the booth and slips into the spot that had been previously occupied by Angelo. After setting her clutch to the side, she places her elbows on the table and leans her chin on top of her clasped hands. “I finally get to meet the Santino D’Antonio.”

“And who am I meeting?” The man responds, his speech thick with an Italian accent.

Beatrix smiles. “At the moment, no one of significant importance.”

Santino makes an annoyed tutting sound. “Are you here to play games? Miss Nobody.”

The woman tilts her head and frowns. “You can call me Beatrix.”

“What does Beatrix want with me?”

“An opportunity.”

Santino blinks.

“Mr. D’Antonio, what are you doing here?”

The man shrugs his shoulders. “Drinking a glass of wine.”

“Typically, you enjoy your wine in places much nicer than this shitty bar full of dancing drunks.” Beatrix shakes her head. Her lips are pulled upwards, forming the smallest of amused smiles. “You’re not here for the wine.”

The Italian man swirls the wine in his glass. “Have we met before?”

“Santino—”

“No,” he interrupts. “Signor D’Antonio.”

Beatrix pauses. “Signor D’Antonio, I know the Camorra don’t visit Chicago, as much as they used to. You undoubtedly have power here, but not enough to warrant the frequency of your visits. I know that you’ve been having meetings with Angelo for several months now. And I know that those meetings don’t appear to being going well for either of you.” The woman leans back in her seat. “I think that you and I could share a mutual interest. I have a pretty good feeling that an alliance with the Romanos is not your goal, is it?”

Santino takes a sip of wine.

“No,” Beatrix says, “I imagine you feel that the Romanos are mere peasants, compared to you. All they have is a fallen empire. A pile of bricks they’re hoping to rebuild into something,” she turns her head to glance at the crowded dance floor, “not quite as pathetic. And now they’re trying to kiss your feet and beg you for help, but they’re too proud to do so without forcing you to compromise.”

The man doesn’t respond.

“As much as you’d love to, you can’t get rid of Angelo yourself. Nor can you be openly involved in sending somebody, outside of your circle, to do it for you. Because even though you believe the Romanos to be worthless, their name still holds value, respect, and loyalty from enough of the right families. Families that could retaliate, should you make the wrong move.”

Beatrix chuckles.

“Now,” she continues, “I’m certain you would be able to sway these families back onto your side. It would be easy, right? You just need to be your charming, charismatic self. Throw a few parties. Get them drunk off fine wines and distract them with pretty women who are willing to do anything for a buck. You might even promise these families a big lump of money, a favor, or even your loyalty, though that would be nothing more than false and fleeting. But really, would you want to do all of that work, over a situation that’s just a mere headache?”

Santino places his glass on the table and leans towards the woman. “Are you here to propose a solution?”

Beatrix smiles and leans back onto the table, closer to him. “I know that you’ve got plenty of money to burn. And I happen to be,” a pause, “in desperate need of money.”

“What do you gain from this deal?” The man narrows his eyes.

“I don’t care about your petty mafia games, Santino. And I also don’t care much for Angelo.” The assassin blinks and straightens her posture. “I care about financial opportunity, and I want to snatch it up before the next guy comes along.”

As Beatrix reaches into her clutch, she notices all four of the guards tense and reach for their guns. Without flinching, she pulls out a tube of lipstick and sets it gently on the table. “Consider my proposal. And should you be interested, return my lipstick to the Continental.”

She snaps her clutch shut, stands up, and turns her attention to Ares. “Hang on to my knives, won’t you? I’m sure they’ll find their way back to me somehow.” She winks.

Beatrix spares one last glance at Santino, before making her way out of the bar.

A/N: hello~ thank you so much for reading chapter two! if you liked what you read, please consider a quick reblog to share my work. i’m just a small blog with a small following, so every reblog truly helps me reach out to those who might enjoy my work.

if you would like to make sure you don’t miss any future updates, consider following this blog and/or my twitter @ VostaraFics. if you truly need to make sure you don’t miss any updates on this fic, please message me and i’ll tag you every time a new chapter is uploaded!

extra info! i am releasing writer’s notes, which are posts where i reveal (minor) canon details that didn’t make it in the final cut, alternative scenes that got scrapped in the writing process, and my general thought process while creating this series. you can check out the notes for chapter one here. notes for chapter two will be posted tomorrow.