𝐀𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 ✔️

Chapter 3

MARCH 2ND

I sat in my office, waiting to meet with Alessandro. Impatiently. 

Not many people know where I live. My brother and Alessandro are the only people who know. With how many hits Alessandro gives me, it's easier to meet in person than to do everything over the phone. But I don't allow anybody else to come to my house.

My house is plain and simple, everything is in black and white. I don't like any other colours. My floor is black, my walls are white, and my furniture is black. 

Alessandro entered, knocking before doing so. His black hair was jelled like always, trying to make himself appear professional. He took a seat in the black chair on the opposite side of my desk.

"I've got a hit for you that needs to be done tonight. Did you finish that one from the party?" he asked me, making me tense for a second.

I shrugged, not letting myself reveal the tension I felt, "It's a work in progress. It's complicated."

He nodded his head, cuffing the sleeves of his black shirt. He didn't care, it was just to make conversation. He leaned forward and tells me, "Sean Rodriquez. I need him dead tonight, 500k flat."

I nodded my head, "Done."

No hesitation, no need to ask why, no taking in the fact that this was someone's son. I just accept to take his life, without any doubt. 

He stood up and leaned over my desk, reaching to shake my hand. I shook his, but only because of the amount of money he gives me. I never fucking touch people.

He turned to leave when he stopped for a second. He looked at me over his shoulder and asked, "Smells good in here. What is it?"

I felt my entire body tense at his question. I cleared my throat, "It's just air freshener. Vanilla and pine."

He nodded his head, "Smells good. I'll be in touch with you later before I send you the money."

He exited, leaving me with my thoughts. I find myself coming back to one question and one question only. Who is this mystery man and why does he want Hailey dead? The girl that could do no wrong, the girl that would grill me on what I wanted in life in passing. 

I grabbed my phone out of my pocket, calling the number of the person who ordered the hit. After a few rings, they picked up, "Black. You make her suffer yet?"

I hesitated before speaking words that I had never said before. I told him, "I can't do this hit for you. Shits come up."

I don't know why this hit feels different from the rest. But the thought makes me feel dirty. I've given myself two tries now, and have failed both times. 

The other line was silent for a while. I knew he was sitting in disappointment. He eventually spoke, "Disappointed, but no problem. I can find another hitman."

An unfamiliar burning sensation formed in my chest at his words. 

I was silent - not answering him. His words bothered me, and I couldn't understand why. After a few moments of my silence, the voice said, "Goodbye, Black."

"Wait," I stopped him, rushing the words out. 

His silence encouraged me to keep talking. I rubbed my jawline while saying, "I'll do it. But it'll take a while, is that a problem?"

"How long are we talking?" he asked me, his voice strained with irritation. 

I stared at the calendar that was on my desk. Today was March 2nd - if I propose to kill her by the end of the month, that would give me 29 days. 29 days to get my shit together and stop thinking of her big smile and sweet scent when I go to kill her.