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"𝐌𝐚𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐦'𝐬"

We moved on to the next room, which was now filled with paintings, one of my favourite types of art.

Hung on walls, and some so delicate they were displayed in glass boxes. Every painting conveyed a surreal, unique message.

Each one has a unique tale, appearance, and significance. Most artists utilised their hands to create, but their mindset was shaped solely by their emotions.

Our emotions were the only ones who generated feelings and stories, expressing our ideas and words that couldn't be said—through art.

That was how it was for me. Whatever I was feeling at the time would be expressed on a canvas or in a sketchbook. My hands would undertake the physical labour, while my mind would focus on the essential task.

Art, in my opinion, can be anything. In any shape or form, whether as a rock or as a simple drawing. The story was the creator of whatever made it distinctive, whatever made it unique.

As a result, I absorbed every painting that attracted my eye and read the story via my eyes. Even if you didn't know the tale, you could figure out a few details about it—which was part of the fun, the mystery of not knowing the plot.

If you were to gaze at a piece of artwork that had no information and was just bland. You may simply make up the story using your imagination and the art's minor features.

The narrative may or may not be true, but it offers you an idea of what it could be.

"Perhaps one of my own will come here one day," I murmured, delicately sliding my fingers down the cold stone beneath the hidden, acclaimed artwork.

Arms came around my waist from behind me, I beamed as I stood in front of the last painting. His cool breath touched the curve of my neck, and a delicate kiss was pushed against it, causing my smile to vanish as the overwhelming sensation of him caressed me.

"It will be," He whispered into my ear. I closed my eyes for a second as his next words were spoken. "I'll make sure of it,"

They were said softly but powerfully. The reassurance and confidence in his tone was the embitterment of the assurance I knew that he would make it happen, no doubt set in my mind.

I completely turned in his arms and confronted his towering self. A glimmer danced in the depths of his eyes, and the straining side of a smile sat upon his lips. His eyes matched mine at the time, and it was a sight to behold.

My gaze moved away from him and onto the room surrounding us as an idea occurred to me. For the time being, it was empty, with only the two of us present, and I smiled smugly.

I stepped around him, grabbing his hand in mine, and pulling us to the centre of the room. Once I stood even now, facing him, I tilted my head to meet his.

"Dance with me?"

He locked his gaze on me, his eyes piercing mine. They proceeded towards my outstretched hand, which he accepted, and I took that as affirmation.

With only the faint, classical music above us, we went into a stance—my hand in his and one other arm of his around my waist, while my other one was upon his shoulder.

And then we moved.

His steps went so gracefully as if he was born for it. My eyes peered into his as we moved elegantly and softly.

I giggled as he spun me around with our entwined hands. As I turned back to face him, his arm around my waist drew me into his chest, making me gasp as his lips gently connected with mine.

He kissed me tenderly and softly. My eyelids drifted shut and my foot popped behind me as I moved against his lips, tipping my head to the side.

Slowly, he pulled away from the sudden kiss, my eyes fluttered open and were met with his light amber ones.

The feeling was back again.

The feeling I felt only last night, for the first time. It was terrifying, and I knew exactly what it was—even if I didn't want to admit it to myself.

I forced a hard swallow as his own eyes softened, so much that I didn't recognise the man in front of me. Then his plump lips leant in a little more, but not far enough.

For a millisecond, we peered into one other's eyes before he moved his lips.

"Ella, I—

His words were cut off by my phone. My ringtone's loud sound made us both sigh. Without looking at the caller, I swiftly pulled it out and answered.

I frowned when I heard Nicolo's slurred voice over the phone.

Kara's voice was then heard in the background, slurred as well.

I giggled as I realised they were probably out partying.

Nicolo pouted into the phone, I laughed again and looked up at Roman as I spoke.

"It's only been a day, Nico,"

Aydan then yelled into the phone. I leant my head on Roman's chest, giggling, as I listened to them argue.

"What are you guys doing?" I asked them, Nicolo spoke first—well more like screaming.

I could practically see the grin on his face. Kara said as she took the phone—I assumed.

Kara giggled as Nicolo yelled and blew a kiss through the phone before muttering goodbye.

With a sigh, I threw the phone back into my handbag and turned to face Roman. "It was just Nicolo and the others," I explained with a shrug. He nodded and stared emotionlessly over my shoulder at something.

I sighed inwardly as I realised his expression and emotions that were displayed moments ago—were now gone. He rubbed small circles along my hand as he moved us out of the room.

For hours, we had been inspecting practically the entire museum.

I felt sorry for him because he had to listen to my endless ramblings on various forms of art and artists, and I dragged him to anything that attracted my eye.

Despite this, he never complained. He listened intently to everything I said, which only encouraged me to say more. Knowing that someone was listening was reassuring.

Part of the reason of why I fell in lo—

Haha. Slow down, tiger.

Rain pummelled down from the sky, forcing me to gaze up at the ominous clouds above—which were dumping droplets of water onto the ground.

A coat was suddenly placed over my head, shielding me from the frigid water. I let out a loud gasp as I was thrown into someone's arms and held in bridal style.

My hands reflexively curled around his neck. Then he began walking, his arms securing my body against his.

I giggled as we strolled through the rain, my body absolutely dry thanks to his jacket. Droplets of water rained down on him, soaking his hair and dampening it.

Small drops of water coming from the wisps of his hair—falling down his forehead and peppered down onto his cheeks. I smiled as I reached out to wipe the drops away with my hand.

Roman looked down at me, a smirk plastered on his lips. When he got to the car, he quickly opened the door and slid me inside. Before he could move away, I reached up and placed my lips on his cheek.

His smirk widened and he moved back and closed the door. As he climbed in, I sank into the seat, shuddering slightly from the cold.

After starting the car, he immediately turned on the heat. Roman resumed driving, slipping back onto the freeways.

"Where do you want to go?" He asked, relaxing back in his chair. My attention was absorbed in the hand movements he made on the steering wheel, so I gave a half-shrug.

How can one be so sexy?

"Ella?" He called, I snapped my eyes away from his hand and looked towards him.

"Um... somewhere pretty," I murmured, "Actually, everything here is pretty, so anywhere," I smiled.

He chuckled and drove on, accelerating up the clear road. Another strident ringing of his phone had devoured our time once more.

Easily grasping it, he casually placed it to his ear and drove easily with the other hand. Without noticing, I watched him curiously.

How his face altered as he listened to another person on the other line, who, by the way, sounded very flustered—his facial expressions never changed.

"Sí." He grumbled as he sped around the corner of the road, performing an illegal U-turn. He sped back down the street we had just been on and hung up the phone, my eyes widening at the unexpected quickness.

Tossing it into his lap, his arm rested on the windowsill as he massaged his jaw with one hand—rather attractively. "I have to deal with something," He mumbled as he turned a corner quickly.

My heart sank a little, but I shook it off and simply nodded in answer. Of course, he then hoisted my forbidden heart once again.

"You coming, bellismima?"

I gave a modest grin and lowered my gaze to my fidgeting hands. "Yeah," I said nonchalantly, trying to hide the fact that I had been pouting a few moments. He chuckled and slid his free hand into my lap, and I fiddled with his hand instead of mine.

"What are we doing?" I asked him.

He took out his phone once again, opened something, and then handed it to me.

On the screen, there was a picture of a short bold man with a large moustache—he looked rather paedophilic. Though, I'm not one to judge appearances.

The name of the individual, his age, his heritage, and a plethora of other facts about the random guy are all displayed below the photograph.

Then there came the explanation regarding why his name had a 'eliminate' red symbol, down the bottom of the page.

Regan Opera was a child predator, exactly as I suspected, but he was also a spy sent by an unknown gang to watch over Roman's Mafia.

They were spotted at the docks in Milan, where they settled their shipments. His incarceration records were listed below that information. Charged with several lurings and attempted kidnapping of a twelve-year-old boy.

Disgusting.

My inner assassination bitch kicked in and begged me to go out and kill the man.

It had been weeks since I had performed a mission. It was a necessity in my lifestyle.

"Can I kill him?" I smiled and returned his phone to its holder. Roman smirked and cast a sidelong glance at me. "You can," he said as he drove into an abandoned underground parking garage.

"But we need information first,"

I pulled my lips to the side and clapped my hands giddily. "So... torture?" he hummed as he parked next to another black Mercedes.

"Well, I'm not complaining," I said and he chuckled. He took his hand out of my grip, retrieved his gun from beneath his seat, and then unlocked the car doors.

He came over to my side of the car, as usual, before I could even try to open my door. Descending out, he hadn't shut the door, instead, he lowered down and moved his hand under my seat—accessing another handgun and passing it to me.

My feet leapt with excitement when he handed it to me. My gaze was drawn to the gun's lovely golden metal, which had Roman's surname engraved on the side in a cursive font—silver.

Wrapping one large arm around my waist, he walked us both towards the elevator which was across the parking lot. I kept looking at the gun, completely absorbed in it.

The sound of the elevator door opening had my revere pulled out.

I turned my body in front of him and raised the gun as the doors closed. "This is your own?" I asked, my finger tapping the cursive lettering. In response, he nodded his head.

I smile as I tighten my grip on it and return my hand to my side. "I like it,"

Lips pressed to my temple as the doors opened, revealing an empty warehouse—most likely abandoned. The walls were greyish and chipped, as well as being tall and wide.

Guards clothed in black stood still and guarded the whole perimeter of the enormous room. As we went silently via concrete flooring, their gazes were abruptly diverted.

Roman took the lead now, his strides long and spiteful. He walked with purpose, his broad shoulders moving with each stride—and my gaze was drawn to the flexed back muscles.

Drool was tempted to come out of my mouth at this point.

The predator stood across the room, arms bound to the walls, legs dangling three feet in the air, and body torn.

We approached closer, he lifted his head slightly in response to our footsteps. When he saw Roman, his beady eyes expanded and he went utterly insane.

As he fought to 'escape,' the chains bustled and tugged, he screamed for help, and before anybody could react, a gunshot was fired into his pudgy leg.

Dominance overtook Roman as he turned to face the screaming man, tears streaming down his cheeks as his hanging leg fell limp with blood spilling from it.

Looking at the man, I frowned and tilted my head as I studied him. Roman had gone off somewhere beside me—to which I hadn't bothered to look at.

The man's eyes met mine, and he seemed to realise I was there all of a sudden. "Please, young girl, you must help me!" he pleaded.

As I remembered the information from earlier, my lips curled up in disdain. I shifted my gaze away from him and onto my boyfriend, who had returned alongside me, two blades in each hand.

He looked to the side and signalled his guys to the chained man as he held them in front of me.

Looking at the two blades side by side, one was five centimetres long and the other was three centimetres long. My gaze darted back and forth between the two before settling on the three-centimetre option.

I liked the shorter ones more. You could do more with it, strike higher priorities, vitals for instance, and—

Okay, calm down Joe Goldberg.

Taking the blade between my fingers, I walked up to the now lowered man. Due to my exceptionally short height, Roman's guys had lowered him for me.

My head tilted up as I rotated the blade between my fingers—something I did every time I was preying my prey. The man looked up at me, almost suspiciously, because he, like the majority of men, had never expected a woman to hold any of these professions.

Men didn't realise the powers we women possessed, which was one of the reasons my father had prepared me to be who I am today. Many people believe females can't do what men can, but we're actually stronger.

Upon these thoughts, my blade digs into the side of his forearm, slashing a long line down the centre and halting midway.

He wailed and attempted to kick me with his useable leg as if the bullet in his leg wasn't painful enough. Roman's low chuckle had both of our heads turning in his direction.

Roman stood behind me, leaning against the wall with a lit cigarette between his lips as he watched the man bleed to my feet.

He raised his gun and aimed it at the man's head, tilting it at an angle to hit him square in the face.

The man began to shake, his head jerking erratically from side to side as he mumbled profanities.

"Attempt to hurt her, and everything you feel now will be amplified," He warned sinisterly, dead eyes fixed on the man.

A blush spread through my cheeks and I mentally slapped my forehead.

Wrong time to blush Arabella.

"Chi ti ha mandato?" Roman asked him, not once taking his eyes off the man.

Translation: "Who sent you?"

I returned my gaze to him, staring at his gushing arm, and when he refused to speak, I stabbed his bulleted leg with the blade. Cutting a circle around the infected area and he cried, literally.

"Bene, va bene!" He screamed and laid limply as his body drained of blood. He was noticeably paler now, the depleting blood clearly affecting him.

Translation: "Fine, fine!"

"Era una ragazza e suo padre," He went into a fit of coughs as I frowned at the words he spoke.

Translation: "It was a young girl and her father,"

"L'uomo voleva che cercassi armi particolari da vendere a qualche banda negli Stati Unti,"

Translation: "The man wanted me to look for particular weaponry to sell to some gang in the states,"

I raised my gaze to Roman, who had just rolled his eyes before stepping away from the wall and taking a large stride in front of him.

"Quale banda?" He asked, taking another long drag of his cigarette.

Translation: "What gang?"

Standing next to Roman, he protectively pulled an arm around my waist. He flickered the ash onto the man as he waited for his response.

"Malcolm's,"