Alexandra

Panting and tired from the night’s work, I grabbed the fire exit staircase and climbed to my small apartment. It lies in the corner most part of the alley with most houses made of old bricks. From the outside, it looks an abandoned property ready for demolition. Less lighting on the streets, drugged youth has seen hanging out.

Staircases away, I reached the fire exit door and opened it. With only two fluorescent lamps flashing, it was a gloomy condition. A perfect hideout for someone like me. Electrical wiring seemed in faulty condition. Its buzzes echoed across the whole floor creating a melody with the soles of my boots.

Until I reached the front door of my rented apartment. I grabbed the flower pot, dug the dirt with black leather gloves on until reaching the roots. I took the key and unlocked the door.

A soothing, peaceful, different world revealed behind. Especially when I leaned behind the door facing towards my whole space. Who would have thought a treacherous woman like me lived in this kind of place? I thought.

The walls, painted in pastel colors, revealed a hint of rustic ambiance. In front of the television set, the soft cottony L-shaped couch made it perfect. The small square-shaped glass table added sophistication.

I took my black military shoes wrapping them in a plastic shoe cover as I headed to my bedroom. I placed my black cape and black leather working gloves in the laundry basket.

I sighed in front of the mirror after a long draining night, placing my hands on the sink staring at myself. “How long will you do this, Alexandra? How long will you hide and live life like this?” I closed her eyes and washed my ruddy face. A moment later, I bit my lip too hard it bled.

Seeing the blood in the clothes, I pressed my wounded lip with my finger and raised my face. A drop of tear fell from my eyes as they turned bloodshot. Realizing my sudden sentiment, I jerked. I blinked my eyes turned bloodshot while I looked away to wipe my tears.

Located at the nearby port, I entered an old-looking abandoned warehouse. More like a factory in the early 1960s. With my usual get up, I ambled towards the gray painted steel plated door.

Two men in black tux and shades blocked me. “Who are you?” One man asked me in baritone. I needed not say anything except raising my head a bit. Enough for the two six-footer men to be familiar and acknowledge.

After seeing my facial features with the dim streetlight, they nodded and opened the door. While the door remained ajar, they pressed their faces against the cold surface. Yet a sudden strong kick left them flabbergasted, as they recoil almost falling on the ground. “Fuck, that bitch.” One of them sputtered, grunting.

From afar, I saw the back of the tall slender man in black tux unbuttoned with his hands held at the back. The sounds of my boots echoed flinching the man who called my attention. He turned to face me. “Finally, you’re here, Belladonna.”

I remained standing meters away from him without saying a word. Feeling impatient with my absolute silence, the guy spun right in front of me and smirked. “As usual. Why would I expect Belladonna speaks first? I called you because of your request?”

Because of my request?

I gulped. Feeling the intensity of his stares while trying to keep my composure in front of him. Somehow I already got the feeling of what he’s about to tell me.“I know you’ve been wanting to leave this dark world we’re living in, Belladonna. But you know yourself, it won’t be easy.”

He walked closer towards me and later took steps encircling where I stood. “But–” He paused and looked at me. “–you need to do me one last favor.”

I remained silent, cautious of what he would say next. My chest tightened and my breathing turned deep and heavy as he continued. “If you succeed, you will have your freedom. Would you do it?” He sat on a portable chair below the only lighting in the warehouse cross-legged. He placed his hands in his pockets waiting for my answer.

“Who?” That was the first word I uttered loud since I arrived, meeting my stepfather. I needed no time to waste and asked him the main point of his call. And it’s pretty obvious he wanted me to slay someone again. And my last victim.

He smirked. “Finally, you spoke, dear.” He rubbed his nose with his index finger and scoffed. “It’s a tough job for me to make you talk, you know that?” He stood in front of me, leaning his torso forward, reaching my face. Inches away before his finger landed on my chin, I blocked it with my strength. He flinched. “Oh, you’re getting stronger this time. I like that.” He giggled.

“Who?” I spoke again in a cold, monotonous tone. My repeated one-word inquiry left him annoyed. His brows crossed and the left brow high. He sighed together placing his hands on his pockets. “The capo dei capi," he said without a sense of doubt. “The mafia boss,” he clarified with a faint chuckle.

Hearing the mafia boss awakened my senses. That made him smile. “Why? Doesn’t that sound exciting to you? Imagine him, someone wants him dead, the country wants to arrest, will die under your sweet hands. His blood-thirsty life will end under the hands of a popular, notorious yet beautiful assassin like you. That will make you heroic. Doesn’t that sound cool, eh?”

Will I regain my freedom once I slay the old guy’s life? Or should I end your life, too? My dear stepfather. Not yet. Not now.

“Listen. I know your good dad didn’t want you to go through this hard life, Alexandra,” he whispered. His big hands clamped my shoulders and glared straight through my eyes. “But if your mom was wise like you–”

I stopped him, giving him a menacing look. “Never drag my mother in our conversation, stepfather," I utter in a sarcastic tone.

He scoffed and giggled. “You, merciless brat, remember this. I know we don’t talk that much. I know you hate me. But I want to stress this out to you this time. You owe me your life. And I don’t care if you like me as your stepfather or not. You have a big life loan to pay. Now, pay your lifetime dues to me as your stepfather. Do you understand?”

I didn’t respond.

Whatever, bastard.

I was once a sweet little child with a happy small family of three with my dad and my mom. Although he doesn't earn that much, we remained happy living in a simple life. Until, he took his life shortly before my birthday. I was five years old at the time.

My mom, devastated by my dad’s fate, faced the harsh reality. She worked in different shifts in a grocery store by day and in a club by night to meet both ends. Unfortunately, she never received help from the company my dad worked for. Until she met this bastard whom I saw as a father figure.

Then, she left me under this guy’s care. She didn’t know I’d be living in the darkness under the name “Belladonna, the notorious lady assassin.” A once sweet, cheerful little girl became hostile, earning the notorious name. Far more dangerous with more than a hundred thousand dollars on my head.

My stepfather never knew the reason for agreeing his terms. He never knew why I allowed him to train me. It wasn't for his business alone. But to avenge my father by murdering the CEO of the company, known for exploitation. The man I killed weeks ago. I took his life without a hint of mercy on my face.

All I wanted was to avenge my poor father’s death blaming him for the drastic changes in our lives. I wouldn’t have to kill for money or else I wouldn’t have to take a life for revenge for mere stupid reasons. Albeit, I remained untraceable.

Ironic as it sounded, but I wasn’t proud of my murders. To me, ending that old man’s life was already enough. Now it’s done, I was ready to quit my dark life. And tonight’s mission will be the last. Then, it’s over.

“Good,” he said in almost monotonous, lifeless response but with a command. My stepfather stepped away and sat back on his swivel chair swaying it a bit with his leg crossed together.

“Tell me plausible reasons why I have to end his life,” I uttered with a slight hint of nervousness. Besides, this is for my freedom, right?

“I want them to learn the most valuable lesson when they try to mess with me. Period,” he said while puffing smoke from his tobacco swaying his swivel chair he sat on. “They don’t know what it takes to mess with Monsour,” he added with a sarcastic emphasis on his name.

Without saying anything, I turned and walked steps away from him. Until I reached the door and exited. “That’s my girl,” he uttered almost whispering, smiling with malice.

Before I left the warehouse, I heard his terrifying loud laugh fading.