Page 87 of His Black Onyx

Chapter 45

Malia

It's been so beautiful today. Weather-wise, that is. The sun has been out all day, accompanied by a gentle breeze that felt like a soothing hug to me, calming my nervous mind as I tried to keep up with Nate's rigorous training.

It's been three days since Lailah's passing, and while I know that her death left an impact on him, he never lets it show. We never really talked about Lailah, never even mentioned her name ever since that morning after she passed. I tried at first, but Nate choked off any attempt right away, making it clear that he had no interest in sharing his emotional distress with me.

"We need to focus," he kept insisting.

As if it was that simple.

For him, it really seems to be. He has become a lot stricter than before, putting so much more pressure on me. I know that time is running out, and I know that I'm still nowhere near to being the professional that Lailah was in her best days.

But I don't know how much longer I can take this. I try to be strong. I fight every single day, trying to keep my focus where it needs to be, trying to remember that I have no choice other than to be strong.

I don't think about the mission itself. I don't think about what they want me to do.

All I think about is myself. My life, my future.

Nate promised me that he will be there to get me out of the Scivola's hold, even before all of the targets' lives have been taken. I just need to administer the poison while I'm still at their main house. That is all that matters. The Scivolas insisted on hosting me for a couple of days—me and their son Flavio, the man who Lailah was promised to when she was still a teenager. That Flavio knows less about his alleged future wife than I know about him, and if it wasn't for the fact that he agreed to such a twisted deal in the first place, I would almost feel sorry for him.

Because he is one of the men who are supposed to die. Him, his father, and three associates. All of them drink from the same bottle of Whisky every single night, which will be their downfall in the end.

Or at least that's what the Covey hopes for. That's what Nate hopes for.

He makes sure I eat and sleep as much as possible, always concerned about my physical wellbeing, but he doesn't seem to notice how much all of this is wearing me down. It often feels as if he's treating me like a machine, only making sure I function properly to carry out his mission, without showing any concern for me as a person.

It feels different than before. I felt close to him, safe and protected, despite everything.

Now, he's not even touching me anymore.

Was it all a lie? Did he just pretend to care about me, so I would comply with his evil plan?

I feel so lonely and betrayed—and even today's beautiful sunshine cannot change the fact that I'm miserable. If anything, it only worsens my misery, because it reminds me of all the things I'm missing out on.

Normally, I would spend a day like this at the coast. I would taste the salt in the air as the wind carries it across the sea and on to the shore. I would walk along the beach on bare feet, jumping at the cold water as it swirls around my toes.

I would be happy. I would be free.

I wouldn't be locked away, a prisoner and tool of a frightening crime syndicate that uses me as its pawn in a murderous plan that I would rather know nothing about.

But I never would have met him—and frankly, I don't know how I feel about that thought.

Nate is standing before me, his arms crossed in front of his chest and a stern expression on his face as he shakes his head. The late afternoon sun bathes his features in a warm light, emphasizing every furrow and every line that marks his features as a clear telltale sign of stress.

"Try that again," he says, his voice tired and exasperated. "We've been through this so many times, and you still can't repeat it correctly. You need to get this right!"

With this, he means details about the layout of the Scivola headquarters, the mansion that I will be escorted to in just a couple of days and that will be the place for me to carry out a murder in the Covey's name—and in Nate's name.

He's been telling me so much at once, showing me pictures of the targets, telling me about their characteristics and respective behaviors. It's been so much all at once that it's impossible for me to remember and place it all.

"Nate, I can't, not today," I utter, my voice breaking. "I'm exhausted. I need a break."

"There's no time for a break!" he exclaims, raising his voice so much that I jerk back, regarding him with fearful eyes.

"Malia, this is serious!" He goes on, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You need to get this right, you need to be prepared and you-"

"Yes, I know all of that!" I interrupt. "Don't ever think I'm not aware of how terribly dangerous my situation is. I know! I'm reminded of it every waking moment. I can't think of anything else, ever..."

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