𝐴 𝐺𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝑂𝑓 𝐶ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑒

08||ℤ𝕒𝕣𝕒 & ℤ𝕚𝕒

Tʜᴇ ᴅʀᴇss ʙᴜᴛ ɪᴍᴀɢɪɴᴇ ɪᴛ's ᴡʜɪᴛᴇ👆👆👆

Cʜʀɪsʜᴀɴ~sɪɴ ᴄɪᴛʏ (sʟᴏᴡᴇᴅ&ʀᴇᴠᴇʀʙ)

♕︎♕︎♕︎

There was a kind of thrill that came from watching. Spectating and just enjoying the view.

I'd been searching for that thrill for a long time but to no avail. I'd much rather take action, do something, anything to keep myself sane.

I always had something to do, something to destroy and I enjoyed it. But for once, for once in the twenty years I'd spent learning from some of America's best assassins and the man with Mexico in his hand, I had no idea what to do.

I was supposed to find the person responsible for all this - not just Mel's death but everything. I contemplate going over a few more documents or more specifically; My agreement with Alexie, but decide against it.

It had been two weeks, two weeks without an attack, two weeks since Mel's death, two weeks of Pablo running errands beneath him and two weeks of silence. Irritating, skin burning silence.

I hate it so I avoid it.

Music. Done.

Movies.Watched and rewatched.

Work.Not as perfect as they could be but still done.

I'd managed to get the man who survived the attack on Mel - courtesy of Alexie actually, or atleast that was what Pablo said.

After tortouring him he refused to break. He would yell, beg me to stop or just beg me to kill him but I would never give him the satisfaction of an answered plea.

He caved...eventually. In the worst way possible, just on the brink of death he gave an adress and the numbers '606'

If he knew he was going to die why tell me the secret, it would've been much more honorable to die knowing you were faithful.

Not my problem though.

Not to my complete surprise, I'm led to a club, one I'm certain belongs to Richardo Gaetano. It would be smart to run back home but also foolish to leave.

I choose to not be foolish and not be smart.

I enter the club met with heat, sweaty bodies and different smells. I don't allow myself to stay there too long as I make my way down a small hallway. During my journey I'm met by eight men, all of which end up dead leaving massive red stains on my white Saint Laurent dress.

Now, why on earth did I put on white. Why was white even in my closet?

I shake my body a little, successfully getting rid of a bit of the blood as I make my way to the double doors with 606 written in black on a gold platter at the top of the door.

Before I enter I hear an excessive anount of wailing, like the person on the other end is on the brink of death.

I listen for a while but eventually get tired of waiting so I burst open the door and am met with a lovely sight.