Time for murder

It'd been about an hour since Antonio and Sergio left.

Not gonna lie, I was getting kind of nervous. Shouldn't someone have been here, to check that I hadn't escaped? I poked my head out the door, looking both ways down the deserted hallway.

Spy mode activated.

I tip-toed out of my room, and almost immediately tripped over a loose floorboard. Luckily, I played it off by turning my fall into a well executed roll. Not a cool somersault, just me rolling along the hall like someone would roll down a hill.

I needed help.

I made it a few rolls before I stopped, realizing that such a fancy house probably shouldn't have a loose floorboard. I started rolling back until I got to the place I tripped, pushing myself up onto my knees to inspect it. Under closer observation it seemed to be a handle. I stood up and pulled on the wood, trying to figure out what it was hiding.

Come on, you can do it, lift with your legs.

It suddenly popped open, causing me to stumble back, and I righted myself, peering inside. The staircase was dark, looking like it led to a dusty basement, and I could see a faint light at the end of the wooden stairs.

I crept down, hearing muffled voices coming from somewhere below.

"What do you mean you don't speak Russian?"

"Well I don't see you trying either!"

It sounded like Antonio and Sergio yelling at each other.

"The only person I can think of that speaks fluent Russian is Tom, but he's all the way in California."

That reminds me, I still have no idea where I am.

"Well great. How are we supposed to get the information now?"

"I don't know, I was going to ask you!"

I sighed, before stepping into the room. It was small and made almost entirely of concrete, with a single florescent light bulb hanging from the ceiling. I was getting Hollywood vibes. A man sat in the middle of the room, tied down to a chair that had a pool of blood underneath.

I assumed it was his.

"What are you doing here?" Antonio seethed, turning his glare on me. He glares a lot.

Sergio was leaning against the wall in the corner, a knife held casually in his hand, red blood dripping off its point.

I screamed.

"Merda. This is why I wanted you to stay where you-"

(Translation: Shit)

"IS THAT A POPCORN CEILING?" I yelled at him, my eyes transfixed upwards.

He stared at me, as though I'd lost my mind, and maybe I had. But all I could think about was how hideous the ceiling was.

"Che dialovo. Yes, but-"

(Translation: What the hell)

"Dear Lord, I can't believe you two, I mean you're both filthy rich, but popcorn ceilings? Really? Mafia bosses, and you choose that as the interior for your torture chamber? No wonder that man is so scared, he's probably inhaling asbestos fibers!" I finished my little rant, glaring at both of them.

They stared at me looking very confused and slightly concerned. Sergio spoke first.

"So are you just going to ignore the bleeding guy?"

I turned to look at the man tied to the chair and walked over to kneel in front of him. He spat blood at me, his nose crooked as though it'd been broken several times.

"YA nikogda tebe nichego ne skazhu, ital'yanskaya svoloch'."

(Translation: I will never tell you anything, Italian bastard.)

I laughed at him, tilting his chin up with my fingers. "No ya ne ital'yanets, i ya khochu, chtoby vy mne skazali, na kogo vy rabotayete."

(Translation: But I am not Italian, and I want you to tell me who you work for.)

He blinked at me, looking surprised before scowling at me. "Predatel'."

(Translation: Traitor)

"YA slezhu za nimi v techeniye neskol'kikh mesyatsev, tak chto predstav'te moy shok, kogda ya uznayu, chto boss mertv. YA ne znayu, komu dokladyvat', tak chto luchshe skazhi mne seychas, prezhde chem ya ub'yu tebya sam." I spoke quietly to him, glancing over my shoulder in order to make the story more convincing.

(Translation: I've been spying on them for months, so imagine my shock when I find out Boss is dead. I don't know who to report back to, so you better tell me now before I kill you myself.)

The man glared at me, obviously thinking it over. "Khorosho. Yego zovut Aleksandr Volkov. Cherez dve nedeli on budet provodit' bal pod Parizhem, togda mozhesh' svyazat'sya s nim. Teper' pomogi mne vybrat'sya otsyuda."

(Translation: Fine. His name is Alexander Volkov. He's hosting a ball in two weeks near Paris, you can contact him then. Now help me get out of here.)

Well, that was easy.

"Thank you for your corporation," I smiled. "You guys can get rid of him now, I have the information."

I stood up, looking over at Antonio and Sergio, who were standing there, mouths agape. "Well you heard her," Antonio said, shaking himself out of a daze. "Finish him off."

The man started yelling, probably realizing I wasn't actually Russian. "Predatel'! Volkov tebya naydet. Ad-"

(Translation: You traitor! Volkov will find you. He'll-)

Sergio went over, quickly slitting the mans throat while still staring at me. "That was really hot."

I stuck my tongue out at him.

Antonio smacked the back of his head.

"Thanks, now can we get out of here, this lighting is giving me a headache."

..........

I was sitting at the kitchen island eating mac and cheese while Sergio sat next to me, bombarding me with questions, while Antonio paced.

"Where'd you learn to speak Russian? Last time I checked, that's really hard to do," Sergio asked, taking a spoon and reaching for my bowl. I swatted his hand away.

"Well isn't that the million dollar question."

"Are you actually a Russian spy?"

"No, my brother taught me."

"You have a brother?"

"What is this, twenty questions?"

Sergio was about to ask something else, when Antonio stopped pacing and leaned against the island across from me. "Let her breathe."

"Thank you," I sighed, shoving a bite of mac and cheese in my mouth. Sergio pouted, staring at my food.

I glared at him, pulling the bowl closer to me. "Go get your own if you're so hungry."

"But that takes so much work," He whined, scooting closer.

"You just killed a man, but you can't make your own food?"

"Maybe."

Antonio slammed his hand down on the counter, and we froze. "Can you two please shut up for a minute? Eva, what did the spy tell you?"

I finished chewing before answering. "He said that the new leader's name is Alexander Volkov, and he's hosting a ball in two weeks, near Paris."

He ran a hand down his face and resumed his pacing. "Did he tell you anything else?"

"Nope."

"Well, pick out a dress, because there's no way in hell we're missing that ball."

I picked at my remaining food, frowning. The name sounded slightly familiar, but I'm probably just imagining things. Again.

Alexander Volkov.

Alexander.

I shook my head, clearing my thoughts. Now I know I'm crazy, there are plenty of people named Alex.

Sighing, I took my bowl over to the sink.

This was going to be a long two weeks.

.............

Just so everyone knows, I don't speak Russian either. Why do I do this to myself.

Also I just baked homemade bread for the first time ever! It's in the oven right now.

Thanks for sticking with me for so long!

-SB