Work Text:
The yellow glow from the street lamps illuminated the pages. It drew shadows that stretched tall like gothic constructions, deepened the shade of the black ink on the paper, and added severity to the text – a source of amusement to one Diana Burnwood, who knew better to attribute any to a Cassandra Snow novel.
Adjusting on the wooden bench, she vowed to abandon the habit of reading at night without an adequate source of light. It made for a distraction and a nuisance, and it was certain to earn her a scolding from the Providence doctors who were sure to enlist the manners in which doing so was detrimental to her vision.
Her audition, on the other hand, remained keen and registered the footsteps approaching the alley.
She stole a glimpse at her watch and found her informant twenty minutes late. As were her bodyguards in reporting their position.
“Diana Burnwood?”
She was transported back to an airplane, where a scrawny stranger presented her with the temptation of secrets of a lifetime. Secrets that led her to a wooden bench in an alley on Sapienza, surrounded by what she counted were four men, each of them armed and owners of broad shoulders and strong builds – more than sufficient to take her down in minutes.
“Credo che mi abbia scambiato per qualcun altro,” her words as impassive as her features while she accused him of mistaking her for someone else.
The man, like Edwards on the plane, was unconvinced. He sat beside her and scratched his chin, his muscles bulging from underneath his shirt. “Danielle Chevalier sends her regards,” he said, facing the house across from them, the green paint on its door chipped. “She has an offer for you.”
No response.
“Share with us the data you have on the remaining Providence members, and my men and I won’t have to disappear with your body before dawn.”
The edge of her mouth curled. “I had assumed after Yates’ death and Edwards’ condition, you would have known better than to try to threaten me. Finally, I see your claws.”
The goon sneered, turning his body to face hers. He lifted his gaze past her, to the two men blocking the alley, then returned to her. “Word on the street, signorina, is that it’s a matter of time before your pet assassin finds out your location and gets rid of you. I heard he holds a grudge and, from the legends, I’d sleep with one eye open and men at my back.” He wet his lips. “Now, I can’t promise anything, but I can attempt to reason with the ragazzi and have them behave if you play nice with us.”
The last man stood blocking the other way out, past the leader of the group, the one who sat with Diana.
“How kind,” she narrowed her eyes. “How much has she offered you? How much is your life worth? Threatening the life of a Constant is punishable with death, even before Edwards. She signed your death sentence by sending you after me.”
The leader scoffed. “The informant you were expecting was a ruse,” he said, “your bodyguards are missing. Actually, I might have spotted the pair of them floating on the beach,” he clicked his tongue and leaned in. “A shame how fragile men can be.” He grabbed her knee, his hold threatening to leave her bruised. “I wouldn’t be concerned, of course. There’s sure to be a good deal to be struck between you and Madam Chevalier.”
A quiet hiss preceded the thump of his head slapping against the stone walls behind the bench. She snapped and found a hole in his head, a blood drop leaking from it like a tear.
The three men spun, guns raised as they sought the assailant on top of the buildings. Still, the second and the third shots hissed through and were followed by the slumping of bodies on the cobblestone.
Wide-eyed, the fourth gunman aimed at Burnwood, his alarmed glare made permanent in a blink, when his forehead was adorned with a wound of its own.
His corpse fell in the silence of the night.
She inhaled, swallowed her agitation, and dared to speak. “I would be lying with them by now if I were a target or if you wanted me dead.”
The wind offered no answer.
“Thank you,” she said. “Apologizing is pointless at the moment, so I can only hope this intervention means you’re willing to listen. There’s a lot to do, Providence to dismantle,” telling the truth lifted weights from her shoulders. “Actions always served us better than words, haven’t they? I hope mine are clear.” She didn’t raise her eyes, even as she caught a glimpse of a light, a reflection on a lens. “After this is through, I have a proposition of my own,... Partner.”
The title lingered in the air, over the clicking of her heels as she stepped past the deceased goons and to her hotel.
It lingered in his mind as he watched her leave, sniper rifle cradled in his arms, gaze glued to her figure as the options danced in his mind.
The agent stood on the ceiling tiles.
First, to clean up.