Beautiful Assassin

by Skyla Madi

  I swallow a large mouthful of wine and turn back to Mae.

  “You know, the media is saying Christiano Russo murdered four people just outside the airport last month.”

  I gape at her. “Are you serious?”

  “Of course, it’s just speculation at the moment since the police can’t prove it,” she says, twirling her fork in her pasta. “Apparently, there’s a new family that wants to move into town.”

  “A family like them?”

  “Yep. The Maronis or the Morettis. Something like that.”

  Shit. “That’s pretty intense.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  I eat a few mouthfuls of food and try to get on with my night, but every time their table breaks out in lively chatter and conversation, I find myself glancing over my shoulder at Christiano. Most of the times I look at him, he’s looking at me too, and I wonder if he finds it suspicious. What if he follows me home? What if he thinks I’m some kind of spy?

  “Ease up on the googly eyes, Cammie,” Mae warns, pushing her empty bowl away with a giggle. “He’s not the kind of man you want to get involved with.”

  “Why not?” I ask. What’s one night with him going to do?

  “Once you’re in, you can’t get out.” She finishes her wine, leaving red lipstick on the glass. “Besides, associating yourself with people like them will ruin your reputation. Might even get you killed.”

  For some weird reason, I deflate. Was I seriously contemplating seeing Christiano Russo? Have I lost my fucking mind? “Yeah, you’re right. It’s not—”

  “She’s choking!”

  Mae gasps and I whirl around in my seat. The Russo family scrambles to the aid of Gabriella, who claws at her throat. Her face begins to contort and change colour. Marco grabs at her, trying to apply some version of the Heimlich Manoeuvre. Whatever he’s doing, it’s doing more harm than good.

  “Shit!” Mae curses. “What do we do?”

  “We should help.”

  “And if it backfires? Fuck no. I’m not going to be the unqualified undergrad who killed Gabriella Russo.”

  She folds her thin arms over her chest. She’s not serious? She’s going to let a woman die because she’s worried about backlash? I watch Marco apply pressure to the wrong part of her torso and panic when it doesn’t work. I slip my thumb into my mouth and chew my nail as I bounce my leg, desperately trying to exert some of this nervous energy. The pressure builds up, like a bottle of cola that has been dropped. It continues to build until I can’t take it anymore!

  “You’re doing it wrong,” I shout, jumping out of my seat and racing over.

  I kick off my tall, cream heels and push Marco Russo out of the way. Gabriella’s eyes are wide and watery and she teeters off balance in her small white heels. I put my arms around her, going over the theory and the diagrams from my textbook in my head. I should hit her on the back first—I know I should since that’s the preferred method—but I’m already holding her.

  “You have to exert pressure on the bottom of her diaphragm.” I thrust against her chest. “It’ll compress the lungs and employ pressure on whatever is lodged in her trachea.”

  I thrust again and Gabriella coughs and gasps for air. I release her into the arms of her husband and step back, pressing my sweaty palm against my racing heart. Holy hell. I did it. Exhaling in relief, I slip back into my heels as adrenaline flares through my veins like rapid-fire, making my head spin. People hug me, shake my hand, and kiss my face, begging that I join them for food and drinks. I turn each and every one of them down until I turn back to my table and realise Mae is gone. I can’t believe she bailed on me…

  “What’s your name?”

  I freeze as his low, coarse voice washes over me, sending a tidal wave of sensation through my body. Slowly, I turn around, and there he is, standing inches from me, the man I’ve been watching all night. He straightens his posture, tightening his black, button up shirt over his chest. He smells amazing, like cologne and wine, and my heartbeat kicks up a few notches as he extends his hand to me. Swallowing hard, I place my hand in his.

  “Cammie,” I say. “Cammie Connors.”

  Craning his neck, he presses his full lips to the back of my hand and kisses it gently. “Stay for drinks, Cammie Connors.”

  My lips part. The way he says my name, the way his voice wraps around it, has me imagining him moaning it in my ear. Oh, fuck. I can’t do it. My life is going too smoothly for me to mess it up now.

  “I can’t…” I utter, cringing. “I have to get up early, so…”

  Christiano smirks and tugs me close to him and holds me there, glued to his side. Proudly, he escorts me around the table and, without a word, he pulls out a chair for me to sit on. I do it without protest and specks of gold flare in the cold depths of his eyes.

  The family gathers in joyous conversation as Gabriella reaches across the table and takes my hands in hers.

  “Grazie! Grazie!” she cheers, squeezing them tightly as she strokes the backs with her thumbs.

  I smile even though she terrifies me. “You’re welcome.”

  Sitting beside me, Christiano gestures for the waiter and he hurries over as if his life depends on it. Maybe it does. Maybe quick service decides whether or not his head stays on his shoulders.

  “Tequila for everyone. Senza limone. Senza sale.”

  The waiter rushes off and that’s when I feel Christiano drape his arm over the back of my chair, stroking my shoulder with his thumb. A little ball of nerves bounces around in my stomach. When was the last time I was intimate with the opposite sex? I can’t even remember. I’m a busy girl, an incredibly young medical undergrad of only nineteen. There’s no way I’m woman enough for Christiano Russo. I mean, I’ve only had sex a handful of times and I’ve never been the one to initiate it. I glance at Christiano, who’s watching my face with his intense gaze. He’s experienced in sex. I can see it in his face. I can feel it in the way he touches me.

  “You’re fucking beautiful, you know that?”

  “Uh.” Heat seeps into my cheeks and I bite back a smile. “Thank you.”

  Turning in his chair, he leans in to whisper in my ear. “How old are you, Cammie Connors?”

  I turn my head slightly, just enough to see his lips. Gosh. He has such beautiful lips.

  “Nineteen,” I say, smoothing my palms over my thighs.

  The corners of his lips twitch and I gasp as he grazes his palm along my inner thigh. The warmth of my blush spreads down my neck and across my chest. It’s obvious to me that Christiano likes me…he likes me very much. However, to my surprise, Christiano drives me home at the end of the night and after a hot, passionate kiss, we exchange numbers and he tells me he’ll call.

  Then he leaves…and I’ve been stuck with him ever since.

  ***

  I still remember how excited I’d get whenever he’d call or text me. It always brought a smile to my face—one I could never hide. He showered me with gifts every day, buying anything my stare lingered on for a second too long.

  He hated where I lived, so he bought my first apartment as thanks for being there to help his mother. He hated my car, so he bought me a brand new Audi. It was a never ending circle of gifts and thanks that I relished in…until things started getting heavy.

  Once Marco Russo gave his approval for Christiano to take me as his wife, Chris began to control my life. I went from eagerly anticipating his calls to dreading them. I went from enjoying the sex we had together to loathing it. We were never exclusive, but it still hurt my feelings when I discovered he was sleeping with other women. I had always been faithful and I meant it when he made me promise that I wouldn’t sleep with anyone other than him.

  I still haven’t.

  Chris hated my friends and refused to let me go out with them. If I did, he’d always have someone watching me and, God, the attitude he’d give me for days after. Eventually, going out became not worth the shade he’d throw at me. He even tried to get me to quit my
studies and drop out of med school on numerous occasions. I don’t know how I did it, but I persevered despite how difficult he made it.

  Once he realised that I was going to be a physician regardless of his wishes, he began dumping his problems on me. I’ve repaired so many gunshot and knife wounds that I can now do it with my eyes closed.

  Working for the mob is not what I want for me. By average standards, I’m a young doctor. I sometimes push to have the children’s cancer ward open, but he won’t allow it because he doesn’t want me to spend more time at work. He wants to get married and have children. He wants me to become some kind of trophy wife who sits around the house all day.

  That’s not me.

  That has never been me.

  I clench my handbag closer to my body and tap my light cream heel against the concrete. It’s a good thing I took that Ritalin. I’d have fallen asleep on the sidewalk, waiting for someone to pick me up otherwise.

  Sighing, I glance down the busy street, searching for a black town car. Problem is, there’s a lot of black town cars on the road today. I pull my hair over one shoulder and glance down at my phone. I’ve received a lot of missed calls and messages from the hospital, asking me to come in even though I’m sick. Apparently, they’re incredibly understaffed. I’ve ignored all of their calls and for what? To consult with a sick criminal? Aren’t I noble?

  Ten minutes later, I’m about to throw in the towel and go to work when a car pulls up in front of me. To my surprise, Tony steps out of the driver’s side and greets me with a wide grin. “You look like a banana.”

  I smirk at his turd brown suit. “I’d rather look like a banana than a piece of shit. Where’d you get that suit?”

  “From your father.” He laughs, rounding the car. With a wink, he grips the handle of the back door and pulls it open. “This is the suit you were conceived in.”

  I pull a face at him as I step off the curb. “You’re disgusting.”

  “You threw a tampon at me,” he protests, as I slide onto the leather seat.

  I place my handbag on my lap. “It was unused.”

  “Used or unused. Still gross.”

  “Hardly.”

  Tony shuts the door and bends low, checking his appearance in his reflection on the tinted glass. Lifting his eyebrows, he swipes his palms down the sides of his head, smoothing down his slick hair. Chuckling, I hit the window button and lower the glass.

  “You look good, Fonzie,” I tease, leaning toward him. “Who’s the lucky fella?”

  He pulls a face and straightens his spine. “Shut up. I ain’t no homo. I got a date today.” He frowns at me. “With a lady.”

  I flash him my palms in surrender.

  Tony storms along the sidewalk, almost breaking his neck to look at Cassidy, the apartment block’s blonde receptionist, as she walks by in her tight, black pencil skirt and red blouse. He lingers by the driver’s side until she enters the building. Exhaling, he opens the door and drops himself onto the seat.

  “A date, huh? Who’s the unlucky girl?” I ask.

  He closes the door without looking at me. “Your mum, that’s who.”

  “All right. I can take a hint.” Kicking off my heel, I place my foot on the centre console between the two front seats. “So, do you know when Chris is fixing my front door?”

  Clicking his seatbelt into place, Tony flicks on his indicator, and glances over his shoulder to check for traffic. “A few guys are on their way now to install a new one.”

  I nod. That makes me feel better about leaving my home exposed. “Good.”

  “Hey…” He pulls out into traffic only to stop at a red light. “I normally wouldn’t ask—and if you tell Christiano, I’ll kill you, but…are you all right, Cammie?”

  My heart stutters and my throat constricts. Why would he ask that? More importantly, why am I reacting so dramatically to such a simple question? I glance out the window. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “You seem a little on edge lately,” he points out, pulling up my window from a button on his side.

  Green light. The car begins to roll slowly down the main road. “I’m fine.”

  “You can talk to me, you know?”

  I lift my stare to the rear-view mirror and our eyes meet. “I know.”

  What provoked him to ask me if I’m okay? Has Chris set this up? Even if he didn’t, I don’t trust Tony not to tell Chris. Tony has no loyalty to me. I don’t pay his bills or keep his ass out of prison.

  We roll to another stop as the bumper to bumper morning rush traffic descends upon us.

  “Why’d Chris send you, anyway?” I ask.

  He usually sends out some brutish man-beast who refuses to have a conversation with me.

  “After what happened to you at the hospital last night…he doesn’t trust anyone else with his precious cargo.”

  I fold my arms across my chest. “You heard about that, huh?”

  “The whole family heard about it. Embargo on Queen and George is closed for refurbishment. Christiano all but smashed the main stage into tiny pieces.”

  I slump into my seat, running my tongue along my clean teeth.

  “Oh, yeah? How’s Marco doing?” I ask, desperate to change the topic.

  If I don’t, I’ll end up disrespecting Christiano and that’s a big no-no. Besides, I don’t care how angry Christiano was. He had no right to be and I hope the repairs cost him a fortune.

  “We think he might have pneumonia. We’re not sure.”

  Pneumonia? If I had a penny for every time someone thought they had pneumonia I’d be a hell of a lot richer than I am now.

  “Persistent dry cough that often gets worse at night? Low-grade fever? Shortness of breath? Is he fatigued? What about chest pain?”

  “I don’t fucking know. I’ve been out doing shit.”

  “Okay,” I scoff. “Good talk.”

  I turn my attention out the window to another black town car that idles beside ours. Oh. I straighten my spine and inch toward the window. In the other car, a couple kisses passionately on the backseat, uncaring that they are on display. I glance down at my phone. It’s barely brunch and these two are all over each other like it’s the last day on Earth.

  The way he threads his large, thick fingers through her long, auburn hair stirs butterflies in my stomach. When was the last time I was kissed like that and wanted it? It’s been years now. The magic stopped as soon as I started falling out of love with Christiano. No matter how often, how soft, or how passionate he touched me, I just stopped feeling it.

  I watch, dumbfounded, as the young man grabs at the female, planting kisses on her neck, licking her soft skin. The woman enjoys every second of it. Her eyes are closed, her lips parted. I can hear every hitch of her breath as if it were right in my ear. Shifting uncomfortably, I drop my gaze to my lap and squeeze my thighs together as tingles build up.

  I close my eyes, desperate not to stare at the couple worshipping each other so intensely. After a few minutes, our car starts rolling again, and I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. When we come to another stop, I dare open one eye for a peek and there they are again. The thin straps of her pink blouse and white bra rest against her biceps, his white button up shirt is torn at the collar, missing the buttons to keep it together. How are they doing this? Aren’t they embarrassed?

  I close my eyes again and drop my head back against the headrest. Shame swirls around my spine, building its way up…for the man in my thoughts isn’t the man it should be.

  Tall, lean, and broad shouldered with dark hair…I can imagine it now, the taste of his skin. Clean and warm…

  “Jesus,” Tony spits and I open my eyes. “Look at these two, will you?”

  He honks his horn and heat surges into my cheeks as the couple becomes startled and cut their eyes. Leaning backward, trying to see around the passenger seat, Tony yells at them. “Get a room!”

  “Oh, God,” I groan, shielding my face. “Leave them alone. They’re not hurting anyo
ne.”

  “There’s a time and place!” he shouts as they pull up their window. “Have some respect.”

  And just like that, the faceless Stefan Valentino is sucked from my thoughts, along with the sensations that built up between my legs.

  “You’re an asshole,” I tell Tony, more frustrated at myself than him.

  He scoffs, “Please. If I’m not getting any, nobody else is either.”

  I shake my head. “Child.”

  Chuckling, Tony drives the car forward, turns off onto a slip lane, and enters the M1.

  Chapter Five

  The Russo Manor is incredible. It’s the one thing Christiano has that takes my breath away every time I see it. Everything else is just…meh. The dark, brick beauty stands three stories tall and expands over five thousand square feet of land. Even I have to admit it’s much more impressive than the Moretti mansion on the other side of town.

  The tall, black wrought iron gates open automatically for Tony on approach and I find myself awestruck by the beautiful landscaping. I don’t know why I don’t come here more often. As soon as I pass through the gates I completely forget that I’m in Sydney. I forget that my life absolutely blows.

  The design of the place, from the antique shutters to the shapes trimmed into the bushes, is all Gabriella. This house is her masterpiece. She turned this abandoned block of land into a magnificent paradise and it gets better every month.

  Tony drives the car up the long driveway and circles the large, stone fountain at the end. I drag my gaze along the black and white pavement and onto the marble steps where he stands. Christiano spots me in the back of the town car and I frown at his stormy glare. I take in his well-fitted black slacks and his white button up shirt that hugs his chest and biceps nicely. Holding the collar together is a black tie, and in his hand, draped at his side, he holds a black jacket. I can’t remember the last time I saw Christiano in a tie.