The Runaways - Kaylor

Prologue

The click of her stilettos against the hardwood floors echoed across the vast room. Heads turned in irritation at the direction of the sound but the looks of disdain turned to awe once gazing at her presence. How could they not? Her slicked back platinum blonde hair already attracted enough attention in of itself; combined with the svelte and sophisticated demeanor she carried as she glided gracefully towards this night's rendezvous in her sleek black dress.

She stepped towards the two men clad in suits who stood looming over the private entrance. "We didn't ask for no dancers here tonight, doll. Get outta here!" one of the men jeers, barring her from moving forward.

"Lucky for me, I'm not a dancer. Are you two boys gonna let me pass? I have urgent business with your boss."

The men just stand there laughing, a sly smile passed across their dark features. "Look, doll. The boss don't require your business here tonight but if you're that excited, my friend Jimmy here would love to make a deal with you."

The guy named Jimmy steps toward her just as the door behind him flies open. A long, thin arm reaches out from the dim to stop him, saying, "Enough of that boys. Don Vito has been waiting for our guest here. Should I tell him you two were the cause for her delay?"

"N-no Signora, our apologies. W-we were just— we did not think," mumbled the tough-looking man named Oskar, now cowering in fear.

"I'm really sorry about this, Taylor. These stubborn knuckleheads were put on guard duty for a reason," the tall blonde chuckled. "Come through, Vito's waiting in the study."

Taylor followed the mystery woman down the poorly lit hallway, keeping her eyes peeled for anything suspicious.

The blonde is silent during their walk. Her long legs making graceful strides across the floor that despite her being in heels made it seem like she was merely gliding. She had a kind smile on her face, but her features had just the right amount of sharpness as well. Her bright blue eyes had a depth to them as if they held all the secrets in the world, none of the shining of lust and desire. Taylor got the impression that this woman was more than meets the eye -definitely more than Don Vito's past choices of mistresses.

"Ah Signorina Taylor, how good to see you! Que bella!" the deep baritone of Don Vittorio Borgia echoes around the room as his eyes lay on the women entering. "It has been so long. I am sorry to hear about your father, he was such a respected force in our line of business. Truly a great loss to us all."

Taylor stiffens at the mention of her father. The wound of grief was still fresh; only a year since Scott Swift was shot dead in his home, murdered by an unnamed hitman.

"Thank you very much, Don Vito. My father always spoke highly of you as his partner and friend," Taylor repeats out loud as she's rehearsed numerous times. In truth, her father had never trusted the man that sat before her now and she had no reason to do so either.

Don Vito rises to kiss her hand, gesturing for her to take a seat. "So what can I do for you, Signorina?" Their eyes meet in a silent stare down before Taylor averts her gaze to the blonde casually perched off to the side.

"I would like to renegotiate the terms of our companies' agreements. Since my father's passing and I've taken a over, it appears that you have been reaping more of the benefits than we," she answers in a measured tone.

"What is it that you are proposing?" he asks with mock amusement.

Taylor keeps her voice sweet but firm, her eyes sharp and never leaving the elder man's stare. "I want 60% of all our commissions and 300 million with a go-ahead from Senator Payne for one of my new ventures in Los Angeles." Her voice is ice cold with all hint of feigned innocence gone. "Oh, and I want in on that deal with Moe Roth. 40%."

The old man's face darkens just as Taylor had expected. Even the tall, leggy blonde had now kept to the shadows in the room. But her blue gaze followed Taylor and the Don's every moment -constantly watching.

"I will give you 45% on commissions, the 300 million with the Senator's blessing, and 20% from the Roth deal. That's it."

Resisting the urge to grab his hand to prick him and wield the poisoned-tip ring on her finger, Taylor instead doesn't mince her next words. "You disappoint me, Don Vito. I thought you valued our families' friendship more than that." Then again you were the one who sold out my father to be killed, Taylor thought bitterly but held her tongue.

"Darling, you're making this too personal. It's just business!" the old man replies indignantly.

"Yes! The same business that got your family out of the gutter when my father took pity on you and took you under his wing!" Taylor's voice is dripping with malice now. Yet she felt no remorse in the words that came out of her mouth. "Or have you forgotten? You owe us! And this time, I demand the payment due."

Just when Taylor thinks the elderly man is about to explode in anger right before their eyes, he begins to laugh instead. He was doubled over and banging his fist on the table, his guffaw echoing on the walls to Taylor's frustration.

But another kind of banging sound began to seep through the walls. It was a cacophony; people screaming, the scuffling of chairs and tables against the floor, and the unmistakable blast of gunshots. As if in slow motion, the door to the study bursts open to reveal a bloodied Oskar running in with his gun in hand.

"Don Vito, we have been compromised. The polizia are infiltrating and we have lost over half a dozen men, we must go! Fretta!" he screams running toward the elder man, keeping his back to him and the gun pointed at the door.

"Help me move this desk; the passage to the tunnels is underneath us—"

"FREEZE!"

The police had entered but their voices were drowned out and quickly silenced by Oskar's open fire on the small group that had appeared. Everyone else ducked out of the way while the shower of bullets and smoke cleared.

"Amore, watch the door. Taylor, help me help us get out of here," Don Vito urges while Taylor scrambles towards him.

They push the oak desk away and strip the rug to reveal a hatch on the floor. Together with they pull at the rusted handle, opening it up to a staircase that leads them into darkness.

"Ladies first—" he says, turning back with his hand extended to guide his mistress down first.

Then he sees the gun she's holding pointed directly at his head.

"Nobody move!" the blonde commands. Her steely blue eyes cut right through the two crouched in front of her. She shifts the gun between Taylor and the Don. "By the jurisdiction of Interpol and the United States FBI, you are under arrest on charges of drug trafficking, possession of illegal firearms—" she continues.

Taylor and the old man share a long, hard look with each other. Someone would die that night in any way you looked at it. So when she looked into his hazel eyes whose gaze didn't meet hers, rather it shifted ever so slightly to beneath the desk behind her, Taylor knew what to do.

The metal felt cold and heavy in her hands but the pull on the trigger heavier in her haste to shoot. Bang.

One shot and the blood started to flow out of the tall girl's stomach. Red as the color of her dress, it quickly spread across the floor. Yet her blue eyes remained alight while she fell to the floor grasping at the wound.

The old man ran ahead into the dark tunnel beneath pulling Taylor as fast as their legs could carry. Evidently, it wasn't fast enough for when Taylor turned her head back, she still saw the light leave those bright blue eyes.