Codename: Aconite Chapter Fifty-Eight

Codename: Aconite Chapter Fifty-Eight
Sathariel stares at me, skin sickly grey and dripping with sweat, his eyes wide with fury and his body shaking as he leans on the table.

“Kill her!” he snarls, deadly intent shining in his eyes.

With a serene smile on my face, I tap my finger on the table, then clench it into a fist. A moment later one of Sathariel’s men drops to the floor, the pristine white furniture now redecorated with his brain matter, the other guards looking at his corpse in surprise as he lays on the floor, blood spilling from a bullet-size hole in his forehead. I’m sure the back of his head looks even worse.

“Even think of pointing those guns at me and you’ll be joining your friend before you can even lift your arms,” I warn, glancing over at Sathariel’s men. “You might be good, but my guy is better.”

They look from Sathariel to me then to the window and after a moment’s pause, they take a step back, lowering their weapons.

“Are you crazy? Do your jobs and fucking kill her!” Castor screams, but no one pays him any heed.

“Smart choice,” I praise them, sipping my drink as I look back to Sathariel as he removes his tie and unbuttons the top of his shirt. I frown in mock sympathy, “Are you okay, baby? You don’t look so good,” I say with concern.

He glares at me, “What have…you done to me?” he pants.

“Come on, you didn’t really think I’d hide poison in a poison ring did you?” I say disappointedly.

“I removed the contents.”

“You removed talcum powder. A completely boring substance. You of all people should know there’s more than one way to skin a cat.” I smile, sitting back in my chair as I admire my nails. “You told me poison is a far more sophisticated weapon that the average man cannot comprehend. There’s truth to that, but not for the reasons you like to tell yourself. You see it’s not about the weapon but the person who wields it. Me and the women in my family are good at what we do because of men like you and the world you have so proudly built. Much like the plants I work with, you view women as beautiful prizes to obtain and use but have no comprehension of what potential they possess… or how deadly they can be. Over and over again you underestimate us, dismiss us, and take everything we are for granted. And it’s that very mentality that is why you’re dying as I speak,” I say with a sad smile.

He shakes his head furiously, falling into his chair as he clutches his chest, “I…never…took my eyes…off you.”

“You know, you really shouldn’t just go sucking on a stranger’s fingers. You don’t know where they’ve been… or how much poison is coating their nails,” I say warily as I flaunt my acrylic nails, my concerned expression turning into a dark, sadistic smile as he looks from my nails to me in alarm. “Cicuta is unpleasant at the best of times, but the high concentrated dose I coated my nails in and you eagerly ingested – not to mention that I managed to get into your bloodstream when I scratched your neck – are causing absolute havoc on your system right now. And in case you were worried about me, don't, I already took the antidote just to be on the safe side,” I say reassuringly.

Thank God I did, or I could be feeling what he’s feeling thanks to him sticking his disgusting tongue down my throat.

Before he can say anything more, his body begins to spasm as a severe seizure takes over his body. I rise to my feet, downing my drink as I walk around the table to his side, stroking his hair as his body continues to convulse. His mouth begins to foam and blood slowly begins to trickle from his eyes, ears, and nose. The seizures take over completely until finally they stop. His head drops onto the table, landing on several shards of broken glass as blood begins to pool out onto the table.

I lean down and place a gentle kiss on his temple. “You don’t fuck with a Vespasiano,” I tut, glancing at his remaining guards, standing, watching the scene unfold with great trepidation in their eyes. That’s the problem with mercenaries; no loyalty.

I turn to face them, cold authority shining in my eyes making each one of them quake with fear. I raise my hand and form a tight fist. A second later they hit the floor one by one as shots made with impeccable precision pierce through their heads, showering the penthouse in their blood.

Six down, one to go.

I look down at Castor who is slowly trying to drag himself away, dragging a trail of blood behind him as if I won’t notice.

“This is just pathetic,” I say with derision. “To go from one of the most respected men in the Drakos family to a psychotic traitor crawling away from the woman he claimed to love,” I tut. “How far you’ve fallen, Castor.”

I walk over to him and slowly sink my heel into the open one in his ankle, relishing the sound of his screams as he writhes in agony. I thought I’d missed my chance to enjoy this. I’m going to make every second count.

“FOR FUCK SAKE, DASHA, STOP!” he screams, weeping and clawing at the floor as I twist my heel in his wound.

“You manipulated me. You used me and betrayed my trust. Betrayed my family’s trust. None of which I can forgive.”

He looks up at me with pleading eyes, “All I ever did was love you.”

“You fell in love with a child,” I say with disgust. “All those times you happened to be there as I got out of the shower or was lying by the pool. The excuses you made to touch me.” I lift my heel from his ankle, making him squirm then squat down beside him as I stare into his eyes. These eyes that once used to reassure me now fill me with disgust and revulsion. “I wonder, just how many times did you have to fight back your urges? How many times did you want to fuck me then and there? To take the innocence of a child for your own and wear it like a badge of honour?” I say in a low, deadly voice.

“Why do you think I waited?! I love you, Dasha, I couldn’t ever hurt you like that!” he cries out, sweat trickling down his brow as he looks up at me with conflicted eyes.

I place my hands on my heart looking at him with overwhelming appreciation. “Oh, Castor, I’m so sorry,” I say, shaking my head in dismay. “I’ve been so unfair to you, but I understand now. I should be thankful and appreciative that you didn’t lose control of your urges and rape me as a child. I’m so grateful that you instead chose to groom me and wait till I was of legal age to ply me with booze and make your move,” I say, my voice morphing from gracious to enraged.

The fear and conflict in his eyes disappears, now replaced with fury and disdain. He reaches out, wrapping his hands around my throat with all his strength, looking upon me with a deranged expression.

“I did everything for you, and this is how you repay me!”

He flips me over, pinning me to the floor, my head spinning, building with pressure as he continues to choke me like he’s trying to crush my windpipe between his fingers.

“You want to know what I wanted to do to you all those times? I’ll fucking show you what I wanted to do,” he snarls, releasing one of his hands as he reaches down to unbuckle his belt.

The moment his grip loosens, I pool all my strength into my fist as I land a punch to his throat. He chokes, letting out a strangled, choking wheeze as he clutches his throat, rolling off me and gasping for air.

I quickly scramble to my feet and rub my neck. “That’s the funny thing about people like you,” I croak. “The mask always slips, one way or another.” I reach into my dress, unzipping a small pouch inside my shoulder pad and withdraw a tiny syringe. “The day shoulder pads go out of fashion, I’m screwed,” I muse in a hoarse voice.

I remove the cap from the syringe, stand over Castor and inject the syringe into the back of his neck. He clutches the back of his neck as I step back, tossing the syringe aside.

Rubbing my neck, I walk over to the kitchen, grab the open bottle of champagne off the counter and make my way back over to the living room, Castor’s round of choking now intensifying the residual pain of my concussion. I flop down onto one of the sofas and take a long sip of champagne, toasting my success as I sit back and wait for Silas’ arrival as I watch Castor clutch his stomach and writhe in pain.

“Only fair I save the aconite for you,” I boast as I take another sip of champagne.

After all, I am aconite. I am the walking beauty lethal to all who come near me. I am the poison pill and the spoonful of sugar. I am the sock and buskin; a heart filled with comedy that delivers endless tragedy. And I love every bit of it.

It feels good to be the Queen of Poisons.