When death becomes a contract,betrayal becomes the price.
******
A quick knock at the door made Alessia rise from the small bed squeezed against the wall. The room was tight, barely enough space to stretch. The walls were concrete gray, chipped at the corners, stained like no one had cleaned in years. A single bulb dangled from the ceiling, flickering with a soft buzz. No windows. Just a metal door, a bucket in the corner, and a shelf with a worn-out towel. The place smelled like rust and damp socks more prison than bedroom.
She stood, wincing as pain shot through her bandaged hand. Her black singlet clung to her skin, the fabric hugging her curves. Her chest rose and fell slowly as she walked toward the door.
Opening it, she left it slightly open after recognizing the visitor.
Hermes stepped in young, curly hair bouncing as he moved. His thick glasses caught the low light, and his black boots echoed with every step, like hammers tapping against the floor.
"You know you shouldn't have done that," he said, voice calm but firm.
Alessia sat back down, her lips curling. "Done what?"
"I know you saw him," Hermes replied, eyes narrowing. "What if the boss found out? You'd be dead by now."
She scoffed, raising her bandaged hand. "Come on, Hermes. It wasn't intentional. He saved my life. What if I died?"
"That's not possible. You know you're only allowed to die when your contract ends." He sat beside her, his hand gently finding hers. "Blonde, I don't want to lose you."
She looked at him for a moment, eyes unreadable. Then, slowly, she pulled her hand away and stood, turning to face the wall. Her shoulders trembled slightly.
"I just wanted to live a simple life," she said, voice low. "Graduate from high school, go to college… maybe become a teacher someday."
She wiped her tears with the back of her palm.
"I didn't even get to graduate. And now I'm an assassin." A dry laugh escaped her lips sharp, bitter. "Doesn't that sound funny?"
Hermes stood and stepped toward her. He touched her shoulder gently. She turned quickly, catching her breath.
"That's why they gave you a new name," he whispered. "Alessia is gone. Blonde is who you are now."
He cupped her cheeks, soft but steady. "I'm here for you. Forget Enrico. He's not worth your pain. Everyone wants him dead."
She lowered his hand from her face, not harshly, just quiet. Then, without a word, she walked to the wardrobe. Her fingers grazed the cold hanger as she pulled out a leather jacket.
"I know he wants to see me," she said, slipping her arms into the sleeves.
Hermes just nodded, eyes still on her.
"Lead the way," she said, pulling the zipper halfway. "I don't want to get emotional now."
"Blonde, come on. It's me. You can talk to me, cry if you want. I just want to see you smile."
She stepped through the door without looking back. "Shut the door, Hermes," she said over her shoulder, her voice echoing off the cement walls.
*****
The next room hummed with a quiet storm of activity. Screens lit up every corner, casting a blue glow on the dark walls. Rows of computers buzzed, each connected to wires that twisted like vines across the floor. Some screens showed satellite maps, others flickered with surveillance footage, encrypted codes, live chat rooms. Headsets and microphones hung off the edge of the desks. There was no laughter, no voices just keystrokes, mouse clicks, and the occasional beep from a tracking system locking on a target.
Blonde's footsteps slowed. Her eyes scanned the room, then rested on a black door at the far end.
Hermes gave her a nod.
She knocked once and opened it.
Inside, silence ruled. The air was cold.
A tall leather chair faced away from her, but the figure sitting in it was flickering through a file. White hair peeked over the top, glowing under the light like snow. His shoulders were wide, posture straight like a soldier's.
She bowed without waiting to be told.
The chair turned slowly.
The man removed his mask with a gloved hand. Deep lines ran across his face scars, wrinkles, all carved by time and violence. His eyes were sharp, like two blades, and his lips barely moved when he spoke.
"I'm beginning to doubt my trust in you," he said, voice cold and sharp like winter steel.
"No, La Notte," she replied, lowering to her knees. "You own my life. I would never betray you."
Her head stayed bowed. Her voice trembled, but she kept it steady. She didn't blink. Didn't breathe too loud.
She made it sound like she meant it.
He looked up from the files and locked eyes with her. "After you got attacked, you vanished. We didn't hear from you. Hermes said he spoke with you… said you were safe."
"I'm sorry," she said, her voice soft. "I couldn't reach out. I had to lay low. I didn't want to be caught."
"Laid low," he repeated under his breath. He rose from his seat and walked toward her. She stayed on her knees. Bending slightly, his breath brushed her ear. "What happened to my strong assassin? The one who feared no one?"
Her words came out shaky. "I needed time to heal, Notte." She unwrapped the edge of her sleeve, showing the fresh bandage on her skin.
"I don't care, Blonde." His voice turned cold. "When you're on a mission, I need to know where you are every second. If you ever pull that again, you'll lose the person you love the most."
She looked up at him, holding his gaze. "It's been two years, La Notte… and you still don't trust me?"
His fingers snapped around her jaw and jerked her face upward. His grip was harsh, his knuckles pale. "I will never trust someone who once worked with my enemy."
She shoved his hand off. "Then why did you choose me four years ago?" she snapped.
He threw his head back and let out a cruel laugh that echoed in the room. "Choose you?" He pointed at her. "I didn't choose you. You chose yourself. The moment you met him, you drew the line. You only breathe today because I saved your life. I gave you a new one."
Her chest rose and fell, but she blinked back the tears trying to fall.
"I know you're stronger than this, Blonde," he muttered. "Now get up. Let's get to work."
He leaned toward her again, his tone sharp like a blade. "I own you, Blonde. The day you mess up again… is the day you die."
He turned away and walked back to his seat, gesturing with his fingers for her to stand. Once she obeyed, he sat.
"You have a mission. Two months long." His voice slowed, and a faint grin played on his lips. "Yeah… longest, hardest mission you've ever had. But if you complete it…" He leaned forward slightly, his eyes narrowing. "You can ask me for anything. Any wish and I'll give it."
"Any wish, La Notte," she said, narrowing her eyes.
"It depends on how well you do the job, Blonde."
"Fine. I want to make my wish but it must be written, signed, and we must have a witness."
La Notte leaned back, a slow smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I know you're a smart girl."
"Good. If you want that, I'll do it."
He picked up a file and tossed it across the table. It landed in front of her with a heavy thud. She reached for it, flipped through the pages, and froze.
"Enrico Rosette."
Her fingers slipped. The file fell from her hands and hit the table edge before dropping to the floor. She stared at the picture, trembling.
"I know you're surprised," La Notte said, watching her reaction closely. "This is the mission I want done with my heart. He won't go down easy we know that. We've spent two years setting things in place."
Her voice turned cold. "Why do you want him dead at all costs?"
La Notte's smile vanished. He leaned forward, voice sharp. "I don't want to trace back to history, Blonde. You'll do your damn job. Don't question my decisions."
She swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded slowly. "I'll do it. I'll bring him down in two months. I'll kill him and bring you his corpse."
She stood, walked to the edge of the table, and climbed up onto it. Her boots made a dull sound on the wood. She crossed one leg over the other, eyes fixed on him. Only an inch separated their faces.
"I want to tell you my wish right now."
La Notte twirled his finger lazily in the air. "Smart move, Blonde. Make your wish, dear."
She leaned in and whispered to his ear, "I want my freedom. And I want two million dollars for taking down the most powerful mafia."
He stared at her, smiling again. "Fine. You'll get everything you want as long as you don't make mistakes."
She slid off the table, boots hitting the floor. Walked past him without a word. Her eyes flicked once to the hand he stretched out for a handshake but she kept walking.
She opened the cupboard, pulled out a lighter and a cigarette, struck the flame, and lit up. Smoke curled through the air as she took a long drag, then exhaled slowly.
Turning around, she walked back to the seat opposite his. Her leather jacket creaked softly as she sat and crossed her legs again, face unreadable.
"So, dove comincio?"(So, where do I start?)