Chapter 61: Codename: Aconite Chapter Eleven
I tighten the belt around my long white coat, steeling myself against the cold Moscow air and step into the cloud-filled coffee shop. I think I was better off out in the cold. Heavy smokers fill the room, permeating the air with the smoke from their cigarettes. I may be used to the smell, but that doesn’t mean I enjoy it. Even if I get my clothes dry cleaned, it’ll probably still take multiple tries to get out the smell of tobacco. I’m kicking myself for choosing to wear all-white today. Cigarette smoke stains like a bitch.
Nevertheless, I make my way to an empty table and get myself situated, ignoring the smoke as best I can. I remove my white leather gloves and slip them into my pocket as a waitress comes over, looking like she’s been working back-to-back shifts for the past month.
“What can I get you?”
“I’ll just have a belyash, thank you,” I say pleasantly.
“Anything to drink?” she asks tiredly.
Note to self: leave this woman a large tip.
“Maybe later.”
She walks off to get my pastry, just as I see the man I’m waiting for walk in. I only allow myself to look at him long enough to be sure it’s him, but it’s long enough to leave a lasting impression. I hate when I have to kill the good-looking ones.
The man is 6’2 with deep olive skin with not a blemish on it, and a mane of black hair that flops ever so slightly against his forehead. His full eyebrows dip low as to obscure the emerald green of his eyes, while his somewhat long and pointed nose acts as an arrow directing you to gander at his plump, full lips. These tempting pillows are framed by sexy stubble that dares to hide his chiselled, square jaw and dangerous cheekbones. Every definition of his face screams danger while taunting the ancient Gods with its perfect beauty.
He's far too underdressed for this weather, but I am not complaining. A fitted tee – that surely is several sizes too small – holds onto his bulging muscles for dear life; thick veins travelling down the insides of his arms making their way to strong muscular hands that for one brief second, I can picture grabbing me and bending me to their will while teasing me with soft caresses. I shake away the erotic image and take note of the tattoos that work down his left arm and peek out through the top of his shirt. As he walks further inside and over to the counter, I am granted the perfect, unobstructed view of his spectacularly firm ass that is not hidden away in his high-waisted dark denim jeans.
I’m so distracted by the notes I am making on this Adonis that I don’t even hear the waitress walk over and place my pastry in front of me. I snap myself out of it and focus on the job at hand while giving the waitress my thanks. I pay for the pastry – include an overly generous tip – and watch her walk away in stunned silence. I’m sure a generous tip doesn’t balance out the fact I plan to kill this handsome man, but it doesn’t mean I can’t do a nice deed every now and then.
As I take a bite of my pastry, I see a large hand pull out the chair opposite me and I’m momentarily left dumbfounded as I watch my own prey sit down in front of me. A confident smirk lifts up the corner of his mouth as his emerald-eyes dance with sinful promise and I have to force myself not to gulp down the saliva building in my mouth.
“Now, you look far too beautiful to be in a place like this,” he says, his low Moldovan accent speaking Russian words that travel directly to my loins. Well, this is a fucking first.
I swallow down my bite of food and lean back in my chair, using a napkin to wipe my mouth. “Just how many times have you used that line in your life?” I ask as I cross my legs.
“Who says it’s a line? I thought I was just pointing out the obvious,” he says, his voice oozing confidence. Oh, this is going to be fun.
I smile in amusement, “I don’t recall saying you could sit with me.”
“Are you waiting for someone?” he asks curiously.
“Not exactly.”
“I get the feeling you’re not from around here,” he says with playful suspicion.
I quirk my eyebrow, “I get the feeling neither are you.”
“Your Russian is fantastic, but that accent…” he tappers off, leaning forward on his large forearms, “I’m going to guess Greek.”
I give him an impressed nod, “And by yours, I’d guess Moldovan,” I say with a knowing smirk and watch as he blinks in surprise.
“Most people would assume Russian, maybe even Romanian,” he says in a stupefied tone.
I lean forward on my forearms leaving only inches between us. “I’m not most people.”
His emerald eyes look me over, slowly assessing me appreciatively as his tongue skims across his bottom lip, and I can’t help but wonder what that tongue would taste like.
“No, you’re certainly not.” He leans back and offers me his hand, “Nicolae Matei.”
Now that’s suspicious. I know for a fact his name is Silas Istrati, and there’s nothing in his background to suggest he has other aliases. I can only assume he’s a player. Hits on women and gives them a false name so after he hits it and quits it, they can’t track him down. Such a charming example of the male species.
I extend my hand and shake his, relishing the way he gently, but firmly, encapsulates my hand with his. His touch is warm, almost electric and I notice faint scars across his knuckles which would indicate he’s torn them on more than one occasion. Either he likes to work out with bare knuckles, or he enjoys crackling skulls in his free time. I have to admit, I find the latter somewhat enticing.
“Medea Sarondonedes,” I introduce myself with a quick shake of his hand.
His eyebrow quirks infinitesimally and I wonder if he can tell I’m lying. I’m usually a very good liar, but this man has my thoughts a little sidetracked, so perhaps I’m not selling the lie as well as I normally would.
“Medea like the sorceress?” he asks, slowly relinquishing my hand.
This time I don’t attempt to hide my surprise. “Someone knows his Greek myths.”
“My mother always says knowledge is man’s greatest weapon, and that one should consume as much of it as they possibly can.”
“Your mother sounds like a smart woman,” I say with approval.
“Smartest woman I know,” he says with a genuine smile that touches his eyes. There’s affection in his voice when he speaks of his mother, so it’s clear he loves and respects her dearly. Too bad he has little respect for the rest of her gender.
“So, what brings you to Russia?” I casually ask.
He shrugs. “Just some casual work. Yourself?”
“The same as you. Nothing very interesting. I expect I’ll only be here a few days and then I’ll be on my merry way,” I say brightly.
“Well then, before you disappear into the sunset, could I entice you into joining me for dinner?” he asks with an alluring smile.
I can honestly say, this has never happened. That’s not to say I’ve never lured men – and women for that matter – in by means of seduction. It’s the bee in the trap, and it’s very effective. But that still always involves me actively luring them in initially. This man has walked right into a deadly trap before it has even been set. He’s making my job incredibly easy at this point. How simple would that be? Go on a date with him, poison him during the date and collect my final paycheck. No muss no fuss.
“And I’m just supposed to say yes? I don’t even know you,” I chuckle in amusement. Can’t make it too easy for him.
“But how do you get to know someone without trying to get to know them?” he asks assiduously.
I laugh, thoroughly enjoying the way this man uses his words. I wasn’t expecting this job to be as much fun as it’s turning out to be. I’m almost sad for it to be over so soon.
“You make an excellent point,” I concede, as I stand from the table. “I’m staying at the Hotel National. Pick me up tonight at 6 o’clock.”
He looks up at me, his eyes twinkling with delight and his smile breaking across his face in victory. “I’ll be there at 5:45.”
I shake my head. “Until tonight, Mr Matei.”
“I look forward to it, Miss Sandonedes.”
With that, I exit the coffee shop leaving my prey behind me. It seems I have to find something appropriate to wear tonight. A woman needs to look good if she’s going to murder her date.