You Inherit Money, I Inherit Guns

Sunlight streamed through the windows, casting long shadows across the room. Yet it wasn't the sunlight that disturbed my pleasant slumber; it was the pair of eyes that I could feel watching me. I pretended to sleepily fidget when my true intention was to reach for the gun under my pillow. I kept my eyes open in slits so I could surprise to the intruder. The gun was gone.

I knew exactly who was here.

Sebastian sat in a folding chair that seemed to have magically appeared into the room. He smiled. Since he was a mute, he nodded cordially and left. I heard light footsteps hurry down the corridor to some destination.

I noticed I was still in my evening dress, but that did not bother me. I looked at the mahogany chiffonier. The complicated design stared at me, begging for me to rummage through the shallow drawers. I gave in, stripping head to toe and putting on black dress pants and an ivory sweater. Jeans and t-shirts donning logos did not exist in my life. If there were, I would not be called Principessa and would not be here in New York City. Instead, I would be back in Sicily, probably surrounded by a group of friends and such.

My mother Ilana died when I was but six, but I knew my padre would take great care of me. He arranged for a ballet teacher and a Ti Kwan Do master as soon as I came to America, but I ended up killing both of them. I sort of regret it, but I don't miss them.

A hard knock emanated from the door, shaking the room. "Entrato," I said. Most of my Familiga were more comfortable speaking their native language. I had absolutely no problem with that, me being a native and all. Demetri came in, expressionless as usual. "Sovrano needs you to come down immediately. We have an impromptu meeting for the Consiglio dei Reali," he said, all the words jumbled together into one sentence, and shut the door. I sighed. Just now, I realized that I was never under the covers in the first place. The bianco comforter was unwrinkled. It almost seemed like no one was ever even in the plain, white room.

XXXXXXXXXXX

"So what is this 'plan' exactly?" I asked, thrumming my fingers on the folding table. The way everyone was seated looked like we were in a law firm. Padre was at the front, our underbosses on either side of him, then the consiglieres, then the soldiers. And then me, at the other end. It would have been laughable had it not been for the topic of discussion.

"You shall wander the alley ways tonight. The ones that connect? At precisely midnight there is always a group of men that meet somewhere inside and go clubbing and bar hopping." He stopped for a second. I have never heard my own father use such simple English, nonetheless slang. "Kill all of them, except for one. They wander in so deeply, no one will hear you or them," he said, a reassuring grin crossing his face for the slightest moment.

"How do you know there will be men there? You haven't set foot in the place in years," I remarked cooly.

"True Violetta, but your dear cousin Demetri wired it. We have been getting signals for 2 months. I assure you: they will be there." I nodded.

"And what exactly do you want me to do? You haven't clarified that quantum yet." A snarl crossed his face for a milisecond before returning to his usual calm visage.

"Obviously, you show up. Knock into the one that looks the weakest, but slit the vein running inside the left leg. Apologize, and watch them for a moment. If he does not stumble, scream, or show any sort of pain or exasperation, throw your dagger into his spine. Impact will kill him. Then choose the innocent man; the one you shall teach. Kill his companions, and drug him with the chlorophorm you always keep with you. Tobias shall be waiting with a the car the moment you drug him. We will be watching," he said, before adding "Don't forget to use your imagination. Consider this your assignment." He motioned for everyone to leave, which left me alone in the cinderblock room, planning out an effective way to slay the pupil's friends.

XXXXXXXXXXX

My sleek black trench coat looked particularly elegant in the tumbling mist surrounding my feet. I wore all black, including knee high boots. I wore no jewellery, as was custom for a mission like this. I would have to be quiet for this event. From around the bricked corner, I heard men quietly laughing amongst themselves. I pulled the sharpened knife from my pocket. I now saw five men in sight, also wearing black but with colourful hats and gloves. Two of them wore scarves. I stepped out and ran myself into the shortest, thinnest one. "Sorry," we mumbled at the same time. I grazed his inner thigh with the knife and concealed it again within the tails.

I stopped in order to watch them from the corner of my eye. The man suddenly stumbled and fell to the ground. Three of them kneeled to help him up, frequently asking him if he was alright and what had happened. I felt like a child at Christmastime, taking advantage of the moment and throwing two daggers into the scarved men's backs, thankful for being ambidextrous. Two remained standing. One turned around and shouted something at me to get my attention. I grabbed my fake gun from my holster but he knocked it out of my hand. Clearly, he too knew Ti Kwan Do. A sharp pain in my side hinted he just kicked me, but I blocked every attempted blow thereafter. In a matter of seconds he was on the ground with a slit throat. The last man stood, petrified with fear. I noticed the tiny camera from the corner of my eye and saluted. I turned to the man who had just raised his hands in the air as if he were surrendering to me. I couldn't help but grin for a quick second.

"Who are you?" he asked, stepping back into what he did not realize was a dead end. This would be fun.

"Funny you should ask," I said in a silky voice, inching closer to him. Of course he took a step back, trying to avoid any, or what he thought would be, certain death. "I was about to ask the same thing. Well, I'm not one to beat around the bush. I am Violetta Monica Monarco. And you might be?" I said, this time stepping closer to him. I fingered the cloth that I doused in chlorophorm before running this errand.

"L-L-Logan F-Ferris. Will-will you make it q-quick? I don't want it to b-be p-painful," he said. He collided with the brick wall. He looked over his shoulder, shocked at the barrier between him and freedom.

"Oh, don't worry. I won't harm you like I did your company," I sneered. I whipped the rag to his face, pinching his nose as hard as I could. He took painful gasps for air. He hit at my arms, kicked at my legs. Each bow got lighter and lighter until he slid to the ground, unconscious. "I never said anything about drugging you," I said, hoisting him up onto the wall.