Agent 7. The Shadows: Part I

▪️◼️Chapter Thirty◼️▪️

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Matteo - Agent 7
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I wake a few hours after sun break. A heavy weight is pressed against my chest and a sweet smell fills my nostrils.

I turn my head causing Alina's soft hair to brush against the rough stubble of my jaw. She's tucked into my side, her head resting in the crook of my shoulder, arm draped across my body.

About an hour into slumber she had rolled over from where she lay on the far side of the bed to grip my arm.

When I didn't immediately push her off of me the way I should have, hugging into my side turned into Alina resting her head onto my chest.

Later in the evening, her hand had creeped up my abdomen to grip my camicia (tshirt) as if her life depended on it and her slender leg slung over one of mine like a damn polpo (octopus).

I try to pull myself out from under her but she clings to me like a spider monkey all over again.

"Ah cazzo," (ah fuck) I mutter under my breath with a slight chuckle.

I reach my hand up to her relaxed face and brush the hair—that's hanging like a drapery over her closed eyes—away from her softened features. Her lashes are long and thick and resting on high cheekbones. She has a natural beauty to her, she's one of those women that doesn't need a drop of make up. When awake, her vibrant indigo eyes accentuate her features far more than blush or lipstick ever could.

I trace the tip of my index finger across both eyebrows, down her slender nose, and along the plush mounds of her plump rosso (red) lips.

I blink rapidly.

Che diavolo sto facendo? (What the hell am I doing?) I snatch my hand away as if I've been burned.

I scrub my hand over my face. I need to get a fucking grip.

Women are nothing but distractions.

Alina is my target. I'm supposed to kill her, not fucking admire her as she lay peacefully in my arms.

I groan in frustration.

I don't know what it is about this woman. I've gone against protocol time and time again for her.

It seems that the harder I work to push her away, treat her like the stronzo (asshole) I am, and scare her into submission, the more she seems to somehow squirm her way back into my arms.

With a resolved breath I pull myself out from under her and get out of bed. She moans softly before turning over and letting out a soft snore.

I head to the closet to change before pulling out a chair at the table to take a seat. I open up the silver laptop and watch as the screen comes to life instantly.

I sit down in the stiff hotel chair making myself comfortable. I turn my head and steal one last glance at the heap of blankets that Alina is nestled under before turning all of my attention to my task at hand.

I log into the encrypted server and wait for The Director to message me that funds have been wired to my off-shore account.

After a few moments the familiar robotic voice fills the soft hum of the room as words type across the screen.

The Director.

...The Agency is unable to transmit payment for the Target #28145 assignment as the task was not completed

My brows raise as confusion muddles my thoughts. The hell? #28145 is Borkov's target number.

I shot Borkov between the eyes at point-blank range and that was after he had ingested a lethal dose of ethylene glycol. What the hell do they mean that the hit wasn't completed?

I shake my head as fury begins to rise to the surface.

My fingers jab at the keys.

The task was completed. I type angrily.

After an excruciatingly long pause The Director responds.

Please wait. Uploading live news feed...

My heart begins to pump viciously in my chest, hammering itself against the confines of my rib cage. I watch as a video fills half of the computer screen.  It's a live news station broadcasting the presidential preliminaries. A news anchor, a middle aged man with short brown hair, is speaking directly to the camera in fast-spoken Russian.

"...As you can see behind me a large crowd has formed as we wait for the candidates running for President—during this years primary elections—to take the stage. We received word earlier this morning that Mayor Oleg Borkov will be announcing his run..."

The news anchor is relaying old information. It's still early. News of Borkov's death hasn't been released to the public yet.

But The Agency would know by now that I've completed my mission, they would know Borkov is dead, so why are they showing me this?

I let out a string of curse words in Italian as the newscaster drones on in the background, each explicative sounding deadlier then the last.

I click back onto the message board with The Agency. Heat builds in my chest as I work to not lose my shit. I type out my question.

Who was the client for this assignment?

No response.

Beyond furious, I re-type the question into the message board. I will not be fucked with.

Who was the client for this assignment?

Again, no response.

I stand up and pace in front of the computer, wearing tred marks into the carpet beneath my sock-clad feet. I was assigned by The Agency to take out Vladimir Agafonov, Alina, and Mayor Borkov by the same client.

First The Agency has threatened to reassign Alina, and now they are telling me that Borkov's assignment was not complete when I know for a god damn fact that he's dead? This's not a fucking coincidence!

If the Agency is claiming the assignment wasn't complete then I won't get paid. I didn't kill that son-of-a-bitch for nothing. I want my two million owed.

Rage ignites within me.

I pause in front of the computer, bending over to type my threat.

If you set me up, I will find you and I will kill you

Yet again there is no response.

"Cazzo!" (Fuck!) I snap. I slam my hands onto the computer and shove it across the table causing it to crash to the floor with a loud clatter.

I storm over to the cassettiera (chest of drawers) that holds the remote for the televisione and snatch it up. I point it toward the black screen of the plasma televisione hanging on the wall in front of me and bring it to life. With anger fueling my every move I hastily click through the news stations until I find the one I'm looking for. It's a live broadcast of the Presidential preliminaries happening today in downtown Moscow. The same newscast The Director had sent me.

There, before my eyes, is Mayor Oleg Borkov—alive and well—announcing to the people of Russia his run for Presidency in the upcoming presidential election.

~~~~~~~

Hi everyone! Thank you so much for reading!

I wrote this a few months ago when Russia invaded Ukraine, with all the turmoil going on between Russia and Ukraine it's hard to write things that seem to be so close to home for so many. I just wanted to say that my thoughts and prayers are with the people of Ukraine. Stay safe everyone <3