Hatred to love

Chapter 1

"Boss, we've got the man who tried to kidnap you."

"And? Why are you just now informing me, du Dummkopf!" I sigh heavily, these people can not seem to learn that as soon as they have information to tell me immediately.

The hallway was eerie even with the setting sun shining through the few windows. I don't know why I have not remodel this house all these years, possibly cause it held memories. The click of my heels echoed along the charcoal marbled floors and vessel grey walls. As I turned left for the fifth time and went down the third flight of stairs, the surroundings became sterile like a hospital.

"The fool's in there," Walter spoke in German for our ears only, then nodded for the two blond brutes, Adolf and Lucas, to open the door. I mentally laughed at the notion that I hired them, but I had no clue know.

Blinding light filled the room, but on the far wall, chained and bruised, a tanned man laid collapsed. The man lifted his head ever so slightly as I neared his withered frame.

"So you are a beauty as they say," the man grinned as his eyes racked me head to toe.

I was dressed for my role: black five-inch heels, faded skinny jeans that hugged my legs, a fitted black crop, my curly hair free and seductive, mascara, and maroon lipstick.

"You're not so shabby yourself," the twang of my voice lightly lilting the words. He had good traits, but his aura was off. "But dont flatter yourself, I'm not here to flirt," I squatted right in front of him so I could see him eye-to-eye. "Who sent you?"

"I'm not telling you no matter how fine your ass is," he talked in Italian, causing me to stop a moment to process the tongue which hasn't been heard in years.

"Well well, darlin'," I leaned closer to his ear and slurred my words in the southern drawl I was raised with. "I ain't dressed for your pleasure. So I'll ask again, who sent you?"

"Non sta succedendo, tesoro!"

I processed his blatant denial to once again not tell, writhing under my skin as my lips faintly grazed his jaw line, "I must admit that I am not used to being tested, so I'll ask politely once more. Who sent you?"

"None of your fucking business!"

A smack echoed within the enclosed room, a visual mark was left on his cheek, and my hand had slight tingles. "Oh, but it is! So, who," I pecked his left temple. "Sent," I lightly kissed his cheekbone. "You," I held my lips an inch away from his. His heated pants mixing with my minty fresh breath.

"I ain't tellin!"

I inched ever so slightly closer, eliminating the already limited space. "I kiss. You tell," I tilted my head grazing my lips to his.

"No!"

My lips pressed harder onto his as I whispered, "Who sent you?" The man leaned into my lips this time, but I immediately receded. "It's simple. Just tell me," I saw the battle behind his eyes.

"His name..."the man looked side to side as if in fear. "Is Pietro Elia Giuliani."

"See that wasn't so hard!" I feigned a smile, smashing my velvety lips to his chapped ones. Then with well practiced timing, I pulled out my Kimber .45 and shot him clean through his ear, preventing any deepening of the kiss.

"Victoria! Stop walking so fast!" Walter cried out from behind me, his heavy breathing normalizing as he approached. "Who sent him?"

"Giuliani," is all I said. "Why though?" I verbalized the first question to come to mind. What does Pietro Giuliani want from me? Why is he hunting me now? Has he finally moved to the revenge stage of grief?

"Victoria," Walter waved his plump right hand in front of my face. "Did he say anything else?" His already aged face wrinkled in worry.

"Walter, calm down and move your hand out of my face!"

"Yes, boss. Shall I send a squad out?" Walter steadied his stride to match mine, whispering in German.

"I don't want war! Let's act civil here!" I rammed through the mahogany French doors to my room. Rambling out the words in German, "It's getting late first of all, and secondly nothing drastic has happened."

"Yes, boss. Goodnight, boss."

Once I heard the door finally close, I began to pace about my room. As I glided past my maroon king-sized bed and to my bathroom, only one thought filled my mind. What did Pietro want now?

The steam from my shower enveloped the master bath. What did Pietro want? I continued to ask myself that as I undressed and eased myself into standing under the gushing water. What did Pietro want?

creEakk

What the heck? I tried to see through the fog. Nothing.

The all-glass shower door flung open and a tattooed hand grabbed me. "What the hell?"

"Hey. Shhhhh. Shush pretty lady," the man, who was now literally dragging me out of the shower in my birthday suit, snickered in my ear. "Boss man wants you alive. So shush!"

What did Vati teach you? What did Vati teach you? EGG. Eyes, gut, genitals.

"Ohhh fuck! Che cazzo di puttana!" He shriveled back, stumbling into the toilet with Italian profanity flying out of his mouth. "Guess the German boss trains his puttanas in more than one physical arena."

"I am the boss," and with that my right foot collided with his noggin, knocking him out cold. I quickly threw on matching grey sweatshirt and sweatpants. Who sent him? "Hugo! Get in here with Albert!"

"B-boss?" Hugo, the head guard, stuttered as he steadied his breathing, and switched to languages in case of listening ears. "What's up?"

"Theres a man in my restroom who attempted to kidnap me. Take him down for questioning," I pointed in the direction of my bath, yelling out in German. "And how the hell did he get in here!"

"Yes, boss! Ask Walter boss!" Hugo nodded in respect before striding into my bathroom.

"Walter!"

"Yes, Victoria?" Walter appeared in my doorway almost instantly.

"Wie zum Teufel ist jemand in mein Zimmer gekommen?"

"Uh, I do not know, Boss. I'll have someone check the guards in the back."

"Take him down to interrogation, and don't make me have to do it!"

"Ja Chef!" And with that Walter strode down the hallway, Hugo and Albert carried out the unconscious man, and I went down the stairs into my office.