Chapter 5 Chapter 5
Scarlett’s POV
The bedroom Damon gave me was three times the size of my entire servant's room at the Romano mansion. King-sized bed. Walk-in closet. Private bathroom with a tub big enough to swim in. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city.
I sat on the edge of the bed and pulled out my phone.
It looked like an old Nokia. The kind grandparents used. Black plastic case. Tiny screen. Physical buttons. Most people would think it was worthless.
It wasn't.
I pressed a sequence on the keypad. The screen flickered. A new interface appeared. Encrypted chat software. Military-grade security.
Seven unread messages.
I grabbed the fruit plate from the nightstand. Damon's housekeeper had brought it up earlier. Fresh strawberries and cherries. I popped a cherry into my mouth and opened the first message.
Status updates. Job confirmations. Payment receipts. The usual.
I was scrolling through the third message when the phone vibrated in my hand.
Incoming call.
The screen showed a single word: Flint.
I stared at the name. My finger hovered over the decline button.
The phone kept vibrating.
I sighed and answered. "Hello."
"Sable?" The voice was digitally scrambled. High-pitched and robotic. "You're online? Did something happen?"
"Can't I just check in without something being wrong?" I ate another cherry.
"You never just check in. You only log on when you need something or when you're in trouble."
I didn't argue. He was right.
"Last time you contacted me, you said two guys from Crimson Hand were on your tail," Flint continued. "You needed an emergency extraction. Then you went dark for three weeks. I thought you were dead."
"I'm not dead."
"Obviously. So what happened? Did you take care of them?"
I paused. "You tell me. Did they ever show up again?"
There was a long silence on the other end.
"You're not going to believe this," Flint finally said.
"Try me."
"The NYPD picked them up in Queens two weeks ago."
I stopped chewing. "What?"
"I'm serious. Two international assassins. Professional killers. Wanted in six countries. And they got arrested by traffic cops."
"How?"
"They stole a car. A Honda Civic. Broad daylight. Some guy reported it stolen and the cops put out an alert. A patrol officer spotted them an hour later and pulled them over for a broken taillight."
I couldn't speak.
"They had unregistered firearms in the trunk," Flint went on. "The cops ran their prints and flagged them in the system. FBI showed up. Turns out they're on multiple international watchlists. They're in federal custody now."
I put the fruit plate down. "You're joking."
"I wish I was. I pulled the police report. It's real. Two of the most dangerous hitmen in the Crimson Hand network got taken down because they couldn't hotwire a car properly."
I started laughing. I couldn't help it. "This is insane," I said.
"Tell me about it. I've been in this business for twelve years and I've never seen anything like it."
I wiped my eyes. The laughter faded. An uncomfortable silence stretched between us.
"So," Flint said carefully. "Why are you online? You need a job? A contact? Intel?"
"No." I took a breath. "I'm getting married."
The line went completely silent.
Then Flint's scrambled voice went up three octaves. "WHAT?"
I yanked the phone away from my ear. "Jesus. Keep it down."
"Are you serious? To who? Does he know who you are? Does he know what you do? Are you actually retiring?"
The questions came rapid-fire. I waited until he stopped talking.
"Yes, I'm serious. Yes, I'm retiring."
"Sable. You can't just retire. People don't retire from this."
"I'm retiring," I repeated. My voice was flat.
Another long pause.
"Does he know?" Flint asked quietly. "About your work?"
"No."
"And you're not going to tell him?"
"No."
"That's dangerous. If he ever finds out—"
"He won't."
Flint didn't say anything for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was different. Gentler.
"You sound tired," he said.
The words hit something inside me. I leaned back against the headboard. Closed my eyes. Pressed my fingers against my temples.
"I am tired," I said softly.
I was so tired I could feel it in my bones. "I'm tired of looking over my shoulder," I continued. "I'm tired of sleeping with one eye open. I'm tired of trusting no one. I'm tired of wondering if today is the day someone puts a bullet in my head."
My throat felt tight.
"I want to be a normal person, Flint. I want to wake up in the morning and not check for tripwires. I want to eat food without worrying if it's poisoned. I want to live somewhere and not memorize all the exits. I just want to be normal."
The line was quiet.
I opened my eyes. Stared at the ceiling of this enormous bedroom.
Earlier today, after we left the doctor's office, Damon had taken me to his car. A black Mercedes with bulletproof windows and reinforced doors. He opened the passenger door for me himself.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
"I'm fine."
"You don't look fine."
I looked at him. He was watching me carefully. His face was hard but his eyes were concerned.
"Your family," he said. "They hurt you."
It wasn't a question.
I nodded slowly.
"Tell me what they did."
So I told him. Not everything. Not about my real work. But I told him about Viviana. About being treated like garbage for six months.
His face got darker with every word. By the time I finished, his jaw was tight.
"They're never touching you again," he said. His voice was ice. "You're staying with me. We'll get married next week. You'll have everything you need."
I looked at him. This man was a crime lord. The most feared person in New York.
But he was offering me protection.
For our baby.
I could do this. I could marry him. I could play the role of his wife. We could be polite strangers under the same roof. We could raise this child together without getting in each other's way.
As for what happened after that... I would figure it out later.
Damon drove me to his estate. The white mansion was like something out of a movie. Guards at every entrance. Security cameras everywhere. High walls and iron gates.
"East wing," he told the housekeeper. "Give her the master guest suite. Make sure she has everything she needs."
And now here I was. Sitting in luxury. Talking to my old partner about retiring.
"Sable." Flint's voice pulled me back to the present. "Are you sure about this?"
"Yes."
"Once you're out, you're out. You know that, right? There's no coming back."
"I won't change my mind."
Flint went quiet again. The scrambled breathing was the only sound on the line.
"Okay," he finally said. His voice was strange. Almost sad. "Good luck, Sable. I hope you get to be a normal person. I really do."
The line went dead.
I lowered the phone. Stared at the black screen.
For a long time, I just sat there. The fruit plate sat forgotten on the nightstand. The room was silent.
I lifted the phone up. The screen was dark. It reflected my face back at me like a mirror.
Twenty-two years old with light brown hair and a soft face. The kind of girl you'd see studying in a library or working at a coffee shop. Nothing dangerous.
Nobody would ever guess what I really was.
Sable.
The top assassin for Iron Circle. The international organization that governments hired when they needed someone dead. The group that trained killers from childhood. The network that had contacts in every major city in the world.
I had killed my first target at fifteen. By eighteen, I was one of their most requested operatives. By twenty, I had a reputation that made experienced assassins nervous.
The girl who never missed. That was who I was.