Chapter 3: The Devil You Know
357 Words
The gun trembled against Dante's neck, not from fear, but from the adrenaline still coursing through Selena's veins. His laughter echoed in the safehouse bedroom, bouncing off the bloodstained wedding dress she'd tossed in the corner.
"Something funny?" she hissed, c*****g the pistol.
Dante's smile showed too many teeth. "You are." His hand moved faster than she could blink, twisting the pistol from her grip as he backed her against the wall. "All this time playing the mafia princess when you're really..." His thumb brushed the scar on her collarbone. "...the most dangerous weapon in your father's arsenal."
The photo from the safe fell to the floor between them , a fourteen-year-old Selena in a ballet leotard, standing over a body twice her size. The blood pooling around her pointed shoes matched the crimson satin ribbons.
"You were his first test," Dante realized aloud. "Not me."
Flashback :
The ballet studio that wasn't a ballet studio, the "instructor" who taught poisons instead of pirouettes, and the way Don Cabrera made her demonstrate her skills on his enemies
Present day:
Selena kicked Dante's knee out from under him. "I was never the prize in this game," she spat. "I'm the f*****g player."
Dante's phone buzzed again. This time it was a video, his mentor strapped to a chair, one eye swollen shut.
"Tell her about Moscow," the old man rasped before the screen went dark.
Selena went pale. "Moscow was an accident."
Dante's knife found her throat. "There are no accidents. Only tests."
Revelations:
The birth certificate proving Selena was adopted from a Russian orphanage
The sirens outside grew louder.
Dante counted two minutes until police breached the building and there were hidden weapons still within Selena's reach and is thought about one reason neither of them would make it out alive tonight
He lowered the knife. "Truce?"
Selena's smile was all sharp edges. "Until sunrise."
Their handshake turned into something darker when she yanked him forward by his tie. The kiss tasted like blood and betrayal. Somewhere in the distance, glass shattered.
Dante's last thought before the world exploded: This woman will be the death of me.
- Writer
