I was sent to capture the CIA's most wanted fugitive.
But things took a tragic turn,
My entire team was murdered before my eyes, and I was kidnapped by said fugitive.
It seemed like my government had forgotten me and I became a puppet for the fugi...
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Today is my wedding day.
I try not to think about the endless violence and the fight for my life as Giuliana, Amalia and some professionals fix my dress, hair and makeup. I try not to think of the killing spree my husband-to-be went on, for the sake of my life as they tighten my corset.
I also try not to think about Grandma Chiara’s weak body and the last look of life in her eyes as she uttered words that pierced my soul right before her the last shred of life left her eyes. I try so hard, not to think about the moment I picked up her rifle, the bodies that went down at the release of bullets and the cold memories that flooded, somehow relating to Grandma Chiara’s last words.
Words I can barely remember.
I shake the memories away as Giuliana applies the red matte lipstick on my lips, and the professionals use the foundation to hide the injuries on my neck, back and shoulders. The dress covers the injuries on my thighs and the extensive makeup covers the ones on my left cheek. I wince as I remember being slapped by one of the hitmen. And then I still as I remember what came afterwards.
“Sorry.” I tell Giuliana as she continues to doll me up. She nods with a clear smile. She is my maid of honor today since I’m not exactly surplus of female friends. Amalia is also bridesmaid. There are lots of armed men around this building and there will be more surrounding the wedding venue. I realize that this is the first word I have said since the series of incidents. And I can’t help but look over my shoulder, like someone is watching me, like I am being chased.
“You look beautiful.” She says and I check out my reflection in the mirror. I don’t remember the last time I had this much make up on, the only exception was when I went undercover to gather intel on Andreas. The memory breezes over me and it seems like another life, another person. I think about the memories that slammed into me as I gave every bullet of that rifle away. Was that me? Was that what Dr. Amy meant when she said someone had looked into my memories? Were my memories erased, and why?
What happened to me?
“Thank you.” I tell Giuliana, my eyes still focused on my reflection in the mirror.
“The wedding of the century.” Amalia says as she gets my heels. She seems to have cooled off since the last time I saw her, like she has accepted the situation for what it is.
“Cheer up.” The professional in charge of my hair says. “You’re about to marry a billionaire, most women will be excited.” If only she knew.
I close my eyes again, and more memories flood in.
The bullets in the rifle are spent and I toss the thing away, barely registering the dull clang it makes against the concrete floor. My hands tremble as I try to process what Grandma Chiara said to me before she died. No, she’s not dead. She can’t be dead. She shouldn’t be dead. There’s a war raging in my mind, tearing at the fragile threads of my sanity as I struggle to accept the crippling reality of my current situation. Blood is everywhere coating the walls, pooling beneath the bodies, staining the quiet night with its metallic scent. It’s midnight and the compound is a slaughterhouse. My flip flops squelch against the sticky floor as I step over the fallen.
