Black Widow | 18+

3 | Meetings

Artemisia 

Anton Zhelkin was a man who I respected in some ways. 

Some was the key word in that statement 

We'd met last year at a gala. I'd never met someone so calculated and perceptive before, and it came to me when he'd told me that it was clear I was only there to carry out a job. 

A job. He'd said it with a smirk on his face, and for the first time ever I'd let the ball drop and stared at a very rare suspecting person with shock and confusion. 

I never looked like I 'was there to do a job'. I always looked part-of. 

That was how Anton came to know who I was. 

His assumption meant I, for the first time ever, had to entertain a truthful statement and get to the bottom of how he knew. 

I wasn't working for him, but I knew a lot about the man considering I'd been hired for a multitude of hits that he wanted to take place. 

There was a mutual respect there, a look in his eyes that said 'I'm not getting in your way, so long as you don't get in mine.'

So, we may have formed a partnership of some sorts. 

If someone wanted Anton dead, I told him, and he killed that someone first. If someone too important wanted him dead, we came up with a strategic excuse of their subsequent murder that the two of us laboured over in his office. 

And then we began to labour over other things. 

Sleeping with Anton in some ways was the biggest mistake I ever made, because I never expected it to start becoming about more than just sex. It started to become about possession and loyalty, and when I was under the 6'4 tattooed-Russian I found myself totally folding. 

Much like I was now. 

"You'll tell me everything," he rasped against my midriff before allowing his kisses to trail up to my lips. I could only hum in response, out of anticipation and impatience. "Words, Arté," 

"Yes," I breathed, settling my hands on his bare shoulders as he tilted his head up to look at me, he had brown eyes that were so dark they looked black, and I got lost in them every single time. 

I knew that look all too well however, it was one that said 'I've got you right where I want you, but I won't hurt you either.' 

That look was fucking annoying. 

Anton hummed in response before latching his lips onto my neck, tips of his fingers trailing my naked body. I knew what he was doing, he wanted to wind me up for round three, and he would then deny me. Yet here I was, playing into his game. 

And the worst part was, I had no idea why I kept coming back. Maybe because he got me to a point of leaving, always wanting more. 

But my mind dragged itself back to that dinner, to the fact that he knew about my past with the Cosa Nostra even if he never said it, and to the fact that he had barely even mentioned it since. It made me angry and defensive, he knew too much. 

So, within seconds I rolled out from underneath him and stood from the bed. Anton let out a dry chuckle as he reached for the pack of cigarettes on the nightstand. 

"What's gotten into you?" he mused before I heard the flick of the lighter. 

"Nothing," I sighed airily as I pulled on my underwear and walked to my clothes.