“What the hell is going on here?” Alice’s voice boomed over the small whimpers that resonated in the air, the tall raven-haired man released the maid he had pinned against the wall and jerked towards her voice. She was standing in the frame of the balcony entrance to the grand double-isle grey and white kitchen, the sunlight painted her body as a tall silhouette. The man squinted, trying to find her face against the light, his heartbeat cracked like thunder in his chest.
“I’m asking again, what is going on here?” Alice’s heel clicked on the floor as she entered the kitchen, she wore an annoyed glare as she looked between the small girl still pressing against the wall from fear and one of her father’s lesser guard men. Tears soaked the front of the girl’s crumpled jade uniform; she was still in a pucker.
“We were having some fun.” He chuckled lightly as if he wasn’t clearly just fondling the girl’s breast while she tried to fight him off. They had two rules in this place, no sex under Don Caroni's roof and no sex against anyone’s will. This guy was just about to break them both.
Alice grunted impatiently and cocked her head to the side to look at her newest maid. The tension in the room mounted.
“Were you just having fun? Luisa?” The smile slid down his face, this woman was known to be a dark canary, a winter goddess. Luisa was going to tell the truth, whether it was out of fear or respect. Luisa shook her head slowly, but never met Alice’s eyes.
Alice was wearing a black eyelet trim black top, her golden brown hair was tied in a sleek bun at the back of her head. and two black gloves that hung from the waist of her thick black tights. Her outfits were almost always dark but not as dark as the look in her eyes. She hated men who tried to take advantage of women, especially women who were vulnerable. Luisa was in the same predicament she was right now before she begged Don Caroni to take her off the street and bring her to this mansion so she could work for him as payment for his protection. Pete knew this, he was the one who collected her from the slum she stayed in. This notion angered Alice even more; she killed men for less.
“Alice, I- I can explain!” He stammered out.
Explain?
Rape was rape and if she did not witness it for herself, he was sure to make this girl disappear to keep her quiet.
“Alice-” Before he pleaded his case, she snatched the semi automatic silver pistol handgun from her waistband. Pete’s eyes widened but he was slow in warding off her quick draw. She squeezed, just once. A tint of red splatted Luisa's face and she froze stiff from the contact. Pete fell to the marbled floor in a thud, there was now a leaking hole between his eyebrows that was painting the floor crimson.
Seven men reigned in as soon as her gun went off, with their rifles on cock and a look of alarm in their eyes. Once they notice Alice standing over Pete’s bloody shell, they relax their stance and tuck their guns away. Alice rolled her eyes at their delayed response. They were seconds away from the kitchen and yet didn’t hear the screams of the maid. If this was a raid, the intruder would have gotten to her father already, and he would have been dead.
“Clean this shit up!” She snapped while waving her hand to the floor where Pete’s body laid.
Alice threw a glance to Luisa who was still stuck. Jesus, this woman really needed to get some brass if she wanted to survive working in this house. This was, afterall, the headquarters of the greatest crime syndicate in all of America. Bodies fell everyday, death was inevitable.
She left the men to do their jobs and sauntered into the intricate maze of halls that designed the first floor of the mansion. She chose the one that led towards the large office Don Caroni was cooped for most of his days.
The halls were bare of men during the day, intricate maze only the entrances were kept guarded by a quartet of men, and no four men stood in the same spot for long consecutive hours. They began shifts and as soon as three hours went, they would rotate to another area of the house.
The office was in sight, and as expected, four men guarded the door, two on each side. They marched off and soon after a new team took their place, like clockwork.
“Alice.” They greeted when she approached, she acknowledged them with a nod before entering. Don Caroni was tucked behind his desk in the corner of the room. Between the long fedora hat he wore and the computer screen, she couldn’t see his eyes, but she knew he was focused on whatever he saw. He was a pale-skinned slender man with surprisingly broad shoulders for his weight and age fifty-three. Besides his greying sideburns, he had perfectly groomed brown hair, just like Alice’s. If she didn’t know any better, he could have easily passed her off as his blood daughter.
Twenty three years ago Lionel Caroni stumbled upon a robbery taking place in his territory, the woman and man were killed, he found Alice sitting in a pool of the couple’s blood. There was no family to claim the child so he adopted; she was three years old. Ever since then he raised her like his own blood and taught her the way of war, the way of the brotherhood and a million ways to kill a man. He never had any children of his own, she was his only heir.
“Who did you shoot?” His head was still down.
When he heard the gunshot, he knew it was her. Only she was permitted to shoot anyone on their grounds that wasn’t an intruder. And if it was an intruder, an alarm would have sounded.
“A rapist.” She replied casually and perched herself on the handle of one of the many chairs he had decorating the room.
Don Caroni nodded satisfactorily. “Good.” She soaked in his praise before gracing him with one her best made-up smiles.
“You know that plastic smile will go nowhere with me.” He stated as he shut the laptop down, now giving her his undivided attention.
If Alice had a dollar for everytime he said that when she was growing up, she’d be rich. Well-richer than she already was. He said it when she accidentally shot his driver while he was training her to shoot an arrow from a bow and she began smiling awkwardly towards him. He said it when she was seven and she stabbed a playmate in the knee with a fork for touching her favourite doll.
He lit a cigar and lifted it to his lips.
She cursed under her breath. “You can’t run a criminal organization if you die from lung disease.”
He growled noncommittally. “Let me guess, if that happens you’ll kill me?” His words came out a little muffled courtesy of the cigar in his jaw.
She rolled her eyes at his attempt at a joke. This had been the most normal conversation she had with this man for over a month, they only exchanged words over the phone confirming kills and picking up her next target. She spent her time stuck between safe houses, trying to clean up a rookie mistake some of her men made that landed them in the FBI custody and trying to get under a rising disaster. One of her father’s shipments of rifles was stolen by a black masked group before his men could get to it. And they obviously had help.
“Beretti checked out, it wasn’t the Italians.” Alice informed him. The American underground was run by six families, the Chinese, Mexican, Italian, Japanese, Russian and the Americans. Each had their portions of the country which they held with an iron grip. On the pinnacle was Don Diablo and his syndicate, everyone answered to him. They could kill, steal, sell as long as they kept their heads down and out of the public and as long as he sanctioned it. The syndicate did not meddle in child’s play, they were the ones to clean house when things got messy. It was pretty simple in the grand scheme of things, a party contracts them a target, they kill, get paid and they fund the cartels of the country.
Don Caroni pulled the cigar from his lips and threw it in his metal tray. “What about the Yakuza? They are sneaky bastards.”
“Lance is on it as we speak.” Alice smirked slightly as she retrospected on the heated moment that she and Lance had before he left her in the city.
Don Caroni didn’t miss the look on her face, he smirked. “I see that’s still going. I should’ve clipped his dick.”
“Dad!” Alice’s mouth fell open in shock.
“It’s just a joke sweetheart. It’s fine, perfectly fine, as long as it’s just-.”
“Yes, just.” She trailed off. With her, what you see is what you get and feelings were never going to be an option. She made it clear to Lance that he was just a means to an end and he was perfectly fine with being taken for the ride.
“Are you ready for lunch?” A new voice said from behind, it was Lillith, Don Caroni's wife. She was a small woman, five feet two and delicate, her flimsy arms could defend herself but she belonged behind the designer chair. That was where she normally was when she trained Alice to acquire the most lethal weapon of all, the perfect body and different ways to the man’s heart. She was the only female figure Alice had in her life, she was the closest thing to a mother.
Lilith met Lionel when they were just kids and like every other good girl, she fell for the bad boy. She had no qualms giving up her dreams and becoming his wife; all she wanted to do was stay by his side. Lilith went over to her husband and planted a kiss on his head. The only time this man appeared human was when his wife doted on him and it was really nauseating to watch.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea to go down yet Lillith, the men are doing some cleaning.” There was amusement in the Don’s Caroni's voice when he spoke.
Lillith gave Alice a disapproving look. “I heard.” Lilith never bothered hiding her hatred of guns or of Alice using them. She always said females had a more sophisticated way to kill; a lethal injection could do the trick.
“It’s just blood.” Alice laughed lightly at Lilith, earning an eye roll.
"I don't like it." Lilith said, then looked down at the man she had her hands on. "I heard you saying something about the Japanese."
“I’m not ruling anyone out.” Don Diablo replied, his tone was a bit cold. He was right, they all claimed to be honorable people, not harming the innocent but when it came to power, all of them were greedy bastards.
As far as Alice was concerned, none of them could be trusted. But it was hard to pinpoint which one of them intercepted the containers. “Don’t worry, once we lean in on every one of them, someone is bound to start talking.”
“Good, but for now I have something else for you." He said as he handed her a printed file from his rack. "He's the FBI informant, so I know you’re going to enjoy this one.”
Warning, there are a few Italian phrases/sentences and I will be using Google to translate. I don’t speak Italian so please feel free to correct me if I make a mistake :)***It was pitchblack in the room, cold from the winter air. The only movement she heard was the wind against the window she left open in the bedroom. She was a bit annoyed that no one was home yet. It was a Saturday night, the only time she decided to play dress up and be someone else besides Lionel Caroni's heiress.Now this man was wasting her time. She had contemplated going into the depths of Chicago to take Leonardo Bianchi out just to get it over with, but that would be too messy. A man like him never stayed out too late, he loved bringing shiny pretty things home to play with so she decided to
With a quick swig, Alice downed her vodka. A drop escaped her lips and caught the side of her mouth. He watched as she swiped her tongue across her lips, that simple action could be passed off as innocent but when she looked back at him, her lips held an almost taunting smirk. “There’s somewhere else you can go where no one can disturb you while you work.” She purred and pulled down the sunglasses she was wearing, just low enough for him to see her eyes-well the grey contacts that were in them. The inky look in his eyes was enough to tell Alice that he was interested, but there was an obvious confinement. As he was about to protest, she grabbed his arm, and pulled him from the stool, ignoring the sultry feeling of his skin on hers. She headed for the back of the club, where the real fun was. Not only did Walsh own a fight club, he also owned a strip club. It was more like a safe haven for some of the underground's most ruthless men, while some of them watched fights and bet on them t
Alice ran her slender hand over her knee, her gaze was locked on the laptop in front of her on the bed. She had skillfully escaped through a secret door of the club that she used to get in and out. It didn't prove as hectic as the first few times she tries, just a little nudge on the door and she was home free. As soon as she was back inside the mansion she requested the footage from Walsh's club from last night and has been scanning through ever since. Walsh was among the crowd, and like everyone else, he was in a line being led towards an FBI pickup vehicle outside. The line was monitored by two agents, one on each side of the van door. Other agents were scanning the area. She slightly straightened when the man from last night appeared in the line of the camera, his jacket was replaced with a black bulletproof vest, but no FBI bib. So he wasn’t FBI, she deduced. Then he must be from the CIA. She zoomed in on his face, he was sporting a small cut over his right eye; a minor repercu
Callum Brady-3rd person With tepid fingers, Callum brought the cotton wrapped ice cubes to his jaw. His arms clenched on the desk before him at the painful contact. It had been a while since he even got a bruised ego, now he was sporting a face full of splits and scrapes as if it was trapped in a cat's litter box. And it was all because of that woman. A fragile irish temptress. Or so he thought. "You look like shit." A low, deep voice interrupted his barely formed thoughts. He snapped his head up to meet the eyes of the six feet four strawberry blonde manboy James Archers, who he has to deal with on a daily basis. They had met each other on Callum's first day inducted in the Central Intelligence Agency. It was ordained, James said that day. Callum was fresh out of a briefing from the director at the time which James should have been present and was in desperate need of a drink. It turned out that James was at the same bar, almost mind numbingly drunk. And seven years later, he was s
A week had passed since that strange meeting with the founders, she thought the feeling she had then would have subsided but it was still there, still lingering. There was a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach every time she saw her father, each time she would tell him about it, he would smile softly and touch her cheek saying, “I can’t delay this trip Alice, it’s too important.” So she believed his words. Lionel Caroni was the most honourable she had ever known and in her line of work, she had met a lot. He was never a man to go back on his promises. And he always had a plan for everything which he executed in perfect precision every time. So when he said something was important, it really was. Alice never questioned his actions, she trusted him with every fiber
Cleaner- noun Definition: An assassin who is contracted to kill other assassins; someone who “cleans up” a physical crime. ***** The house was dull ever since the men carried the Don’s lifeless body through the hall down to his bedroom. The assassins that frequented the facility that was built underneath the house had remained down below, not going out for any assignments. Light spilled into the room, revealing that a new day had broken. Lilith sat by Lionel’s side wiping his bloody body, Alice watched over her from behind. It was tradition for the wife of a Don to clean their husband’s corpse. Alice was surprised to see Lilith do it so effortlessly despite the tears in her eyes. Maybe it was because Liltith knew what fate her husband would face in this life, running an organization of trained killers had its risks and she had made peace with it long ago. There was a light knock at the door before Tiago, one of the guards assigned to Lilith, appeared in the doorway. He sent a pain
Alice’s back was pressed against a cold marble gravestone, her chest rose and fell to the hammering rhythm of her heart. She was heaving mad. This was the main reason she hated wearing heels, those shits were unreliable in a fight, it places you at the receiving end of a reaper’s spear and she knew full well what that receiving end felt like. She hissed at the sight of the clipped heel. Her right hand held her pistol upward towards her chest and the next unbuckled the shoes from her feet and kicked them away. She kept her head hanging low from the impudent copper and lead. The gunshots stopped suddenly and she froze. The heavy silence stretched to an eternity. Nothing put her on edge more than a silent enemy. A few seconds later, low chatter resonated from opposite sides of the graveyard. There it was, the recouping move that every striker had, if only they knew she was right under their noses. Her other hand found her ankle quickly and she twisted the knife upwards, ready for battle.
She sat rooted in place from the shock. Her limbs couldn't move even if she planned on it. What in the actual fuck? Those were the same golden brown orbs that she almost swam off into that night, glistening black hair and the ridiculously broad shoulders. His refined suit was replaced by a black cotton coat with a white turtleneck on the inside and dark washed jeans. A dash of 6 o'clock stubble sprinkled his jawline but she had stared at him for too long to not recognize that face. For sure, a week ago, she was kicking the shit out of this man in a blonde wig and heels. She briefly forgot about their encounter because of the past few days but now she was sitting just a few meters away from him. Margaret didn't notice the look on her face, flew up from her seat and rushed over to the man and hugged