Page 3 of Taming Dahlia

I managed to snuff the building desire to snoop around and instead decided to follow the woman’s advice. I sat on the bed in silence, one leg crossed over the other.

Although —silence— wasn’t precisely how I would describe it.

I couldn’t see any clocks in the room, but I could still hear a sound that closely resembled ticking in my ears.

I reminded myself that it was all in my head.

Whenever I felt my anxiety building up, I’d hear it. I believed that it was my inner clockwork, which would finally stop ticking when my time ran out.

I doubted that I’d be able to hear it for much longer.

What I was doing right now was a suicide mission. In no way was there even the slightest possibility that I could escape from here alive. But I had managed to make my peace with that.

It was nothing personal; I was just the unlucky person who drew the shorter end of the straw. That was the ongoing theme of my life, it seemed.

When Francesco had approached me with this assignment, I knew that there was no other option left for me but to accept.

It wasn’t a multiple-choice question. There was only one right answer.

It had taken a while for me to understand that, but even I eventually learned.

I closed my eyes and continued to listen to the clock.

Tick — Tock… Tick — Tock… Tick…click.

The door opening created a deafening echo that reverberated throughout the whole bedroom.

I slowly stood up, wanting to continue keeping my eyelids shut for a few moments longer. Only when I heard the door close did I open my eyes.

I’d never had the…pleasure, of meeting the Don face to face, in person. I had only ever seen him in photos — through a computer screen, or on a glossy paper surface. Looking at him now felt a lot different when there wasn’t the barrier of time and space in between us.

The photos couldn’t capture the aura that he gave out; his essence. Wouldn’t let you in on just how icy his blue eyes were when they pinned you in place. How his presence could suffocate the entire room and leave you without air.

The biggest, most influential mafia boss in the whole country observed me for a couple of seconds in silence.

“Are you new?” the Don eventually spoke up in a baritone voice.

I let out a soft and airy laugh, managing to sound somewhat embarrassed. “What gave it away?” I asked, a sweet smile plastered across my lips. They were painted with such a brazen, vivid red color that it made me feel like a prostitute. Although —I suppose I was one— in this particular scenario. “Yes, I started working a week ago. You’re my first client.”

The Don raked his eyes over me, and I couldn’t for the life of me decipher a thing in them. I had no idea if he was happy with what he was seeing or not — not that it even mattered anyhow, since I had no intention of letting it get that far. I only needed enough time for his guard to slip down just a little…

And then, I will strike.

If I was going to die, at least I could control something about it. I wasn’t going to let my last living memory be of something likethat…

“Madame thought that I would please you,” I added, still smiling that sweet little smile.

She had made sure that I would please him.

The process of doing my makeup alone took two hours. Curling my hair and getting dressed took yet another one. In the end, the person staring at me in the mirror had looked like the best and most beautiful version of myself. The only thing left for me to do now was to put it to good use.

“You look young. How old are you?” the Don asked, not making a move to get closer to me quite yet.

I wanted to know what he was waiting for. The woman outside had made me believe that this was going to be a quick and impersonal affair.

Get in and get out, so to speak.

Nevertheless, I still needed to answer his question.

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