Chapter 10: Codename: Blackheart Chapter Ten

Pulling up to Il Segreto, I pull down my visor and check my makeup. When it comes to meetings like this, I always dress to impress; impress myself that is. It would be stupid to show up at one of the best restaurants in the city in attire that screams ‘I’m here to kill someone’, so dressing for the occasion is important. Tonight I’ve gone for the vamp look with a plum smokey eye, defined wings and deep plum lipstick. It compliments my pale skin and makes my green eyes pop. My hair is pulled back neatly in a chignon, and I’ve dressed in a red, full-sleeve, mermaid evening gown with an open back. The dress is skin-tight, and I love how the fabric just flows out like water from the knees. Aside from my back, I’m completely covered. Sometimes having all the tattoos tucked away makes more of a statement than having them on display. 

I grab my black clutch and step out of the car, mindful to not get my black suede pointy-toe stilettos caught in my dress. I hand the keys to my black Jaguar XJ to the valet, Noah, who gives me a wink as he gets in my car. Noah is a good kid, he’s nineteen and comes from a humble family. Fortunately, he has no idea what goes on here or what I do. I like him. In fact, I like all the staff here. They’re discreet. They don’t ask questions and can’t be bought. Which is why it’s one of the locations I use to conduct business.

Stepping into the restaurant, I’m immediately greeted by Victor, who, as usual, is all smiles causing his light blue eyes to crease. 

“Miss Heart, so nice to see you again,” he welcomes, his immaculately maintained dark brown beard tickling my skin as he kisses my cheeks and I return the gesture. I think he has more hair on his face than on his head due to his deeply receding hairline.

“It hasn’t even been two months,” I point out. 

My face is its usual impassive mask, but my tone is warm. He understands I have to keep up appearances, but I try to keep my tone friendly around him since he is one of my most trusted confidants. If you want to contact me, Victor is the man you reach out to. He acts as my middleman; no one contacts me directly unless I authorize it and that’s usually during a job and not before. 

Victor Romano is thirty-nine, 5’5” with creamy white skin and a little on the pudgy side. His face is full, as is his figure but you wouldn’t pay much attention since he always dresses to perfection. He’s wearing a navy blue suit with a black and gold paisley jacquard silk waistcoat vest with a matching tie over a white shirt. He looks dashing and like with a flick of his finger, could ruin your reputation. Which he could. 

“That is still far too long, my dear,” he says, giving me a warm smile. He’s always so inviting, but don’t be fooled, beneath his warm smile lies a sly fox. It’s one of the many things I love that about him.

“How long has he been waiting?”

“Twenty minutes, as you requested. He originally insisted on bringing two armed bodyguards, but he eventually conceded. They are waiting in his car which is being monitored,” he informs me. 

I nod. “Can always rely on you. Time I find out what the gentleman wants. Have a bottle of the Armand de Brignac brought to the table in fifteen minutes.”

“As you wish,” he says with a nod as he motions me forward. 

I make my way to the back of the restaurant and up a staircase that leads to a private dining room that resides on the top floor of the restaurant. Stepping inside the room is rather dark, almost intimate, with minimal and strategically placed lighting. An entirely black room with small white and gold marble tables mirroring each other on either end, with each holding a large black vase filled with birds of paradise and orange orchids that give a pop of colour to the dark room. It’s placed in a manner so that it’s easy to see all the features of my guest who will sit opposite me, whereas my features will be somewhat obscured by shadow. I’m not trying to be invisible, but it does intimidate people and make it a little harder to remember someone’s features when they aren’t on full display. 

Sitting in the middle of the room is a single round table with a black cloth over it with gold trimming. The table is set for two, with my guest already seated waiting for me with his back to the door. I always make sure I am the one facing the door and make them wait twenty to thirty minutes for my arrival. Being forced to wait in a room all alone puts people on edge and can throw them off if they had intentions to put on an act with me. Everything is premeditated and done to my advantage.

“Mr. Grigoras. Thank you for waiting,” I say as I walk around the table and sit in front of him placing my clutch on the table as I sit back crossing my legs. 

Now that I can get a better look at my potential client, I can see he’s nothing to look at. He’s at least 5’8”, with curly blonde hair with streaks of white that reflect the light shining on him. His sun-kissed skin is lined with wrinkles, probably got them early due to the scowl that seems permanently etched on his face. He has a sprinkling of blonde stubble and ocean-blue eyes. His arms and legs appear lean, but he has a slight pot belly, and he’s dressed in a charcoal grey suit with a black tie and black dress shirt.

“I’ve been waiting for forty minutes,” he says in irritation. So he’s someone who likes to exaggerate things I see. Everything on him screams money, from the shiny loafers to the gold cufflinks. Everything is meant to be a statement piece to further his façade. People like him utterly bore me. 

“Have you?” I ask in a cold sceptical tone. 

His posture stiffens at my tone. “Is this how you conduct business Miss… I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name,” he says slyly. I see we won’t be sending each other Christmas cards this year. Pity.

“I didn’t give it.” 

His eyes narrow at my response. I’m sure in the world of business, he’s used to intimidating people, but those are people who fear he will fire them or ruin their business. I’ll just slit his throat or put a bullet in his head if he steps out of line.

“So you expect me to call you Blackheart then?” he scoffs.

“Miss Heart will do just fine,” I say nonchalantly. My lack of any reaction seems to be irritating him further. It’s amusing. 

“Miss Heart?” he snorts, “Do you expect me to take you seriously with that name? You’re really not going to tell me what your real name is?” he says in an attempt to goad me, but I barely even blink. Think of me as a large stone pillar in the middle of the ocean. No matter how many waves crash against it, it remains unbending.