Codename: Blackheart

Returning Home

The drive home from the airstrip is peaceful. Just me and the low music coming from the car’s speakers to keep me company. As I’m driving I’m taking in the Moldovan landscape as it brings a sense of calm to my body. It’s so good to be home. I haven’t been home in four months. I have properties all over the world and if I’m not staying in a location where I happen to have property then I stay at a hotel, but when I come back here I always stay with my parents. One could say I never technically moved out, but I’m travelling most of the year so when I’m back home, naturally I want to be with my family.

I’m driving down the familiar winding road through the lush green forests, where the occasional vibrant wildflower pokes its head out and I know I’m nearly home. My parent’s house is located a short distance from Saharna Monastery, and we have a private airstrip a thirty-minute drive away, which I really appreciate, otherwise it would be an almost two-hour drive to get home from Chișinău International Airport.

I smile when my family’s estate comes into view, and I bring the car to a stop along the gravel driveway. So, technically our estate is a castle. It’s been in my family for five generations, given to us as payment from some oligarch who was indebted to my great, great grandfather. The castle is modest as far as castles go and is Brâncovanian in terms of architecture. It’s two stories with a flat root, built from terracotta-coloured stone and it’s surrounded by vast gardens that exude a charming and romantic vibe.

Stepping out of the white SUV I look up at the house and can see sheer white curtains billowing outwards into the colonnade that runs along the second floor. My mum likes to keep the windows and doors open in the summertime.

I take in the warm summer air and lift my Ray Bands onto my head, smiling when a warm breeze hits my skin. I grab my suitcase out of the car and make my way up to the portico and let myself in. Gosh, I’ve missed this place.

The interior is made up of cream and soft brown stone walls and stone archways everywhere. Walking in through the short foyer I step into the open and spacious main living room. Should see it at night when the black chandelier lights up the room. It gives it such a romantic glow. Large vases filled with flowers adorn the room. To the right is a 152” plasma TV with a knee-high mahogany entertainment unit. Opposite that is a wide, high, rich-brown camel back sofa scattered with chocolate brown cushions, that can easily seat five people, with a circular antique coffee table atop a golden rug that partially covers the beige and orange tiled floors.

Past the living area is a high-arched glass wall sectioned by stone columns. Through the windows, you can see the second living room which acts as an entertainment area for guests. It’s mostly used when we have a large number of guests since it’s where we keep an exquisite and fully stocked stone bar. Most of the main living areas have very earthy tones, sticking to browns, golds, beiges, oranges, and reds.

I’ve barely put my suitcase down when I can hear the sounds of shouting in Italian coming from the kitchen. Mum must be in a bad mood. My mother is Italian heritage on her mother’s side and Greek heritage on her father’s side. She was born in Italy but raised mostly in Greece. She mostly speaks Greek but when she’s pissed off she switches to Italian. My father was born and raised in Moldova, so the language in my household is unique, to say the least. Dad sticks to speaking Romanian most of the time and mum sticks to speaking Greek – unless angered – but they understand each other just fine, so watching them speak to each other is always amusing.

I make my way to the kitchen and as soon as I step into the kitchen something comes flying fast past my face. I look to the right to find my dad ducking to avoid a kitchen knife that is now embedded in the wall. Well, that was a close one.

“Alina! Good God, I nearly killed you! You should be more careful when walking into rooms,” my mum scolds with a worried tone.

“I’m sorry, didn’t realise I needed to look out for flying knives in my own home. My mistake,” I say sarcastically.

“Well done Dasha, you nearly killed our daughter,” my dad says standing up straight and glaring at my mother.

“I wasn’t trying to kill her,” my mum points out, making me chuckle.

“Speaking of killing, why exactly are you trying to kill dad?” I ask curiously, folding my arms.

“Ask him,” she says bitterly.

Dad sighs, “I took a contract away from her and now she’s mad at me.”

“That mark was mine! You had no right to take it!” She shouts angrily.

My mother is fifty-five years old, fierce as hell and stunningly beautiful. She’s 5’7” with glowing white skin and long straight dark brown hair with bangs that bring attention to her chocolate brown eyes. She has a thin nose, high cheekbones, and a pointed jaw. She has soft plump lips, and her top lip is a bit fuller than the bottom. She always dresses elegantly, which explains why she’s wearing tight white slacks, black strappy 5” heels with gold studs on the straps and a black long-sleeve chiffon blouse that dips into her cleavage. I did not get my breast size from her, as my mother is a D-cup with a killer hourglass shape. Lucky b***h.

“Love, I said I was sorry. You hadn’t taken the contract yet, I assumed it was fair game,” my dad says innocently as he slowly walks towards her. While I got my facial features and skin tone from my mum – though I’m a bit paler – I got my hair, eyes, and love for tattoos from my dad.

My dad is fifty-seven years old, 6’2” with olive skin and deep green eyes. He has short black hair that sits up on its own, a long-pointed nose, plump lips, and a chiselled jaw with a square chin coated in a trim black beard and moustache. Neither of my parents looks their age. They both are healthy and fit and so they look to still be in their thirties. My dad is in top shape with an incredible physique. He’s very proud of his body and likes to show it off, especially for my mum’s benefit. He’s a very sophisticated dresser, but he’s a little more dressed down today, probably because mum’s trying to kill him again. He’s wearing tight black trousers that show off his muscular thighs and glutes and a tight white long-sleeve button-down that shows off his muscular torso and narrow waist. His cuffs are undone, and his shirt has the first three buttons open so you can see the tattoos on his chest and hands. He only has a few tattoos. I, however, went overboard.

“The file was on my desk in our room, obviously I had every intention of taking it and you stole it!” She shouts in irritation.

I shake my head. “Haven’t you learned to not piss off mum? Do you want her to try and kill you again?” I tease with a raised eyebrow. Trying to kill each other was actually how they met. Mum was the first person to ever take him down and that made him fall in love with her.

“Your mother won’t kill me; she loves me too much,” he says smirking confidently. My mother scoffs. “Say you love me,” he commands.

“I hate you,” she says through narrowed eyes.

“Same thing,” he shrugs and grabs her arms pulling her to his chest and slamming his lips on hers. She resists for a second before giving in and wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him back. They’re locked in their heated, lustful kiss when I clear my throat to get their attention. I’m not mad or grossed out though, I love seeing my parents like this. Still loving and desiring each other as much as the day they met. My dad is the first to break their kiss and he grins at my mother.

“You’re an asshole, Silas,” she says trying not to smile.

“Yes, but I’m your asshole,” he says kissing her nose softly.

“And don’t you forget it.”

“You know I’m here too. Or did neither of you miss me?” I say, pouting.

My dad lets out a chuckle, “Come here my little warrior, of course, we’ve missed you.” He bounds over and wraps his arms around me picking me up and swinging me around. I giggle and hug him tightly. Now, this is the welcome home I wanted. He puts me down and holds my face in his hands and I see nothing but pride and adoration in his eyes. “You get more beautiful by the day, just like your mother,” he says softly placing a kiss on my forehead.

“And you get more troublesome,” I smirk. He just laughs. “No plans for retirement then?” I ask with a straight face, waiting for his reaction.

He stiffens and looks at me coldly. “You wash your mouth out, young lady! I am far too young to retire. I still have perfect aim,” he says as he stuffs his hands in his pockets. It's mum’s turn to laugh.

“She’s the only one who you let rile you up like this. She still has you wrapped around her finger,” she teases as she opens the fridge grabbing a bottle of wine.

“She gets that from you,” he says accusingly. Mum just smirks and grabs three glasses from the top cabinet and starts pouring out the wine.

The kitchen is a beautiful mix of old and modern with grey stone tile floors and walls a mix of golden-brown wood and grey stone. It’s so nice being back in a real kitchen. Hotel mini-bars or the small kitchenettes that are in many of the apartments I own are just not real kitchens to me.

I walk over to the kitchen island as mum slides a glass of wine over to me. “How did everything go while you were gone? All your jobs go smoothly?” She inquires coolly as she picks up her own glass and sips. I don’t fail to notice her carefully assessing me for injuries. Mum is a badass and taught me to be one too, and as proud of me as she is, she still worries about me, and I love her for that.

“All of them went great, had to make the odd decision on the fly but everything went great. My last job was probably the most interesting one out of the bunch,” I say enthusiastically as I sip my wine.

“Oh? What was so interesting about it?” My dad asks as he picks up his glass and leans against the kitchen island.

“Double hit. Set of cousins hired me to take the other out.”

Mum raises her eyebrow, “That is interesting. So what did you do?”

“Accept both contracts and completed them both,” I tell them with a sly smile.

Dad lets out a booming laugh wrapping his arm tight around me, “That’s my Little Warrior,” he says with pride, and I grin up at him.

“How come Marcel didn’t come with you?” Mum asks.

“He wanted to go home and see Vivienne first, but he’ll come by tomorrow with her to catch up.”

“Excellent. I’ll prepare a welcome home dinner for tomorrow then. We haven’t had one in ages,” she says excitedly as she walks over and pulls me into a tight hug. “It’s so good to have you home, Alina,” my mother whispers affectionately in my ear.

I hug her back as tight as I can and kiss her cheek, “It’s good to be home,” I smile at her.

“Someone else will be happy to see you,” says my dad. I look at him curiously as a loud voice shouts getting my attention.

“Where is my little Blackheart?!” Comes my grandfather’s deep but silky voice, and my face breaks out into a huge grin as he enters the room.

“Grandpa!” I shout and leap at him.

He catches me in his strong arms and holds me to him as he chuckles, “Did you get more tattoos? There won’t be any unmarked skin left soon,” he teases.

“Very funny,” I say, kissing his cheek.

Gosh, I haven’t seen Grandpa Titus in months. I’ve missed him like crazy. I’m telling you my family doesn’t age. Grandpa Titus is the definition of a silver fox. He’s 6’3” and at the age of seventy-nine is still as buff and muscular as my dad. He has some crow’s feet around his blueish-grey eyes and some wrinkling on his forehead, but besides that, his skin doesn’t show much sign of aging, except maybe his hands. He has shoulder-length wavey salt-and-pepper hair and a short salt-and-pepper beard with a moustache. His long-pointed nose is slightly crooked due to breaking it so many times, but it just makes him look tough. He’s wearing brown loafers and tight denim jeans that show off his still firm legs and glutes, matched with a dark grey button-down casual shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbow and a few buttons open on his shirt showing his chest tattoo that says ‘Talyssa’, which was my grandmother’s name.

Grandpa tightens his hold on me and breathes me in. His hold is warm and comforting and he smells like sandalwood and cigars. Odd combination but it’s his, so I like it.

“Dad, you’re suffocating the poor girl,” my dad scolds making me chuckle.

“Sorry dear, I’ve just missed you terribly,” Grandpa says with a sheepish smile as he kisses my cheeks.

“I’ve missed you too, so suffocate me all you like,” I say with a grin, and he just laughs and hugs me.

“I noticed you haven’t unpacked yet,” he states.

“Not yet. I just got in the door when I heard mum shouting in Italian.”

“Yes, I heard that too,” he says glancing over at my dad, “But your father appears to have survived unscathed. I’ve always said if your father hadn’t pursued her I’d have arranged their marriage. He was smart not to let her get away,” Grandpa says thoughtfully. Dad just rolls his eyes and wraps his arm around my mother kissing her temple.

“I love you Titus, but had you even tried to arrange a marriage for me I’d have poisoned your food,” she says nonchalantly as she folds her arms. Dad hides his laugh in her hair.

“I’d have liked to see you try,” says grandpa. Mum just rolls her eyes. “No, really, I would. I can’t help but wonder how you’d have gone about it,” Grandpa says earnestly as his eyes twinkle with amusement.

“You’re one of a kind Titus,” she says, shaking her head and giving him a warm smile.

“You flatter me, my dear,” he nods in gratitude.

“How about you two go catch up and I’ll start working on something for us to eat?” Mum suggests, shooing me and grandpa out of the kitchen. Grandpa wraps my arm around his and guides me out through the living room, through the entertainment room and out to the backyard.

Grandpa and I walk arm and arm down the stone steps of the back patio and into the backyard. The backyard is open land with a very expansive garden with flower bushes all walled off by knee-high hedges. It’s like a stunning min-maze. Past the garden is a large pond that is the same width as the garden and if you keep venturing further to the back of the property then you’ll find our family mausoleum. Which reminds me…

“It’s grandma’s anniversary soon. Is that why you came home?” I softly ask my grandfather.

He tightens his hold on my arm and gives me a sad smile. “I can’t believe it’s been six years since she left us. It still feels like only yesterday.” I can hear the sorrow in his voice. He’s a tough man and can be colder than even me, but my grandma Talyssa was his everything and it broke him when she passed away from a chest infection. She survived all manner of people trying to kill her and yet her death came at the hands of a microscopic bug. Just never know when it’s your time I guess.

“I miss her too. We’ll bring her, her favourite flowers, she’d like that,” I say encouragingly.

He nods with a soft smile, “I would like that very much. You’ve always been such a good granddaughter and you’ve always made us proud,” he tells me, kissing my cheek.

My grandparents didn’t have a conventional beginning, but hell, who in this family did? Titus and Talyssa were actually arranged, no one ever really told me why Great Grandpa Costin arranged their marriage, but it worked out great. So great in fact, that Grandma Talyssa went from being a humble young woman to an assassin just like grandpa. Did I mention my family is made up of assassins? It’s my family’s legacy and I’m proud to be a part of it, it’s not exactly traditional but it works for us.

I’m fifth generation assassin on my father’s side. It began with Great, Great Grandpa Grigore Istrati, or G4 as I jokingly refer to him. We’re told it began as him being hired by royals and other aristocrats to off blood relatives so they could move up the succession ladder. He was poor, and when he realised how much he could make and how good he was, he just kept going with it. When Great Grandpa Costin was born he wanted to take after his father, and then he passed it on to Grandpa Titus, then my dad Silas and now me.

But that’s not the best part. My mum’s side of the family are assassins too. On my mum’s side, I’m the sixth generation of female assassins originating in Italy. That side began with my Great, Great, Great Grandma Besina. She murdered her abusive father and expected to be executed, but no one suspected her because she was a woman, and women are considered too weak and stupid, so for those reasons no one thought a woman could have committed such a violent crime. I guess that was a lightbulb moment for her. She decided to take it upon herself to kill on behalf of others and take a profit from it. When she had her daughter – Great, Great Grandma Finola – she wanted her to be strong in a world full of men and taught her to carry on their legacy. Finola then passed it on to her daughter – Great Grandma Viridis – who passed it on to her daughter – Grandma Noemi - then her daughter Dasha – my mother – and then me.

The Vespasiano women are infamous and lethal. So the fact my mother, one of the best assassins in the world, ended up married to my father, one of the other best assassins in the world, kind of feels like fate. I’m sure it sounds horrible to think I’m descended from two lines of killers, but hey, I don’t come to your house and tell you how to live.

“Alina?” My grandfather calls me, pulling me from the family tree in my head.

“Hmm?”

“The Tournament is soon approaching, and you know you’ll be called to participate,” he informs me. Ugh, I forgot about The Tournament. You’d think I’d remember after all these years, but nope.

“I know. But I’m not worried,” I shrug.

He raises an eyebrow in amusement, “Getting cocky like your grandfather are you?” He asks, and I can’t help but laugh.

“I have some very cocky relatives, so there was no hope for me. But no, I’m not being cocky about it. I just don’t see the point in worrying about it.” I explain and he looks at me curiously. “The Tournament is inevitable; we all know that and when it comes around either I live or I die. That’s how it works. So there is no sense in me sitting around worrying about something I can’t control. So I’ll just wait patiently for it to come and, in the meantime, try to prepare my mind and body as best I can,” I say simply. I watch as his eyes become glassy with unshed tears. Crap, now he’s going to make me get all emotional.

“I will admit, despite the reputation of the women in your mother’s family, I was concerned when your father had you. You were the first girl born into the Istrati line in generations. But you have shown time and time again you are the embodiment of both our bloodlines. You amaze and impress me every day darling girl and I could not be more proud to be your grandfather,” he says with teary eyes as he cups my cheek. God damn him, now the tears are falling.

“Thank you, grandpa,” I whisper struggling to get the words out as I choke on my tears. Anyone seeing me like this now would not think I was the infamous assassin known as Blackheart. I may have a reputation, but that’s work me. At home with the people I love, I’m soft as f**k. It’s almost pathetic.

My grandpa kisses my cheeks and lets my face go before wrapping my arm around his again. I wipe away my tears and we sit down on the edge of the pond where I lean against him.

“Where have you been the last few months?” I ask him. Grandpa avoids being home as much as he can, he finds it too painful since grandma passed away.

“Spent some time in Spain, caught up with old friends. Then I spent some time in Greece visiting your grandparents and then I spent the last month in Russia,” he fills me in.

Both sets of my grandparents got along great so I’m not surprised grandpa went to visit them. Grandpa Mihalis was a former member of the Greek Mafia, but he and Grandma Noemi have both retired from their life of crime. I miss them very much, so I visit them when I can, or they visit us here.

“And how has retirement been for you?” I ask suspiciously. Grandpa Titus is also retired but has a hard time letting go.

He shrugs, “It’s been like retirement. Nothing worth reporting.”

“So you haven’t killed anyone?” I push, trying to keep the amusement out of my voice.

“There may have been a couple of people…” he mumbles.

I throw my head back and laugh. “You’re hopeless,” I tell him, still laughing.

“To be fair they weren’t contracts, so it was in my own free time. That should still count as retirement,” he says defensively, and it just makes me laugh harder.

“Hilarious how you think killing recreationally is better.” I shake my head in amusement.

“They were a couple of fuckers trying to force themselves on some young girls. It didn’t sit well with me,” he says with a cold, hard edge to his voice. I smile and kiss his cheek. Yeah, my family are killers, but the men in my family are also hardcore romantics and are firmly against s****l assault of any kind.

“Just one of the many reasons why I love you, grandpa,” I say brightly.

“No one, not man or woman, should ever force themselves on another. Only a pathetic low-life does that. s*x is a beautiful, intimate experience that should never be marred because someone lacks basic impulse control,” he says sternly, “You remember what I told you, any man or woman ever dare touch you without your consent you kill that fucker mercilessly,” he says passionately looking in my eyes.

I nod affirmatively, “You can count on it. But I promise no one is ever getting close enough to even try,” I reassure him.

He smiles brightly, “That’s my girl,” he says as he wraps his arm tight around me.

“LUNCH!” Comes my mum’s voice from the back of the house.

“Race ya,” I challenge with a grin as I get up and start running for the house.

“Why you little…”

And just like that, we’re racing back to the house. He may be seventy-nine, but the man can still keep up with me. I still won though.