Blood and Oaths

Amina plunged the knife into his chest with a force she never knew she possessed. Blood splattered across the grey painting on the wall. She had finally done it, she had killed The Luciano Valenti. As she relished the twisted satisfaction of his death, Luciano stirred. Clutching his chest, he grabbed the same knife and thrust it into hers. They died in each other’s arms. Amina jolted awake, eyes wide in horror. Her hair was damp with sweat, and her breathing was erratic. This nightmare had haunted her for the last eight years. Eight long years of waiting –and plotting for the day she would exact her revenge on Luciano. Reaching for her phone on the bedside table, she checked the time and sighed in helplessness. Running a hand through her tangled hair, she forced herself out of bed. After a quick bath, she threw on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, slung a small backpack over her shoulder, and stepped outside. She stopped in front of a massive modern building with tall glass windows. The parking lot was crowded with vehicles. After securing a spot, she made her way inside. The building was alive with people walking about. But then again, the S.A.A had always been a madhouse, a den of the strongest, cruelest, most intelligent assassins on Earth. Amina strolled across the white lobby with a sense of weary familiarity and entered the head’s office. This was going to be a long day, she thought to herself. Inside, Maria was flipping through a red file, barely glancing up when Amina walked in. She paused briefly to eye Amina’s outfit before returning to her reading. After what felt like forever, she finally closed the file and looked directly at her. “Well, that took you a while,” Amina said, her tone laced with mock annoyance. “A very good morning to you as well, Amina,” Maria replied coolly, unbothered by the jab. Skipping past the pleasantries, Amina asked, “What’s the situation, boss?” Without a word, Maria slid the file across the desk. Amina picked it up and scanned the contents. “Luciano Valenti apprehended for the possession of drugs — NYC News Blog.” “Luciano Valenti proven innocent in court.” Amina chuckled, then broke into laughter. “What the f**k do these people think of themselves? Jail can’t stop that man, you’ve got to be kidding me.” Maria gave her a hard, unamused stare, prompting Amina to straighten up. “Your assignment is to kill Luciano,” Maria said plainly. “I can’t,” Amina responded flatly. Maria raised an eyebrow, clearly confused. It wasn’t a reaction she expected from her second-best assassin, only behind Kazeem. Taking down an underworld king should have been routine. But this wasn’t just any king. This was Luciano Valenti, Amina’s greatest enemy. “I just can’t, Maria,” she repeated, this time with absolute certainty. Maria tapped the desk rhythmically, the soft hum of her thoughts filling the silence. Then she abruptly stopped. “Amina, you hate Luciano, and I can’t think of a better candidate than you to handle this. I see no logical reason for your refusal.” Maria wasn’t wrong. Amina’s hatred for Luciano was the fire that had kept her alive for nearly a decade. She wanted him dead, heck she needed him dead, but she couldn’t do it. “How about this,” Maria said, pulling Amina from her thoughts. “Go home. Think about it. Come back with a clear head.” With that, Maria turned her attention back to the file in front of her. Amina took the cue. It was a polite dismissal, one that didn’t invite room for argument. She left the office without another word. As she was driving home, she thought of stopping for a cup of coffee. After minutes of deliberation, she stopped by a coffee shop near her apartment. After placing her order, she sat down. While waiting she decided to let her eyes wander around the shop. The shop was minimalist yet aesthetically pleasing to the eye with a calm and serene atmosphere that had somehow made Amina a tad calmer. A few minutes later, she was sipping her coffee. Coffee always made everything feel better. It reminded her of her father. Her Onun cani (her beloved), and his obsession with coffee, pistachio, to be precise. He molded her into the person she was today, well, a shadow of what she used to be. Not anymore. Reminiscing the past was something she hated doing. It reminded her of all she had lost and the betrayals from the past that still leave an acidic taste in her mouth. It reminded her of him and his betrayal. It reminded her of the man who she thought loved her. Only for her to discover the truth in the cruelest way. She set the coffee down on the wooden table, after feeling her appetite disappear. She decided to leave. After paying, she headed for the door. Just as she placed her hand on the doorknob, the sound of a gunshot echoed through the shop. The glass door of the shop had shattered on her, the impact of it sending her backwards. She quickly got up, and took cover under the table. She watched from the side as a group of armed men wearing leather clothing with different weaponry trudged into the shop. What the hell, she thought as she continued to watch everything unfold. The largest of them, who from the looks of it was the leader of the gang, moved towards the counter. He grabbed the barista by his shirt and pulled him over the counter. “Where is he? Where is that bloody man?” he asked with fury laced in his tone. The barista, who looked like he was about to faint, kept stuttering, unable to form proper sentences. “I will not ask you again. Where is he? Tell me where the goddamn man is hiding.” He threatened again, this time his face turning into a light shade of red from anger. But the barista was scared to his wit. That triggered a rash impulse. He brought out a gun from beneath his shirt. Pressing the gun to his head, he threatened him again as a warning. Amina pulled her gun as well, but before she could find the right angle to shoot, the man had pulled the trigger at the barista’s head. She watched him go limp as traces of life slowly faded from him. The man turned and gestured to his men. Soon enough, they started shooting at the civilians in the shop. Amina was no saint, and she was definitely not insane to think she was a hero or that she could rescue all. But then, she’s still human, with emotions. She couldn’t find it within her to escape while people were getting killed. She aimed her gun at the large man from behind the table, which had now turned to its side due to the unfolding chaos. Inserting her silencer, she fired the gun at him. She shot him in the chest. He clutched his chest in pain before he fell to his knees. Two of his men gathered around him to check what had happened. “The boss has been shot,” one of them announced. “Search them!” he said, pointing towards the remaining people. “They should produce the culprit or kill them all,” he said, his tone unnaturally unpleasant. There was a woman in the crowd curled around her son, shielding him with every inch of her trembling body. The boy couldn’t have been older than seven, but his eyes had seen too much too fast. He peeked from beneath his mother’s elbow, his tiny frame shaking with fear. Then he saw Amina holding her gun. “Mama,” he whispered, tugging at her blouse. “Mama, I saw her. She shot the man… she’s hiding there.” The woman gasped loudly and her eyes went wide with horror. Shaking her head frantically at him, she gestured for him to keep his mouth shut, but it was too late. One of the thugs turned sharply at them. “What did you say, boy?” he barked out, stalking towards them. The mother clutched onto her son tighter. “He didn’t say anything. He’s scared, he doesn’t know—” “He said something. He definitely did.” The man c****d his gun at the boy. “Say it again, little boy. Repeat what you said or I’ll feed you to the dogs and kill your mama.” The boy pointed towards where Amina was hiding with a shaky hand. “She’s… she’s there.” The man turned slowly toward where the boy was pointing. His eyes narrowed a bit, scanning the wreckage until he saw the silhouette crouched behind the table. There was a flicker of movement. “There!” he roared to his colleagues. “She’s the one! That b***h shot the boss! Get her!” The bullets came flying before their footsteps. Amina ducked as wood splintered above her, pieces of the table flying around like broken wings. She felt her heartbeat increasing. Yes, she’s strong, but a one-woman army against six large men is… well, difficult. But nonetheless, she rolled to the side, firing two shots. One man dropped instantly. The second staggered a bit, then collapsed against a display rack. But there were more of them—too many of them against her. Three of them surrounded her now. She was fast, but they were strong, trained, ruthless. The first came at her with a bat, and she blocked it with her arm. She felt pain screaming through her bones. She kicked him in the shin, and he fell to his knees howling. The second grabbed her by the neck. She then slammed her elbow into his throat. She broke free from the assault and shot him twice in the gut. His blood spurted across the wall of the shop as he fell to the ground. The third lunged before she could reload and re-strategize, and the weight of him had sent her crashing to the floor. She fought hard. She was scratching, biting, punching—but it was tiring, even for her, for she was not prepared to fight a group of thugs. The man’s hand went to his belt and he pulled out a knife and gave her a menacing look. He moved the knife towards her chest. This was it. Her end. The end of Black Widow. Funny how she took pleasure in killing people only for her to be killed at the hands of a thug. She closed her eyes, waiting for the pain to come. But all she heard was a gunshot. A sharp, clean, and crisp gunshot. The man above her went still. He fell limp on her. Amina blinked, trying to make sense of what happened. Her chest heaved as she pushed him off and scrambled up, with her gun still raised. She turned—and there he stood. Tall, lean, with the same broad shoulders, but now a lot broader. The gun in his hand was still raised, with smoke curling from the barrel. A leather jacket clung to him like a second skin. She felt her breath catch as she locked eyes with him. The same dark shade of green that undid and made her. The same mouth that ruined her. The same hand that strangled her. Here. Standing in front of her. Luciano f*****g Valenti.