Lavínia Fadel
The next day, the three hitmen, under Ângelo's orders at breakfast, took me to see one of the clan's bunkers here in Switzerland. Yesterday was a very tumultuous night for me and even for Ângelo. Things must be really bad on my end for him, the most perverse among them all, to swallow his pride and confess to me that my own father paid him to kill me. I'm marked for death in the country where I was born.
It was and still is very hard for me to process all of this. It feels like my entire life is just a series of obstacles, a flood of misery, sadness, and suffering. I cried when the man I loved was taken from me, I cried when my brother was ripped from my arms, I cried when I saw no way out and was forced into prostitution, and yesterday, after Ângelo left me at my bedroom door, it was no different. I cried in depression and an anxiety attack in the bathroom while showering. It's incredibly painful to know that, as a woman, my father saw me as a bargaining chip, and when he could no longer profit from me because I ran away, he sent an executioner to find and kill me.
Even an assassin with a dark past had more compassion for me than my own father.
As I got out of the car and slammed the door shut, I quickly looked around the deserted area, noticing the abandonment of the place in the middle of nowhere due to the long drive to get here. Looking around, the extreme isolation was evident. My curious eyes scanned the ground, and I saw some dead grass and dry branches scattered everywhere, revealing that this area had been cleared for the construction of that monstrously large structure. The bunker, seen from the front, formed a boundary between the sky and its structure, practically a concrete wall erected from the ground and extremely well-built. I might be wrong, but from here, it looks like just one floor, though it likely extends straight back like an entire row of houses.
Someone touched my shoulders, and I looked to the side, narrowing my eyes and raising a hand to shield my face from the sun's rays burning my eyes. It was Hitman 27 beside me.
"You okay?" he asked. "You seem on edge," he noted.
"I firmly believe my life will be like this from now on. Looking around at everything and afraid of dying. You know, it's not every day you find out your dad hired the leader of multiple clans, a natural-born hitman who kills for sport, to simply assassinate you," I say, on guard.
If I said I felt safe with the three of them here and now, I'd be lying. But I have a deal with Ângelo; we're both deeply allied in this shitstorm that's been thrown into the fan. Me, with my ordeal of having a misogynistic father, and him, with a father who had the devil in his veins.
God, what a horror to read those words from that monster.
That monster drowned his son, a child, in a swamp of filth with every vile word written by his own hand in that stupid book. He blamed Ângelo and even promised a bloodbath, despite having already ripped out his soul when he was a child.
Son of a bitch.
Because of that disgusting man, I couldn't even touch Ângelo's bare chest during the times we fucked.
"I understand why you're defensive and on high alert, but you're safe with us," Hitman 27 took off his sunglasses, licked his full lips, and ran his hand through his blond hair, all while looking at me, stealing the air from my lungs for being a handsome guy.
"Let's go inside, Lavínia," it was Hitman 2, with skin lighter than Ângelo's, whose damn sexy self had an almost surreal golden hue. He took a few steps and stood in front of me, smiling and shoving his hands into the pockets of the casual shorts he was wearing. "You're going to see our arsenal," he revealed, and I finally understood why I was here. This meant Ângelo hadn't lied to me when he said he'd prepare me for the attack, because today I'd see all the clan's weapons in Switzerland.
Hands passed over my shoulders, and a strong arm rested on my nape, with a hand almost on my breast. I smiled.
"You're pretty clingy, aren't you?" I turned my neck, and Hitman 1, also blond with beautiful eyes, kissed my cheek, urging me to walk.
And so, the three of us headed toward the bunker.
"I like that lily scent of yours," he complimented.
I shrugged.
"Is it also for shelter?" I asked, closely observing the structure as we walked.
"Yes, it can withstand explosions, bombs, and even chemical and biological attacks," Hitman 1 explained, and I breathed, removing his hand from my shoulder since the damn collar my dear executioner put on me started heating up under the scorching sun.
I saw the two hitmen in front of us using biometrics, their eyes scanned at the entrance device on the wall beside the steel door, coated with iron and the strongest metal on Earth, tungsten. I recognized that metal because the man I loved worked as a locksmith in a Syrian factory and told me that type of metal occurs naturally on Earth.
I looked at the sky for a moment and smiled, closing my eyes as I remembered him and the moments we shared—few, but enough to mark my heart forever. May you, my beloved, be in a good place. Know that your death will be avenged. My father will die!
The hitman beside me stepped away and did the same as the other two, gesturing for me to follow. Puzzled, I went to him, and the jerk roughly pulled my hand, placing my fingerprint on the wall device and grabbing my nape, pulling me not so gently to have my eye scanned like theirs. I saw on the device that my fingerprints were being analyzed.
I made a face.
"I don't understand anything. What the hell are you doing?" The hitman holding my nape was fiddling with his phone. Furious at the lack of response, I looked at the other two, and they were doing the same. "Great!" I rolled my eyes and stared at the damn red laser, that torturous monochromatic, coherent, directional, high-intensity light fixed on my eyes. "If I go blind, I'll take all three of you down with a flying kick," I exploded.
"He'll grant your access," Hitman 1 beside me finally said something useful. I wasn't in the mood to roast under the hot sun anyway.
"Who's 'he'?" I slapped my hand on the concrete wall.
"The boss of this whole damn thing."
"Ângelo Fontana," I said with no enthusiasm, tapping my foot. "Does everything have to go through that lunatic?" I asked, impatient with the delay.
"He's listening to you."
My body froze, my gaze blinked for a moment, and I stared at the laser, which immediately turned green, and a device beeped.
"Is the collar burning, dear Lavínia?" the high-tech intercom spoke, but what really fucked me up was Ângelo's husky voice behind it.
"Not really, my angel. I think I can bake out here in the sun just fine while you decide if I'm getting into this shit or not," I smiled reluctantly.
I heard him clear his throat at my boldness, and the three hitmen grinned mockingly.
"If you're already this good raw…"
My smile faded, and my body heated up, and it wasn't from the damn sun burning my back. He was full of jokes today… that son of a bitch.
"Why's it taking so long? Damn it!" I lost my patience and was about to punch the intercom to avoid hearing that bastard's voice.
"It's processing your fingerprints for all the depots, headquarters, and bunkers worldwide," he confided.
My heart raced.
"You're giving me access to everything?" I was incredulous.
"You're one of us now. Got a memory problem? Schizophrenic? Or are you tripping hard?" He sounded annoyed.
"You're so funny today, aren't you, you son of a bitch?"
"Crazy!"
"Sicko!" I shot back.
Suddenly, the door made a noise and slid to the side, granting us entry.
I flipped off the intercom and hurried into the bunker with the hired hitmen. A smile was inevitable. I'm walking with killers, I've fucked in a cemetery with a man who actually wanted to kill me with his dick, literally, I left my brother in a damn mansion with my assassin, and here I am, about to see an arsenal of weapons from Ângelo Fontana's clan of killers.
Sometimes, honestly, I feel like I'm in a book, and the author hates the heroine.
"You're really tripping, huh, Lavínia," Hitman 2 said playfully, seeing me laugh at my hopeless life, turning from normal to becoming a killer.
But in this whole mess, it's kill or be killed, and I'm marked for death, so I have no choice.
It'll be nice to do whatever I want without getting arrested.
"I'm wondering what I'm doing with my life," smiling, I observe the place and am stunned when I realize the bunker doesn't run straight inside. The hitmen pulled a lever, and a section of the floor opened, revealing an iron staircase forming to the lower level.
"Ladies first," Hitman 27 gestured with his hand.
I quickly crossed my arms and refused.
"What guarantees you won't lock me in there?" I alternated my gaze between the three, who looked at me somewhat disoriented. "That's what I thought. You three go first," I stomped my foot, because I wasn't leaving until they hurried up, and they'd be surprised if they tried anything against me, since I had a ridiculous table knife in my pant leg. I had no choice but to sneak it from the breakfast table when Ângelo told me I'd be coming here with the three of them.
"Females are all the same. It's impressive," with disdain, Hitman 2 descended the iron stairs. I saw Hitman 1 look at me with frustration and go down the stairs too. Then I turned to the last hitman, 27. He didn't stray far from me, and I don't know why.
"What are you waiting for?" I asked, irritated.
Unlike the other two, he laughed beautifully and started descending, blatantly eyeing my body as he went down the steps.
"Come on," he urged me when he was out of sight.
I took a deep breath and went, scared as hell, turning my damn ass, marked by the tight jeans, for the three down there to see—what an embarrassing hell, since I made them go first—and started descending each step slowly.
Suddenly, my hands slipped from the base of the ladder where I touched the ground while descending, and my foot missed the next step, almost falling, but thanks to one of the idiots, I was caught before I splattered on the floor, and they'd laugh at me and make jokes.
"I got you," it was Hitman 27, damn it! Him, of all people? Looking into my eyes and smiling as he shamelessly scanned my face and lingered on my lips with predatory eyes, I felt like he wanted to kiss me and might even be daydreaming about it. I breathed shakily and caught his pleasant but common scent, reminding me of the clients I had at the brothel. The businessmen there wore perfumes like that, imported but always so similar. Always Pasha de Cartier, a woody, refined scent with freshness and elegance.
I stared at the hitman holding me in his arms and swallowed hard, realizing he reminded me of that place—the brothel, the clients, everything—just because of that scent.
Ângelo, on the other hand, despite frequenting the brothel and actually paying for nights with me, despite being a despicable bastard the first time, still had a different scent, not just because of the cigarette he smoked, but it was unique. In his room, when I returned to the mansion to find my brother, I saw his perfume. It was imported too, a Creed Millesime Imperial, a sophisticated and striking fragrance like Satan himself, a damn exclusive and captivating aroma that stuck in my nostrils the day that sadist ate my pussy like I had no elasticity at all. A perfume with such elegance and class, for a brutal man who fucked you without any shame. A refined, powerful essence for an unmistakable man. A perfume, a true work of art in fragrance form, for a monster who could kill you while fucking. A scent radiating freshness and citrus, like bergamot, lemon, and tangerine, revitalizing the dominant man who possessed you in bed, fucking you and staring into the irises of your eyes, showing that if he wanted, he could split you in half with his dick.
I let go of one hand from the hitman's neck, which I hadn't realized I was holding to cushion the impact if I fell.
"Put me down," I asked in a near-silent tone, affected by the feelings Ângelo stirred in me just by remembering the delicious scent of his unforgettable perfume.
He released my legs, and I jumped to the ground, letting go of his neck completely. A bit nervous, breathing unevenly, I started wandering through the underground rooms of the bunker.
Observing everything and every detail of the place.
"The efficient structure of this bunker was designed and built for one purpose: to store our weaponry and shelter us in case of attacks," Hitman 1 explained, and I kept walking, attentive to everything.
I touched the wall, built with reinforced concrete, and looked at the ceiling. So, this structure was strong enough to withstand the impacts of nuclear weapons. Wow… Seeing a window in one of the rooms, I knew it was surely fortified and explosion-proof.
A construction specifically for high-tension moments.
I felt something grab my foot and, startled, looked down. Hitman 2 was pulling the table knife from my pant leg.
"This stays with me, missy," he laughed.
I glared at him furiously. I was about to slap him, but he moved ahead, all smug, and I was drawn back to the details of the place.
"Ângelo had it built about nine years ago. He came to Switzerland for work and loved the country, so he wanted the clan's headquarters in the neighboring city of Zurich, in Dietikon, and this bunker in Dübendorf, all nearby, since these are the cities where we operate the most," Hitman 1 explained, and I looked at him, following the three as they led me to a massive room completely filled with weapons inside large, laminated, bulletproof glass panels resistant to gunfire.
I was stunned and enchanted by the variety of weapons stored there.
"Holy shit!" Fascinated and open-mouthed, I approached the glass and touched it. Behind it was the gun I was hopelessly in love with when I was younger. I had seen it in an action movie and went crazy for it—an AK-47, a 7.62x39mm assault rifle. I didn't know much about guns, but I researched a lot about the AK. Created in 1947 and produced by the Soviet Union. Beautiful. The design… perfect. "Wow," laughing, I walked along the side, still touching the glass protecting them, dumbfounded by so many models of firearms and white weapons, like a wide variety of knives and daggers.
Only a bunker designed to withstand rockets, with walls and ceilings made of reinforced concrete, floors up to 30 cm thick, hermetic doors and windows, and heavy, deep locks in the walls, could protect all the weaponry of Ângelo Fontana's clan of killers.
I never thought I'd say this, but damn, Ângelo! You're powerfully massive.
Fuck!
With a smile on my face, I turned to the hitmen, and they were no longer there. I frowned, confused. Suddenly, the steel door was locked, and I ran desperately to try to open it.
"What are you doing?" I shouted nervously, not understanding what the hell was happening.
Startled, the many LED panels on the room's ceiling began to turn off one by one in a zigzag pattern, making my heart skip beats as the place grew dark.
I returned to the door, started shouting, banging, and kicking the steel, which didn't even make a sound.
Suddenly, I was in complete darkness; I couldn't see anything. With tears in my eyes, imagining the worst—that I had truly been deceived and imprisoned—I turned and pressed my back against the door, feeling the cold steel through the white tank top I was wearing.
Then, to my surprise, a screen like the one at the headquarters descended from the concrete ceiling, and I saw the three hitmen standing together in the image.
"Lavínia, to be one of us, you'll need to pass a mission," Hitman 2 revealed with a huge smile on his face.
Incredulous, I stepped away from the steel door and approached the screen, looking up.
"What mission?" I questioned, furious and glaring fiercely at them for the scare. Bastards. All of them.
Suddenly, a light shone in the corner, and my eyes were drawn to a person tied with ropes to a chair and gagged. It was a man, and he seemed unconscious. I was horrified and lost.
"Knowing that we're all killers, we'll start there," Hitman 1 said, and a spotlight on the floor lit up all the weapons in the glass. "You have 15 minutes to find the key that opens the glass, choose a weapon, and kill this man."
With that, I looked at them with tears in my eyes.
"I'm not going to kill anyone," I declared, my heart racing and my mouth dry with fear.
"He'll wake up in 15 minutes and kill you. His ropes aren't tightly tied. He's two meters tall and weighs 110 kilos, a former soldier. In the war, he killed 23 soldiers from his own training team, raped 8 soldiers, and 3 hunting dogs," Hitman 27 revealed, and I sensed sincerity in that jerk.
Dazed, I took a step back and looked around, at the man, and then at the locked weapons.
"And if I can't do it?" I cried, disturbed.
"We'll take care of your brother. Kisses, baby," Hitman 2 replied coldly, and the damn screen turned off and retracted to the ceiling.
Terrified, I ran to the glass and, feeling with my palms, tried to slide the glass panels apart. With blurred vision, I kicked the glass—nothing. Seeing a rough iron bar in the corner of the wall, I hurried to grab it with both hands and returned to the glass, hitting it countless times with all my strength, trying to at least crack or shatter that damn glass.
I was sweating coldly from the effort and determination to at least dent or break that damn thing.
"God! What do I do?" I asked myself, nearly out of breath, looking back at the unconscious man. Fearful, I dropped the iron bar on the floor, causing a deafening noise that echoed in my ears. I walked to him and, close enough, crouched and started searching his body, in the shirt pocket and the pockets of the pants that jerk was wearing, convinced I'd find the key, keeping my gaze fixed on his face, trembling and terrified that I might hasten his awakening.
Finding nothing, no key, crying, I decided to mess with the ropes and quickly started untying the rope between the chair's legs and over his legs and hands, tightening it with force and securing him, tying several knots so that if he woke up, I'd buy more time.
Afraid of dying, I threw myself to the floor and, seeing the concrete tables, crawled to them, searching every tiny corner. Nothing!... Oh my God!
And now?
Standing and covered in dirt, I looked around and tried everything I could find to break that damn glass.
I don't know how many minutes I lost there trying to shatter that wretched glass. What happened next...