Ivory Fernández and Kylian De Luca.
She's the top assassin.
He's the top mafia leader.
They both hate and tried to kill each other multiple times so what will happen when they need to take down a common enemy and they've agreed to do it together...
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It's been a week. A whole week and nothing from Kylian. Does he expect me to wait for him when he's the one who asked for my help? Pathetic.
I mean, I guess he kinda helped me since he warned me about The Russians plan to kill me but I'm just going to pretend I found that out by myself.
I also brought my favourite gun when I went to meet him. I'm convinced he stole it. Either that or some person stole it. It's London, what do I expect?
"I'm here!" Isiah says out of breath after barging through my headroom door, hands on his knees.
"Isiah, I can't find my favourite gun," I whine, plopping onto my bed dramatically. Yeah, I called him over because of that and he better not complain.
"Do you want me to fucking stab you?" He scoffs. "Again," I add to his sentence and in return, he rolls his eyes. What? It's just the truth.
"Where's your purse?" He asks, walking into my closet. "Oi!" I huff, following suit, "Be careful with my baby aka my closet."
"Just answer the question," he grumbles, clearly having enough with my bull shit. But he loves me so it's fine.
"I have loads, idiot," I state the obvious. People who say you don't need a lot of bags just don't understand.
It's tiring having to explain to Isiah so I just hit him with the closest purse I can find. Then he hits me with a pillow. And we fight. But I always win duh.
Rolling his eyes, he picks the same purse I wore to the club and rummages through it until he pulls out something. "Fuck yes, this is why I love you," I grin as he hands me my gun and purse.
He's been with me since day one. Cliche? Yes. But it's true. Everyone deserves someone who will always be there for you.
We met a year or two after my family's murder because I came to London aka where he currently lives. I had a mission to kill him. Oopsies.
Obviously, I didn't. I mean, I stabbed him. But he stabbed me too. The idiot owns me twenty five million because that's how much the person was willing to give me if I killed him.
But instead, I killed them. Too bad, too sad. We've stuck together ever since then. Very platonically romantic, isn't it? Don't answer that.
Curiously, I look through my purse to see what other random shit I have in there. "The fuck is this," I mumble, pulling out a burner phone.
"Wow, Ivy," he gasps way too dramatically, "is this your first time seeing a burner phone?"
"Ha, ha. Very funny," I say, sarcasm dripping off my every word. "I didn't put that there, Isiah."
How the fuck did it just appear in my purse? Did someone do some bippity boppopity boo shit or what?
"Then who did? My bloody ass?" He scoffs and I roll my eyes at his words. "Not you," I mumble, "fucking Kylian."
