Clandestine | 18+

3~Igor Kuznetsov

Love Is a Bitch- Two Feet

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One can still be a devil and feel because they act like they don't.

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My phone rang. Taking it, I opened the call.

"Yes." I simply said, my vocal cords thankful I was giving them freedom.

"I'm here. Where are you?" She asked me. 

"The one that looks that looks just divorced. Look around. Blue eyes. Blonde hair. Shit foundation." I explained coldly.

A tall, about 5'7 woman headed my way. I saw that she took some quick steps. Blond hair about my length. Brown eyes. Long legs, full chest, not too big, and a normal waist.

"Uh, Clandestine?" She looked at me confused. Probably not how everyone imagined me.

"I'm masked. You really think I would show my face in public?" I pointed out her stupidity as we started walking.

"I'm deeply sorry. I was just curious." Her brown eyes narrowed, her long lashes causing shadows on her high cheeks. Her nose was straight, her lips weren't too big, but weren't too small.

Now I knew why the Italian's accepted her. She didn't look like a Russian.

"Where are you from?" I questioned her, but before she could respond I added in an icy tone "Choose wisely."

I saw her hesitate. She wasn't Russian.

"Italian raised in Russia." She told me the moment we passed the noisy road and found a bar.

She's Italian.

"Know any Italian?" I questioned her.

"I know perfect Italian. I fooled the Italians telling them this was my first time traveling and I needed a job." she explained.

Humming, I told the waiter to bring two vodkas.

The bar was simple. Wood tables with candles in the middle and matching material chairs. The walls were colored a deep red. Fake copies of classic paintings hung on the wall, like Van Ghogh's 'Starry Night', the infamous painting 'The Kiss' by Picasso and the well known 'Mona Lisa' from Da Vinci.

A chandelier hung low from the ceiling, its light faint.

"So tell me everything about yourself." I stared at her, careful not to change my voice because of outside daily life activity.

"So," she started and the vodkas came. Taking one in hand I nodded for her to continue. "as you already know, I was born in Russia. Both of my parents were Italian. For some reason that I don't know, they moved to Moscow. When I was five and my little sister three, they died. They told us in a car accident but as I grew up I started digging. I didn't tell my sister anything. I didn't want to trouble her.

Anyways, while I was digging, I found the name of the driver. Denis Agapov. Russian. I dressed up, went to the hospital and acted like his concerned wife that lost her phone, and apparently felt like her husband was in danger. Requesting a phone I called him.

I told him I would tell his wife he had an affair. Risky, but turned out true. He swore he knew nothing but I demanded a meeting with him that same day. At our meeting, he simply told me he couldn't tell me anything, only that he worked for Igor. He said he was the Russian mafia's head." Before she could continue I interrupted her.

"Wait, so let me get this straight. He gave you information like this?" I questioned her my voice neutral.

"Apparently his wife was on the process of divorcing him once. He was scared he would loose her. Anyways, I checked the name he gave me and I saw that he appeared as a business man. And you know where he lived? New York.