The Retired Assassin Bride

I had only three seconds to decide if I should kill my new owner or spare his life. I decided to spare his life for now. The gavel slammed down. ‘Sold! To Mr Dante Moretti. Five hundred thousand dollars.’ The room exploded into polite clapping. I bit my lip to stop myself from smiling. I focused on the worn wooden floor beneath my feet. My shoulders shook with fear and my hands trembled. I was wearing a dress two sizes too small and a bright purple colour to look delicate and fragile. Perfect. Dante Moretti was the most feared Mafia King on the East Coast. He was the ghost of the business world and a monster in the underworld. He ran guns, money laundering and was known for never keeping a female around for longer than a week. He was perfect. Three years ago I was the government's most deadly assassin. They called me ‘The Ghost’ because I could kill a man in seventeen different ways without them knowing I was even in the room. However, I messed up on a mission and my handler, the man I looked up to like a father, told me to be executed. I faked my death, blew up a building with a body double inside and vanished. For three years I’ve been running. Hiding from everyone, sleeping with a knife under my pillow and dying my hair every month. But to live a normal life I needed money and my fathers gambling debts pulled me back into the dark. The auction was risky but I was taking a gamble. I knew Victor Kane wouldn’t go anywhere near a dead ghost in a Mafia Kings fortress. Loud heavy footsteps echoed. I was pulled out of my thoughts as a rough hand gripped my chin. Dante didn’t look like a man who’d just bought a slave. He looked like a bored man. Wearing a charcoal business suit worth more than a sports car. His dark hair was slicked back perfectly and his jaw was like stone. His eyes though, were cold and dark. He was looking at me like I was just a piece of meat. ‘Pathetic,’ he muttered. His voice was deep and gravelly, sending shivers down my spine. He let go of my chin and wiped his thumb on a silky handkerchief. ‘Take her to the car. If she makes a sound, sedate her.’ I looked down. I shuffled behind his armed guards. My feet were cold against the concrete floor. Oh Mr Moretti, I thought to myself. My fingers brushed against the razor sharp hair pin in my bra. I was shoved into the back of a blacked out SUV. The leather seats smelled of expensive cologne and gun oil. Dante sat down beside me and began scrolling on his phone. He didn’t look at me. I sat in silence as we drove to his penthouse. The lights of the city flashed past my tinted windows. My heart raced with every mile. I was heading into the lion's den. If Dante Moretti discovered who I really was he wouldn’t save me. He would kill me. Or worse, realise I was a prize and hand me back to Kane in exchange for power. The penthouse was a fortress. It had fingerprint scanners, retina scanners and thick glass. The elevator had a biometric scanner. Dante shrugged off his jacket and chucked it onto a white pristine sofa. He didn’t look at me. ‘The east wing is your room. Stay there. Don’t touch anything. Don’t ask any questions. If I need you for a show then I’ll come get you. Until then you don’t exist.’ ‘Yes Mr Moretti.’ I whispered. My voice shaking. He paused and looked at me. His dark eyes scanned my face. Looking for lies. When I didn’t cry he sighed. ‘Pathetic.’ He muttered. He walked towards his study. The heavy oak door clicked shut. As soon as he was gone I stopped shaking. I stood up straight and cracked my neck. I was having a panic attack and my mind was racing with the trauma. I had to calm down. Inhale for four. Hold for four. Exhale for four. I had three minutes until his security team finished scanning the area. I looked around. No cameras in the east wing. Two guards at the front door. And the balcony was a death trap. Forty stories down. I walked into the east wing. My bare feet made no noise against the cold marble. I was in a luxurious prison. There was a king sized bed with silky sheets and a bathroom full of expensive soaps. I pulled out the razor sharp hair pin from my bra and placed it under the edge of the marble sink. I peeled off the ugly dress and had a hot shower. I dried off and put on a large silky night gown. I got into bed and tried to steady my breathing. I was so tired. I was just about to close my eyes when I heard... A faint click. Not from the front door but the balcony. I shot my eyes open. My fatigue disappeared and my heart raced with adrenaline. I stayed still. I didn’t even breathe. A shadow moved across the thick velvet curtains. A skinny man wearing dark tactical clothing crept towards the bed. He moved with confidence. He was a professional. He was a spy sent by a rival. He stood over me. I could smell his mouth smelled of old coffee. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a syringe. He wasn’t here to kill me. He was here to kidnap me. No, I thought. A cold anger formed in my chest. As he leaned over me... I snatched his wrist. Twisted it and rammed my forehead into his nose. Crunch! The syringe clattered to the floor. He gasped but I didn’t give him a chance to recover. I rolled off the bed and grabbed his collar. I drove my knee into his groin. He fell but he was trained. He threw a wild punch. I ducked and grabbed the heavy crystal vase from my night stand. I whacked him on the side of his head. The vase broke. He fell to the floor. I stood over him. My chest rose and fell rapidly. The penthouse was silent. Dante’s men hadn’t heard anything. They were amateurs. I couldn’t leave a body in my room. I grabbed his ankles and dragged him into the bathroom. I lifted him into the marble shower and shut the glass door. I grabbed the bleach from underneath the sink and splashed it onto the blood soaked carpet. I scrubbed furiously with a hand towel. Fifteen minutes passed and the room smelt like a swimming pool. There was no sign of anyone. I chucked the blood stained towel into the laundry chute. I washed my hands and got back into bed. I was just about to tuck the silky sheets under my chin when the door to the east wing opened. Loud heavy footsteps. Dante Moretti walked in. He didn’t switch the light on. He was a shadow. I inhaled deeply. He walked over to the bed. I could feel his intense gaze on my skin. He stood there for a while. Finally he spoke. “You didn’t scream,” My heart skipped. I didn’t open my eyes. ‘I was sleeping Mr Moretti.’ A heavy silence filled the room. ‘The balcony door was open. I checked the security feed. Someone tried to get in.’ I stayed still. ‘Maybe the wind.’ I whispered. My voice is shaky. He was silent for a while. Then he reached down and brushed a strand of damp hair from my face. His touch was surprisingly warm. ‘You sleep like a long little bride.’ He turned and left. Shutting the door behind him. I waited until his footsteps faded. I opened my eyes. I stared up at the ceiling. He knows. My pulse slowed. He doesn’t know what he knows but he suspects. I had survived the auction. I had survived the intruder but I realised I had made a mistake. I had forgotten to search his pockets. His phone was on the balcony.