God dammit! Severing major arteries is messy business, and I’m usually able to keep myself out of the line of fire, but not today it seems. My black hair is matted with blood, my maroon bra looks black from the blood soaking into it, and my matching maroon satin and lace panties are soaked and not in the good way. The gorgeous tattoos that cover the ivory skin of my arms and legs are now veiled in blood. I look horrific. But sometimes this comes with the job.
Killing people can get messy sometimes, and not everything goes to plan. Like in this case. Everything was running smoothly, going exactly how I wanted, but then one little action forced me to deviate from my plan slightly and now here I am, straddling a dead man while looking like a living breathing Jackson Pollock painting. But let me go back a bit and explain how I got here.
Thirty-nine-year-old Miroslav Đorđević was a Serbian arms dealer who, as it turns out, had been skimming off the top and his partner wasn’t happy about it. Sometimes when people in our world want someone dead but don’t want it coming back to them, they reach out to me, and I take care of it for them. For a fee, of course. After learning his routines, habits, and background for the past month – as I do with every new contract – I put my plan into action.
I learned Miroslav was going to be at Square Nine Hotel having a dinner meeting with Земунски клан (The Zemun Clan), one of the Belgrade clans of the Serbian mafia. I waited in the lobby bar in a full-length, black velvet gown that had one full sleeve down my right arm and a thigh slit that came right up to my pelvis. Only accessories I paired with the dress were my gold 5” ankle strap stilettos and my matching gold clutch. I kept the makeup light with mascara, a cat eye and blood-red lipstick and my hair pinned to the right. The tattoos on my left leg and left arm were on display to tantalise those around me. Safe to say, my 5’6” self looked good. I don’t have much to flaunt chest-wise as I’m a B cup, but my ass on the other hand is sinfully curvaceous and this dress showcased it to the fullest.
I waited patiently while discreetly monitoring the meeting going on not too far from me. My mother tongue is Romanian, but I’m fluent in several other languages including Serbian, so listening in on their conversation was no issue. I stole flirtatious glances with Miroslav during his meeting, and he responded to each glance with a wink, or a smirk and a lust-filled gaze, often zoning out of the conversation, distracted by the deadly woman flirting with him from across the bar. This wasn’t even a challenge, but I won’t say it wasn’t fun.
Once he finished his meeting he came over and struck up a conversation which resulted in him inviting me up to his room as intended. The door was barely shut before he was pulling me into a heated make-out session that I will be the first to admit was hot as hell. He made quick work of his clothes and at his command, I peeled off my dress while he lay on the king-size bed of his Junior Deluxe Suite in all his naked glory, and the man was indeed glorious.
Light brown spikey hair, teal eyes and toned muscles with olive skin covered in hair. Not in a gross way though. The hair wasn’t wild, it was tame and accented the curves and dips of the muscles on his body and boy am I glad we didn’t get to the sex because I think his dick might have killed me. Not much to brag about in terms of girth, but it was long, roughly eight maybe nine inches which is just too much if you ask me and from what I could tell about this guy, he’d have used every inch mercilessly.
Once out of my clothes, I was on top of him resuming our foreplay. I’ll hand it to him, the man could kiss, and his hands were skilled, but while he was busy leaving wet kisses on my neck and whispering erotic things in my ear, I carefully pulled Crimson out from her hiding place under the mattress, where I had hidden her earlier when I snuck into his room.
I was just about to go for his neck when he noticed what I was doing and acted fast. He grabbed my arm to keep my blade away and the way we were positioned didn’t give me a clear angle of his neck. So while he was busy trying to disarm my right hand, I switched the blade to my left and pierced Crimson into the femoral artery of his right thigh. He screamed in pain and shock and once I withdrew my blade, blood was spurting everywhere. May have had something to do with the fact so much blood was pumping down to that region due to his aroused state, but who cares? We struggled for a few minutes with him desperately trying to get me off of him while throwing Serbian curses my way, but just as fast as he began fighting, he became lifeless underneath me.
And that brings us to my current state. The bed is now soaked in blood, and there’s even blood on the wall above the bed. I climb off the bed, look myself over and shake my head. Definitely not what I planned, but the job is done at least. I slip Crimson into the waistband of my panties and collect my dress and purse. I walk over to the door and listen for anyone in the hallway. When I’m satisfied the coast is clear I use my dress to open the door to ensure I don’t touch it with my bloody hands. I quickly look both ways down the hall and make a dash to the room next to his, which I had earlier reserved for myself.
Once inside I grab a garbage bag from my suitcase and strip off my bra and panties and toss my clothes inside the garbage bag. I then pad my way to the bathroom and get into the shower. I take my time to scrub the blood off my body and wash it out of my hair. Another rule of this business: don’t wash up in the same place you kill someone.
After scrubbing and washing for a good thirty minutes, I get out and dry off using a towel I brought with me. I never use the hotel's items. The fewer traces of me the better. I pull clean clothes out of my suitcase and get dressed in a royal blue button-down satin blouse and a black pencil skirt, tucking the blouse into my skirt. I slip on a pair of black pumps and tie my hair into a bun on top of my head. I look myself over in the mirror and see I’ve successfully washed all the makeup off as well, good. I put all my belongings neatly into my suitcase, along with everything bloodstained, including Crimson, who is tucked safely into a side compartment – I’ll give her a thorough clean when I’m on the jet. With everything ready I make my exit and check out of the hotel.
I do feel a little bad for the maid who’s in for a nasty surprise. I wonder how many people around the world require therapy because of me. I do tend to leave bodies scattered about, usually for two reasons. First reason is, it may relate to a scenario I have created such as the one with Martin Allard last month. The second reason is that the body being found - regardless of by who - proves I completed the job. Should never give someone a reason to suspect you double-crossed them and their target is still alive. It never ends well.
Once I’ve checked out I get in a cab and am taken to a private airfield where my jet is patiently waiting. It’s a Gulfstream G550 and she is a beauty. I smile as I see Marcel stepping down from the jet. Marcel is the steward on my jet and has been for the past five years, but he’s practically family. In fact, he often spends holidays with my family. Marcel is forty-nine with short, limp dark brown hair fading grey at the edges. He has a salt and pepper trimmed beard and soft hazel eyes. Outside of the frown lines on his forehead he only has some slight creasing around the corners of his eyes, but no other wrinkles to be seen. He always dresses sharply and is currently in black slacks, black Armani dress shoes, a black pinstripe shirt and a black tie with a gold diamond pattern in the design. He’s also wearing his usual gold wolf cufflinks. He loves anything to do with wolves, he even owns one as a pet which he named Blade, who is absolutely gorgeous! I step out of the cab as Marcel
After a relaxing journey, the pilot announces we’ll be landing soon, so I get up and open the right drawer of the cabinet opposite the bed. I pull out the sleek black case and open it using fingerprint ID. Nestled safely inside is my old reliable Wilson Combat EDC X9. I love this gun. My father still maintains his gun of choice is far better, but whatever. This is the gun for me. 9mm calibre, 7.6” length with a 4” barrel and a beautifully ornate G10 starburst grip and beavertail that houses the grip safety. Weighing at 2.38lb with a 15+1 capacity, it’s definitely my gun of choice. I take out my beauty and start loading it. Once ready to go. I strap my gun holster to my thigh and strap in my gun. I grab Crimson who is now clean as a whistle and strap her on the other side of the holster, then adjust my skirt. I place the burner phones in my black handbag, and I am ready for action. “That’s what you’re wearing?” Marcel asks with a concerned frown. “Yes. What’s wrong with what I’m wea
The drive home from the airstrip is peaceful. Just me and the low music coming from the car’s speakers to keep me company. As I’m driving I’m taking in the Moldovan landscape as it brings a sense of calm to my body. It’s so good to be home. I haven’t been home in four months. I have properties all over the world and if I’m not staying in a location where I happen to have property then I stay at a hotel, but when I come back here I always stay with my parents. One could say I never technically moved out, but I’m travelling most of the year so when I’m back home, naturally I want to be with my family. I’m driving down the familiar winding road through the lush green forests, where the occasional vibrant wildflower pokes its head out and I know I’m nearly home. My parent’s house is located a short distance from Saharna Monastery, and we have a private airstrip a thirty-minute drive away, which I really appreciate, otherwise it would be an almost two-hour drive to get home from Chișinău
“Where is my little Blackheart?!” Comes my grandfather’s deep but silky voice, and my face breaks out into a huge grin as he enters the room. “Grandpa!” I shout and leap at him. He catches me in his strong arms and holds me to him as he chuckles, “Did you get more tattoos? There won’t be any unmarked skin left soon,” he teases. “Very funny,” I say, kissing his cheek. Gosh, I haven’t seen Grandpa Titus in months. I’ve missed him like crazy. I’m telling you my family doesn’t age. Grandpa Titus is the definition of a silver fox. He’s 6’3” and at the age of seventy-nine is still as buff and muscular as my dad. He has some crow’s feet around his blueish-grey eyes and some wrinkling on his forehead, but besides that, his skin doesn’t show much sign of aging, except maybe his hands. He has shoulder-length wavey salt-and-pepper hair and a short salt-and-pepper beard with a moustache. His long-pointed nose is slightly crooked due to breaking it so many times, but it just makes him look tou
My peaceful sleep is disrupted by a sharp sting across my backside and the sound of skin meeting skin. What the fuck? “Up you get,” comes my dad’s voice. Is he freaking kidding me? I’m on holiday. Since I’m lying face down I ignore him and pull my pillow over my head and attempt to go back to sleep. “It’s time to get up and train, let’s go,” he commands. “Fuck off,” I mumble tiredly. I just want to go back to sleep. “What did you just say to me?” My dad asks in a menacing tone, but I don’t even flinch. I just shift my hand to rest on top of the pillow on top of my head and give him the finger. “ALINA ISTRATI GET THE FUCK OUT OF THAT BED RIGHT NOW!” My dad yells in a deadly voice. If we had neighbours that would have woken them up. I still continue to ignore him hoping he’ll go away, but no such luck. Suddenly I feel air and the wind is knocked out of me a little when my body connects with something solid. I open my eyes and they lock with my dad’s back. He has me slung over his s
Walking back into my room I give myself a quick stretch, trying to loosen up all the muscles I worked out fighting with my dad. Just looking at me this is not what you’d expect my room to look like. I won’t lie, opulent is a good word to describe my bedroom. It’s massive. A wall sections off a third of the room and the floor is mostly tan wood, but under the bed is a gorgeous champagne-coloured carpet. A king-size bed against the sectioning wall with sheets of gold and beige facing two full-length windows. Brown nightstands flank the bed adorned with touch lamps and a large white storage ottoman sits at the foot of the bed. I have all the basics one would need. Chest of drawers, a sofa, coffee table, mirror, and 52” plasma TV. In the corner by the door I even have a small office area. A stunning desk and chair face the centre of the room, but the part of the room that truly screams opulence is the stunning crystal blue and gold chandelier. On the left side of the sectioning wall is m
Pulling up to Il Segreto, I pull down my visor and check my makeup. When it comes to meetings I always dress to impress. Impress myself that is. It would be stupid to show up at one of the best restaurants in the city in attire that screams ‘I’m here to kill someone’, so dressing for the occasion is important. Tonight I’ve gone for the vamp look. Plum smokey eye with defined wings and deep plum lipstick. It compliments my pale skin and makes my green eyes pop. My hair is neatly back in a chignon, and I’ve dressed in a red full-sleeve mermaid evening gown with an open back. The dress is skin-tight, and I love how the fabric just flows out like water from the knees. Aside from my back, I’m completely covered. Sometimes having all the tattoos tucked away makes more of a statement than having them on display. I grab my black clutch purse and step out of the car being mindful to not get my black suede pointy-toe stilettos caught in my dress. I hand the keys to my black Jaguar XJ to the va
I make my way to the back of the restaurant and up a staircase that leads to a private dining room that resides on the top floor of the restaurant. Stepping inside the room is rather dark, almost intimate. An entirely black room with small white and gold marble tables mirroring each other on either side of the room, with each holding a large black vase filled with birds of paradise and orange orchids that give a pop of colour to this dark room. The lighting is very minimal and strategically placed. It’s placed in a manner so that it’s easy to see all the features of my guest who will sit opposite me, whereas my features will be somewhat obscured by shadow. I’m not trying to be invisible, but it does intimidate people and make it a little harder to remember someone’s features when they aren’t on full display. Sitting in the middle of the room is a single round table with a black cloth over it with gold trimming. The table is set for two and my guest is already seated waiting for me wit