chaotic good

bella ciao

/based loosely on characters from the Netflix show La Casa De Papel AKA Money Heist/

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The woman approached the exhibit. She has an air of determination about her as her eyes darted from the left corner of the glass display case down to the edge of the case. Her eyes lit up at the sight as she clearly identified the material. Her fingers traced down the smooth glass as she allowed one memory, one fragment of sentiment to slip through her logic driven brain.

The same woman, 5 years younger, with the wavy brown hair approached the exhibit cautiously. The roll of bank notes looked back at her out of their glass prison. Her eyes were blind to the swell of tourists flowing in and out of the museum in waves. Her senses focused on the familiar Italian song that was playing over the speakers. There was no coincidence there. Her lips spread into a smile as she quietly sang along to the music

E se io muoio da partigiano

o bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao, ciao, ciao,

e se io muoio da partigiano

tu mi devi seppellir

Then, she felt the cold unfeeling muzzle of a revolver press into the base of her neck. The girl fingered her own gun, skillfully hidden in the folds of her jacket, a 9mm Ruger. The revolver temporarily left her C3 spinous process as a round was fired up into the ceiling, the empty shells raining down like acid rain. She could smell the thick burning heat of the gun in the midst of the anguished screaming of panicked tourists, trampling over each other to get to the exits. The gun was roughly thrust at the back of her skull once more as the song slowed.

...e seppellire lassù in montagna...

The voice that rang out through the chaos cut through her thoughts like scissors through paper.

'Ladies and gentlemen, please remain calm'

No, it couldn't be. Her hand tightened around her own revolver and she grit her teeth as the heat from the man's revolver burnt into her skin. The young lady took a deep breath; she couldn't afford to show weakness. The smell of dominance, dark oud wood and elegant citrus, circled her as the stranger moved closer to her. She gently cursed as she recognized the cologne. Yves Saint Laurent M7, 2002. She felt his breath as he whispered in her ear.

"Well bella ciao to you too, Istanbul"

In one swift motion, Istanbul pulled her gun out from her pocket and had the muzzle pointed straight at the man. She slowly turned around to face him.

... o bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao, ciao, ciao...

"Long time no see, Andrés"

Andrés lowered his gun. A Ruger Super Blackhawk, she noted. He held up both in hands and carefully put the gun down and kicked it over to her. She briefly glanced at it but she did not lower her own gun. He gave a look of mock offence and chuckled lightly.

"Should have known that it was a risk to see you, mi amor"

"El que no arriesga, no gana"

The sound of screaming had decreased and now in the far distance, police sirens could be heard.

"You're so cold, my love"

...sotto l'ombra di un bel fior...

And just for a moment, Istanbul saw a flash of vulnerability in his eyes. She forced herself to ignore it. This man was an egocentric psychopath, he had a talent for manipulation.

"Don't bullcrap me, Andrés. Why are you here?"

He started to walk closer. She clicked her gun. Andrés was unfazed by this as he continued closer. Even though she had an advantage, she felt like prey. He was like a shark in a swimming pool and she was a lone fish. Her back hit the wooden pedestal.
"I'm warning you"

Istanbul's hands were shaking and her voice trembled. Her Ruger came into contact with his chest.

"Shoot me then"

... del partigiano morto per la liberá

The song had stopped. His eyes bore into hers, searching if she had the courage. But known to both of them, she could never shoot him. She held his gaze but she knew that she couldn't. Satisfied with the result he had intended, Andrés chuckled darkly and gently eased the gun from her hand. Istanbul closed her eyes and prepared for the worst.

The sound of breaking glass and the short sharp bang startled her as she jerked her eyes open. Andrés, never moving from his position directly in front of her, reached to pick up the money. Istanbul stood frozen, glued to the spot as the full force of the cologne filled her nostrils. The museum alarms burst into life.

He bent down to pick up his own gun, his eyes never leaving hers. Then, he leaned in and whispered

"Bella ciao, Istanbul"

And he turned around, the walked down the steps of the museum without saying another word. Istanbul was left only with a shattered display glass, the smell of cologne and the wailing of alarms.

Today, a year later, she found herself whispering three words like they were a promise. A goodbye.

"Bella ciao, Andrés"

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photo credits : Getty Images