Mafia Vows: Jane's Revenge

My body, still warm from the intensity of it all, yet I stayed sharp and focused. The lovemaking was slow but intense, and Ned wanted more. His hands were warm and eager, roaming over my skin as if he were claiming something he thought he already owned. I let him believe it, let him feel as if he were in control, as if this was his moment to take. I wondered how he was easily fooled, for someone who worked for the Mafia. He didn’t see through the mask, the perfect illusion I had practised over time. He was too far gone to notice. My fingers traced over his back in slow, deliberate patterns, each stroke designed to pull him deeper into the trance I was weaving. “Jane,” he breathed, his voice low and thick with need. I held his eyes and gave him a small, knowing smile, one that hinted at secrets just beyond his reach. He moved to pull my body closer, but I held back just enough to make him chase me. It was all about maintaining that balance, keeping him hungry, keeping him yearning while never quite giving him everything he wanted. I rolled out of bed and grabbed one of the sheets. The other sheets were tangled around Ned’s legs, his skin still glistening under the soft glow of the bedside lamp. He looked wrecked in the best way, hair scattered, eyes half-lidded, a crooked smile tugging at his lips. I stood at the edge of the room. My pulse was still settling, but my mind had already moved on. “I need something from you,” I said, keeping my voice casual, but my eyes on him. Ned raised a brow lazily, that smug grin creeping back. “More already?” he laughed. “Not that kind of something,” I said with a smirk. “I need Kelvin’s details.” The name changed his posture. He sat up slowly, the playfulness draining from his face. “Why do you want that bastard?” he asked, voice low, guarded now. I shrugged, stepping closer, fingers grazing along the edge of the dresser. “It’s personal.” He gave me a long, measuring look, then exhaled. “Forget it. You don’t get to Kelvin. No one does.” “Try me.” Ned ran a hand through his hair, annoyed and amused. “His house is a goddamn fortress. Private security, motion sensors, sniper posts. The guards? Former military. The best in town. And that’s just the outside.” I leaned against the wall, arms folded, lips pursed. “Is he working with the mafia?” “That’s the rumour,” Ned muttered. “No one knows for sure, but let’s just say people who ask too many questions about Kelvin don’t tend to keep breathing.” He was serious now, his voice edged with something between concern and fear. I walked over, slowly, deliberately, and sat on the bed beside him, close enough that he could feel the heat of my skin again. “If you want more of me…” I said, smiling seductively, “You’ll have to give me something first.” Ned swallowed hard, the pulse in his neck quickening. “You’re playing a dangerous game.” “No,” I whispered, brushing my fingers across his chest. “I’m winning it.” Ned lay sprawled on the bed, naked and spent, his chest rising and falling with exhaustion. But he still had that damn grin on his face, the one that meant trouble. It was as if he was not done with me. No, not yet. But I was done, I needed answers, and it was time he started providing them. "Come over here," he said, his voice low and hungry. I chuckled, standing at the edge of the room with only the faint moonlight painting silver across my skin. But before I could respond, the doorbell rang, sharp, unexpected. I froze. So did he. I was relieved as I slipped on my robe and headed for the door, keeping my tone light. “Give me Kelvin’s details,” I said over my shoulder, masking the growing tension in my gut. Ned frowned, propping himself up on one elbow. “Why?” “Just a hunch,” I smiled, but it didn’t reach my eyes. I reached the door just as he called out, “Don’t worry, I ordered food.” But something in my bones screamed this was too easy, and I was not moving as fast as I could to get the answers I needed. The man at the door wore a delivery uniform, his face bright and harmless with a rehearsed smile. But his boots were military-issued. Wrong thread. Wrong laces. And then I saw it, the gleam of a gun under his coat. My smile dropped. Instinct took over. I dived, rolling behind the table just as the assassin raised his weapon. BANG! The shot whizzed past me, splintering the wall. BANG! Ned screamed. The second shot found him. I didn’t wait to process it. I reached for my sidearm hidden beneath the table, flipped the safety, and came out firing.. CRACK! My bullet hit the fake steward in the shoulder. He staggered back, knocking over the tray of food, red now mixing with the spilt wine. And then. Another figure burst through the door. It was a woman. Tall. Lean. Cold eyes and a blade in each hand. She was on me before I could adjust. She was so fast that she had disarmed me in just one swoop of a move. One knife slashed the air near my throat, I blocked with my forearm, the sting of pain blooming instantly. I kicked the table into her legs, buying half a second, and we collided. Flesh, steel, instinct. All were used in this battle. She punched, it was hard, but I rolled with it, grabbed her wrist, and twisted. She screamed, but didn’t drop the blade. She spun, her elbow caught my jaw; stars exploded in my vision. How come she was this strong? I thought to myself. I stumbled, grabbed a wine bottle, and smashed it across her temple. She reeled. That’s when I slammed her against the wall and drove my elbow into her throat. She gasped, slashed blindly, cutting open my robe. I tackled her. We crashed through a chair, grappling on the floor, blood and sweat and broken glass between us. Then my knee found her ribs. That was a killer move. One, two, three …. She faltered. I grabbed her own knife from the floor and drove it into her chest. Her breath hitched. She collapsed. Finally, there was a sudden silence. I turned, breath ragged, hands trembling, “Ned!” I screamed. He was slumped on the bed, blood soaking the sheets, one hand clutching a crumpled sheet of paper. His eyes met mine, glassy. He tried to speak, but only a whisper came. I rushed to him. “Stay with me.” But he was already gone. I pulled the paper from his lifeless hand, a name, an address. Scribbled in blood and ink. Yes! He gave me Kelvin. On the table, the silver tray lay overturned. Food untouched. A folded napkin poked out. I opened it. In neat, chilling handwriting, it read: “I know who you are.” And suddenly, I knew some knew my cover, and I had to do something.