Omerta

Laundry and relationships, they're the same.

The older they're, the more filth they carry.

Last night I reached home at two in the morning.

Without wiping my makeup, I immediately rushed to bed as it was more inviting than the bathroom. And when in the morning I checked the bathroom, I realised my laundry was pending since last week. And unfortunately, I didn't have anything clean to wear today except the dress I usually avoid.

And now, I was cleaning my undergarments.

It took me barely an hour or two to clean the mess and make my abode look like a decent place. My apartment was a one-bedroom and had a small kitchen with a decent living room.

And my brain runs wild with a series of thoughts. Cause this seemed like the only thing I could do right now. The money I stole washed away the passing moment, living in an expensive city like New York felt more dangerous than lurking in a cage with a lion. It's usually hard and draining.

My phone beeped and I dried my hand with the towel before fetching it.

'Damian Rossi, your target.'

I frowned reading the name. I had never heard his name before. But it barely mattered since all I was interested in was his money. I groaned as my head ached again. How many Advils I had left? Right, none. Drying the clothes was a horrendous deal. After two hours, I was able to dry most of my clothes and looked at the time. Two hours.

Fetching my tools from the cabinet, I straightened my hair, glancing at the mirror as I saw a bruise on the right side of my shoulder glancing back at me. Perfect. I was taking the medicines properly so why was this happening again?

No, I was not dying.

I was suffering from iron deficiency in my blood. Even though I was unaware of the fact but when random bruises started appearing on my skin, I was immediately rushed to the hospital by Laira. She didn't want to let me die for I was one of her best whores. Kidding.

Applying nude eye shadows and blush over the foundation, I fixed my hair.

Now comes the complicated part.

The dress I said I hated earlier, well, it's not even called a dress. This was gifted to me by Laira. It was a red dress, with a long slit that touched my waistline, a low neck, held together by strings at the back, and a backless back I tend to expose today also. Quickly slipping into it, I grabbed my heels and secured them with the buckle and glanced at the mirror. Something looked dull, and then I sighed.

Of course.

Grabbing my red lipstick, I coated my lips in the crimson hue of scarlet.

The evening turned into night, and I was waiting for Laira to pick me up when my phone rang.

Thinking it might be the call from her. A hideous frown marched over my forehead as an unknown number flashed over the screen. I was always cautious, and barely exchanged numbers with anyone except someone who I think deserved my trust.

It took me a moment to think about all the names who could call me at this time.

Sadly, nothing came to my mind.

The ringing halted and sighed thinking it might be from one of the fraud companies that demand you to sign life insurance with them. I looked at the time and squared my shoulders, it was time to leave. Glancing myself for the last time in the mirror, I looked quite slutty with what I was wearing and the red lips added glean of seduction. My target was going to go insane today.

It took me barely five minutes to reach the parking area, and before I know it, Laira was already there, sitting behind the wheels of her brand new Royal blue Bugatti La Voiture Noire. The girl spends thirteen point four million on that piece of metal. Not her own money, but her sugar daddies.

"You look sexy,"

"That was the motive I guess,"

I gave her a grin before she raced it towards our destination.

Laira looked breathtaking in a white lace-covered dress, that barely covered her legs and her neckline met her navel as the off-shoulder dress clung to her skin like a glove. Painting her face in dark eyeshadows and nude lipstick, she completed her look with her Gucci bag. Laira was everything I a girl needed at the age of twenty-seven, despite her young-looking face and slim physique, she was cautious and decisive. A good businesswoman I deemed her as.

"So, Damian, how rich is he exactly,"

"Rich enough to make a dress of diamonds for you,"

I smirked.

"Then he won't mind me stealing some dollars from him, would he?"

"Do what you want, sweetheart. Just try to be less subtle, cause he has some connections,"

"Connections? Like legal?"

Laira rolled her eyes as she took a right turn.

"I don't know much, Toni said to be cautious 'cause Damian is one of the influential figures in Italy. And you know the history,"

Damian. But I had heard about the Rossi clan. There was an Omertà among different clans, clans that deal with the illegal and dark world. Usually, it's a vow or sort of a deal between five to six families to not interfere in each other's business and to help each other. My family was one of them. And no, my family never deal with illegal stuff, it was just my father who had some connections with the Omertà to stay a stabilised business holder there.

Omertà was signed among five families, Rossi, Salvatore, Mancini, Alfonso and Bianchi. When I was eighteen, on my birthday my father invited several guests including the families involved in Omertà. And believe me, my meeting with them was terrible. The men carried guns in their waists like they were wearing a belt and their wives looked scared little lambs beside their men.

"I'll be careful, it's not I'd ask him to be my husband,"

Laira chuckled and parked the car in front of the club. The neon lights above shimmered and gleamed with a light yellow tint.

'Black swan.'

The title read.

"He'd be here in ten minutes,"

I nodded. Fixing myself for the last time in the mirror, I reach out for the handle.

"Meet me at back,"

Getting into the club was not hard. Laira was a perfectionist in her work. The guard standing at the door ogled at my barely covered breasts for longer than usual, and with a sly smirk, I licked my lips.

"Sabrina Gomez,"

My voice was soft and seductive, eyes half-opened as I gazed at him. He was just like any other man. Desperate and empty.

Without looking at my fake id, he nodded. To be honest, I've never been to one of these clubs, not only the atmosphere here but also the people looked more extravagant than I was used to. Toni offered us, good men, this time. Smirking and celebrating that I might be able to steal more than enough, I swayed my hips as I walked to the bar.

The bartender grinned.

"What can I get for you, young lady?" He looked like a decent man, working his ass off to pay whatever bills he had left pending. But his perfectly styled hair and glow on his face stated he might get some good tips.

"Sex on the beach,"

The way my voice fell upon my ears, I cringed so badly. Gosh. He smirked before nodding and glancing at my cleavage before he grabbed the tall glass.

"Anything else?"

"No, that'd be enough for tonight,"

But sadly, he wasn't my target for today. My eyes quickly scanned the area. People dance their stress out on the dance floor, gripping and rubbing their sweat-covered bodies against each other without any care in the world. Most of them looked like they belonged to rich families and some of the faces seemed familiar as I had seen them in papers and interviews.

"Had fun this week?" The bartender asked, sliding a glass of my ordered cocktail. Raising the glass to my lips, I took a sip. The flavours busted my taste buds. Was I the only one who hate cranberry juice in the cocktail? It just.... makes it sweeter. The bitter aftertaste had my face twist as I heard a little giggle coming off him.

"No, it was fine,"

He eyed me with a dazed look in his light brown eyes.

"You don't look like someone who belongs here,"

None of us did. But here we were.

My silence gave him his answer. He got occupied with some other customers when my eyes immediately caught the red suit of the man I was waiting for. Not red exactly but it was a maroon shade, somewhat between dark and crimson.

Just like the photo I've seen, his physique was tall and well-built. A white button-down underneath the blazer, a few buttons opened as his glimmering chest sparkled with light. A frown marred his brows as he fidgeted with his fingers.

He was Damian, right?

I had my doubts but the moment he turned his head to the left to glance, I caught glimpse of the scar decorating his left cheek. Something that Laira informed me that was always there. His wavy dark hairs were in a mess but his light-hued eyes scanned the area with a curious look. I wished to see more of him, to understand my target better but halted myself. There were two bulky guards behind him.

A woman in black approached him and whispered something in his ear as he nodded before following her. Since I was not very much familiar with this place, I had no idea where they were going. A vague thought of following them crossed my mind but I pondered otherwise.

I'd wait till he was back.

Sipping from the glass, I glanced around. My body felt lighter and under control, something I felt after a long time. It was uncommon but I wanted it to stay that way only.

Several people entered the club in sparkly clothes and expensive designer brands. My brows frowned when instead of people, guards wearing specific dark suits entered the club, earpieces connected to their ears and bulges on their waists. Guns. The crowd silenced and the bartender behind me stilled.

What was it?

"Shit, not again,"

The bartender murmured.

"Is it concerning?"

I asked, eyes still on the door as the guard in front pressed his ear piece and mumbled something. Guards stepped aside as two men stepped inside. Their shiny shoes were the first to catch my attention and then the muscular and tall-built men entered the premises. The shorter one had short, crisp blonde hairs, his clean shaved face rugged and admirably stoic. He sported black jeans and a beige polo T-shirt, the causal clothes enhanced his bulky arms and lean torso. I would've admired him for more time if it wasn't for the man standing next to him.

My eyes flicked towards him as he finally stepped fully inside. Just at first glance, I found myself oozing over his mystical beauty that couldn't be found anywhere even if you search it in the deepest parts of hell. Strangely, I never thought any man possessed the aura to take my breath away.

From across the room, I could still make out his dark messy hair. A few strands of his hair fell over his eyes and lingered over his forehead occasionally. The club seemed to be surrounded by the deadly aura that confine the people around him in a captivating gaze. Not only women, but men were looking at him like he was a man of power.

Probably he was.

Maybe he was one of the influential people of the city?

I couldn't see his face clearly for his view was blocked by the man standing beside him. Curious, I leaned back against the bar table, hoping to catch a glimpse for a moment when I felt the bartender behind me muttering.

"Oh Gosh! He wasn't supposed to be here today,"

I narrowed my brows.

"Who is he?"

"You don't know?"

He accused like knowing him was as equivalent to knowing the president of the country.

"No,"

"He's the devil,"

I was about to roll my eyes at his words when the mentioned man turned his head.

Suddenly, I felt an ominous emotion building inside me, his tall figure moved as his eyes purposely gazed across the room. And my gaze landed on his face. Dark and threatening. My chest tightened and my instincts howled at me to avert my gaze.

My grip on the glass tightened, an unknown anxiousness filled my chest and I find it hard to not meet his indigo gaze as his arctic gaze bore into mine. My heart raced and strangely, my face heated.

Dangerous.

His flaming gaze came crashing down on me in a sinister dominance that oozed through the way his hands rested inside his dark slacks. My body tensed. I didn't know what this sudden rush of emotions was, but one this what my intuition was screaming at me was that this man was sin.

He was danger.

*****