Bloody Rose

chap 6

Cheyenne's POV:

After we got back to my apartment, I felt myself getting a bit dizzy. I swayed slightly, my vision blurring.

"Whoa, easy," Ronnie said, catching my elbow.

I sat down on the couch, holding my head in my hands.

"Hey, you okay?" Ronnie asked.

I nodded, taking deep breaths.

"Just a little lightheaded," I replied.

Ronnie sat beside me, concern etched on her face.

"Maybe you should lie down," she suggested.

I nodded, and Ronnie helped me stretch out on the couch.

She fetched a glass of water and handed it to me.

"Drink this," she said.

As I sipped the water, Ronnie sat beside me, stroking my hair.

"Better?" she asked.

I nodded.

Ronnie's touch was soothing.

Suddenly, I felt grateful for her presence.

"Thanks, Ronnie," I whispered.

"Anytime," she replied.

☆☆☆☆
Ronnie's POV:

I fetched Cheyenne a glass of water, my mind momentarily distracted from the call I knew was coming.

As I handed her the water, my phone rang, shrill in the silence.

I glanced down, my heart sinking.

Vincent.

My father's right-hand man.

The one who handed out "jobs" like candy.

I answered, my tone neutral.

"Ronnie."

"Your target is approximately 40 meters south of the apartment you're currently in," Vincent's voice was cold, detached.

"Get the job done. You have your rifle. Use it."

The line went dead.

I felt a chill run down my spine.

Panic set in.

Cheyenne was oblivious, sipping her water.

How could I do this?

She didn't know.

She had no idea what I was.

A Mafia princess. A hitwoman.

Trained to kill, not love.

My eyes met Cheyenne's, and for a moment, I saw innocence.

I couldn't let her find out.

Not now. Not ever.

I glanced at Cheyenne, still sipping her water, oblivious to the danger lurking outside.

My training kicked in.

I assessed the situation.

The target was 40 meters south.

Cheyenne's bedroom window offered the perfect vantage point.

I moved swiftly, trying not to arouse suspicion.

"Hey, I need to grab something from your room," I said, forcing a casual tone.

Cheyenne nodded, still distracted.

I entered her room, scanning for potential obstacles.

The window was ideal – elevated, with an unobstructed view.

I carefully opened it, the sound masked by the city's hum.

My rifle was already assembled, hidden in my duffel bag.

I retrieved it, loaded the magazine, and chambered a round.

My heart rate slowed.

Focus took over.

I positioned myself at the window, rifle at the ready.

Scanning the area, I spotted the target.

A lone figure, pacing outside the building across the street.

My scope zeroed in.

I took a deep breath.

Squeezed the trigger.

The rifle's report was muffled by the suppressor.

The target crumpled.

Mission accomplished.

I reloaded, keeping watch.

No signs of additional threats.

With practiced ease, I disassembled my rifle.

Concealed it.

Returned to the living room.

Cheyenne looked up.

"Everything okay?" she asked.

I forced a smile.

"Yeah. Just grabbed what I needed."

Her gaze lingered.

Unaware of the danger that had just passed.

Unaware of what I truly was.