Chapter 48: Codename: Blackheart Chapter Forty-Eight

As I pull up to Il Segreto in my Jaguar, I grab my handcrafted sterling silver clutch and open it to once again confirm Crimson is carefully tucked away inside. I close my purse back up, pull down my visor, and examine my makeup. My ivory skin is accentuated by my smokey black eyes with gold glitter pressed into the corner of my eyelid. My lips are painted black as midnight with glitter that sparkles brighter than the stars. My black hair, which has grown exceptionally long over the past year, is up in a high, fluffy bun with tendrils coming down framing my face and hiding the faint scar that travels down the left side of my hairline. I gingerly touch the scar with my freshly manicured, mirror chrome painted nails and reminisce on just how far I’ve come in this past year.

~FLASHBACK ONE YEAR AGO~

“That’s it. We’re retiring,” I hear my mother whisper yell in Italian. I feel myself waking up, but I can’t seem to open my eyes. Even so, I take comfort in knowing my mother is here, even if she sounds extremely pissed off.

“Dasha, try to calm down,” I hear my father trying to soothe her; his Moldovan words making me feel at ease. My parents are here. I’m alive and they’re here.

“Don’t tell me to calm down, Silas! Look at our girl! Look at what they’ve done to her.” I hear my mother sob; the sound of it breaking my heart. “This is our fault. We should have talked her out of ever following in our footsteps. Look at what it’s done to our daughter,” she says brokenly.

“You think I don’t blame myself for this as well? I wanted to retire the first time her life was ever put in danger, but she chose this. She’s as stubborn and hard-headed as the both of us. Once her mind is made up, there’s no changing it. All we could do was give her our love and support and that’s what we did,” he says calmly.

“What if she doesn’t wake up?” she asks, as her voice shakes.

“She will. She survived unspeakable odds and endured further torture when she was taken and yet here she is. She got herself out, got herself to a hospital and called us. She’s a fighter and a survivor. She’ll wake up,” he assures her.

I do my best to force my eyes open and squint as I try to adjust to my surroundings. I’m in a hospital room that looks like it could use a fresh coat of paint. The curtains are open, and I can see it’s nighttime. Thankfully the only source of light is a TV in the top corner of the room.

“Of course, I’ll wake up. But I’d probably keep sleeping if you two weren’t yapping,” I manage in a husky voice that sounds like I have a bad case of laryngitis.

“Alina!” my mother exclaims, throwing herself at me, making me wince in pain.

“Dasha, be careful,” my father scolds her.

“It’s okay,” I say as I gently rub my mother’s back. I've suffered worse pain for little to no gain. A little pain so that I can enjoy a hug from my mother is worth it.

She pulls back, looking down at me as she carefully strokes my hair, though I can’t feel it very much. I think there’s a bandage around my head.

“We’re so glad you’re awake, I was so scared,” my mother weeps.

“Told you I’d be fine,” I smile, even though it hurts.

“I think we need to work on your definition of ‘fine’,” my father says in disapproval as he looks me over.

“So, how bad am I?”

Mum stands up straight and holds my hand, “I think you know the answer to that.”

My father swallows hard, walks to my other side and holds my other hand, “There are signs of infection in both your feet and hands. Doctors can’t begin the skin grafts to your feet until the infection is gone, so they have you on strong antibiotics. You have a head contusion and concussion. There’s been some damage to your eye but, doctors say it should heal if given time and rest. They’re still working to clear the aconite from your system, and they suspect there may be some long-term side effects on your heart, in which case you’ll be on heart medication for the rest of your life. And as for your face…” he trails off.

“That bad huh?” I tease.

“You’re still beautiful to us,” my mother reassures me.

“Can it be fixed with a good plastic surgeon?”

“Doctors say yes, so, if that’s what you want, we’ll help you find the best there is,” my father promises.

“At least I know I have the money to pay for it. So, I’m a mess, with some long-term injuries requiring long-term meds.” I laugh as I let that sink in, then clutch my stomach groaning. Okay, laughing is a bad idea.

“What’s so funny?” my mother asks in concern.

“No way they’ll invite me back to The Tournament now,” I say gleefully. “What happened after the explosion?”

“All hell broke loose. It was like a war zone. We all tried to get to you, but by the time we made it to the arena, you were gone,” my father says angrily.

“You can thank Hadleigh for that,” I say as I try to get comfortable.

Their eyes widen, “She was behind that?” My mother asks in stunned surprise.

“And behind the poisoning. Don’t worry, she’s dead now. Officially.”

“I thought I taught you to shoot better,” says my father, shaking his head.

I roll my good eye, “I made one mistake. She’s dead now, so whatever.”

“And Elijah? We were never able to find him after the attack,” my mother says cautiously.

“He was with Hadleigh. I shot him.” My parents stare at me, then look at each other with concerned faces. “He deserved it.”

“No argument from me,” says Mum.

Dad nods, “I just wanted to be the one to do it.”

“You snooze, you lose. Hey, what happened to Whiro?” I ask curiously.

“He’s dead. Trauma brought on by the explosion,” says my father.

I relax further into my pillow as a smug smile makes its way onto my mutilated face, “Whataya know. I guess I did end up being the champion four years in a row,” I snigger, causing my parents to roll their eyes. Everyone and everything tried to kill me and yet here I am. Still very much alive while most of them are dead. I must have someone watching over me.

~END OF FLASHBACK~

I’m pulled back to the present as my car door opens and I see Noah, the valet, standing patiently. I grab my clutch and carefully get out of the car. It took months of surgeries and rehabilitation to get to the point where I could walk again, let alone in high heels, so I show them off every chance I get. Tonight I’m wearing black glittering, five-inch, point-toe stilettos with metal vines going up the back of the heel. My dress is a black, long-sleeve, floor-length gown, with nude illusion over the chest, right shoulder and both sleeves. The dress’s design creates an S shape as the nude illusion begins on the left side of my ribs and travels down to the hem. Everywhere there is nude fabric it is covered in black sequin vines. I look like my old self again.

“Noah, don’t you look handsome tonight,” I gush.

“Thank you, Miss Heart,” he says happily, “Actually, I heard you were coming tonight, and I got excited,” he admits.

I raise my eyebrow, “Oh?”

“You know how you told me that I shouldn’t have given up on the idea of college?”

“I do remember. You convinced yourself you’d never get in anywhere and that you weren’t good enough,” I say, holding my purse in front of me.

“Yeah,” he nods, “Well, I decided to take your advice. You were right, it’s better to try and fail than not try at all. I got into Stanford,” he says with a bright smile on his face.

My smile mimics his, “Noah, that’s fantastic!” I say as I hug him in congratulations and he returns my hug, “I told you that you’re smarter than you give yourself credit for, now look at you: admitted to an Ivy League school.”

“Thank you, I owe you so much,” he says graciously.

“I just gave you the push, you put in the hard work. I hope I’ll be invited to the celebration party. In fact, you should have it here,” I tell him.

He blinks rapidly, “What? Are you sure?”

“I insist,” I say patting his shoulder, “I’ll talk to Victor about it.”

“Thank you so much!” he says in excitement. To think, if I’d died a year ago, I’d be missing a moment like this. Boy am I glad I didn’t give up. I smile at Noah and make my way into the restaurant.

For a while, I couldn’t walk without a walker. It was the most debilitating time of my life. Thank god my family have high tolerances because I was a raging bitch during my recovery. I hated having to rely on them for everything and being so handicapped, but it only made me more determined to get better. It wasn’t easy and it was painful as fuck, but I did it. Took some time before I could get used to walking, since I no longer have sensation on the balls of my feet, but around the edges of my feet, the skin is extremely sensitive. It’s a very confusing feeling, but one I’ve gotten used to, and since I have, I’ve been living my life the way I used to. I’ve only been back to business for three months, but it’s like riding a bike or riding a horse; whichever analogy you like best.

“Miss Heart,” Victor greets as he walks over, taking my hands and kissing both of my cheeks, “You look stunning as always.”

“You’re too kind, but it looks like someone lost weight,” I say looking him over, “How much weight did you lose?”

“Six pounds,” he says proudly, “Doctors said I was pre-diabetic, so I’ve made some lifestyle changes and here I am, six pounds lighter.”

“Seems everyone is making life changes,” I say happily.

“Your usual room is ready, would you like anything sent up?”

“Sparkling water for me, and a Johnny Walker Blue for the gentleman.”

He nods, “Excellent choices.”

“And one other thing. Check what night suits Noah, but I’d like the restaurant booked out for him to celebrate his college acceptance. Whatever he wants, he gets,” I instruct.

Victor smiles and nods, “Consider it done.”

I leave Victor and make my way to the private room upstairs. I take a deep breath and centre myself before I turn the knob and enter. I shut the door and make my way around the table, taking my usual seat as I place my purse on the table. I take my time looking over the man in front of me. Pristine, figure-hugging, three-piece, black suit, with a black, button-down shirt, red satin tie, red handkerchief in the breast pocket and gold chain clipped from the lapel to the breast pocket. A quick glance allows me to see his shiny black loafers with no socks, which is odd. Perfectly styled black hair, slicked with gel and an immaculately styled beard. The suit is tight enough to show muscular definition through the suit. I’m sure the suit is expensive, but nowhere near as expensive as the Hublot Classic Fusion Haute Joailleri eight-piece watch with its 1,185 baguette diamonds covering every surface of the watch. Last I checked that watch goes for a million dollars. Looks like someone’s moving up in the world.

“I don’t know what was more surprising, you requesting this meeting, or you doing so with your real name,” I say casually.

“I wasn’t sure you’d agree to a meeting, but I’ve lied enough. I felt honesty was the least I could do,” he says as his ocean-blue eyes stare into mine, “You look even more beautiful than I remember.”

“What do you want, Elijah?”

“I just… I wanted to see you. See how you were and tell you how sorry I am for everything that happened,” he says with deep remorse.

Before I can say anything, the waiter comes in and drops off a glass of scotch for Elijah and a glass of sparkling water for me. No more alcohol for me, not with the heart medication I now take. Something I can thank Elijah Bressett for.

“I don’t need or want your apology, but you seem to feel the need to do so to make yourself feel better.”

“I don’t deserve your forgiveness and I don’t want it. I just want you to know that I wish things could have been different. I should have turned to you and listened to you; I know that. I fucked up and I’m trying to make it right,” he says with sincerity.

“Is that why you killed your father?” I ask, looking him straight in the eyes. His eyes widen and he turns still as a statue. “I read in the papers that he suffered a terrible accident, but I think it’s safe to say it was no accident,” I smirk, taking a sip of my drink.

He sucks in a deep breath and sits back. He picks up the glass and takes a sip of the whiskey. “I guess you were right. Everyone can become a killer under the right circumstances.”

“And what were your circumstances?”

“He was a monster who hurt people I cared about. I wish I’d had the strength to do it years ago. The relief and joy on my mother’s face when she learned he was dead… it was enough to assure me that I’d done the right thing,” he says confidently. “Not that I ever told her it was me.”

“I told you the world isn’t always so black and white.”

“I can never make up for my part in hurting you, but I’m so glad to see you back to your old self again, I truly am,” he says softly. “You know, sometimes I wonder what would have happened if you hadn’t gotten that invitation and I hadn’t invited myself to your home,” he says thoughtfully. I let out a giggle and cover my mouth. “Why is that funny?”

“You still think it was your idea to come home with me,” I chuckle.

He frowns in confusion, “You did repeatedly point out it was me who imposed myself on you.”

“I did say that,” I smile diabolically.