One Week of Love

Something about the room sent shivers down my spine, an unfamiliarity that unsettled me. It was a stark departure from the familiar confines of my residence in the Diamond District, where Mr. Ryuu and I resided. The coldness gnawed at my skin, a chilling reminder of a different environment. And the scent, roses, a fragrance that assaulted my senses. I despised roses. Adding to the sensory assault as the overwhelming aroma of a middle school boy's excessive cologne, suffocating the air like a cloud. Instantly, a foreboding instinct took hold of me, hinting at my location, but I couldn't be entirely certain. The sedative's affects still lingered, making me nauseous, but I fought against the urge to vomit. The presence of Angelo was palpable, coursing through my bones, yet the room's darkness concealed even the faintest glimpse of my surroundings. Could it be so pitch black that I couldn't see my hand inches away from my face?

As the sedative's lingering effects persisted, my consciousness remained in a peculiar state. I was aware, but still immersed in a hazy slumber, my closed eyes obscuring my surroundings. Gradually, the weight of my eyelids lightened, allowing me to pry them open and take in the dimly lit room. The only sources of illumination were two lamps, casting an amber glow that barely illuminated the space. It became evident that I was in a bedroom, seated in a chair positioned at the foot of a neatly made king-sized bed. Flanking the bed were nightstands, each adorned with a lamp, providing the sole semblance of light. A dresser sat beneath a curtained window, showcasing a well-cared-for plant resting atop it. Another dresser stood before me, its surface occupied by a television. This was someone's house, and I knew all too well whose it was. Standing before me was his imposing figure, effortlessly hurling sharp darts over my head, each piercing the wall with precision.

The true problem lay not in the mere fact of being in Angelo's house but rather in the restraints that confined me. The leather bindings wrapped tightly around the back, arms, and legs of the chair, constricting my every limb, effectively rendering me immobile. Straining against the restraints, I fought, attempting to loosen their grip, but my efforts were in vain. The bindings held fast, their grip secure. Russo had undoubtedly mastered the art of restraint, leaving me seething with anger. Glaring at him, I continued my futile struggle, kicking and wriggling in a desperate bid for freedom, only to be met with his infuriating smile, a cruel mockery.

Undeterred by my presence, Russo brushed past me, forcefully extracting the darts from the wall. Rather than launching them once more, however, he curiously gathered them in his palm, holding them in an idle grip. To my astonishment, he opted not to resume his dart-throwing spree. Instead, he casually deposited the assortment of darts on the dresser, leaning against it with crossed arms. His towering figure loomed over me, a stark contrast to my restrained position in the diminutive chair, clearly intended for a child.

With an exasperated sigh, Russo's chest heaved as a mixture of frustration and, dare I say, a hint of pride washed over him. His once smirking lips contorted into a distinct frown, foreshadowing the forthcoming verbal onslaught. I could sense his annoyance seething beneath the surface, although the exact reason for his ire remained elusive. There were countless potential triggers for his anger, given my extensive list of transgressions. However, there was one specific offense that had landed me in this predicament; my audacious attempt on his life and that of his loyal bodyguard.

"Listen up, Camila. While it may not be a cause of celebration for you, I'm relieved that Luca managed to survive your attempt to drown him just a couple of hours ago. The man can't swim, and you thought you could dispose of him that easily? Back off, you reckless fool. But let's cut to the chase and address the real issue at hand. What the hell is wrong with you, Camila? I get it, you play the vigilante, killing to protect others. But that's not why we're here, and that's not why you're currently bound and helpless. Did your precious master put you up to this? Or are you blindly following his grudge against me, even though you know nothing about who I truly am? I demand answers, Camila. Tell me exactly why you attempted to end my life on that damn dock."

"You really underestimate the situation, Russo. You think you can easily extract answers from someone who despises you even more than her own master does? You're mistaken. Killing you would indeed be a pleasure, but unfortunately, I failed in that attempt. Sure, Mr. Ryuu cares about me bringing him your lifeless body, but if you ask me, I'd much prefer to deliver your corpse personally. Yes, my master commanded me to kill you, and that's the only answer you're going to get. But let me assure you that I would have eventually marked you as one of my targets regardless. And don't assume that I know nothing about you. I've studied you, familiarizing myself with every scar that adorns your body. Shall I provide you with a more detailed account?"

"No, I suggest you refrain from attempting to recount my life story. Camila, it has come to my attention that you possess a remarkable talent for delving into every single topic I bring up. However, I find it rather intriguing that when it comes to Luca, you seem to exhibit an astonishing lack of interest. Does Luca hold such insignificance in your eyes that you can't be bothered to even utter his name? I must say, it impresses me, for it is a rare occurrence to witness you backing away from a matter of such importance."

"Wow, Russo, how thoughtful of you to remind me! I must apologize for any confusion caused by my momentary lapse. However, I kindly suggest you exercise patience as my mind seems to be playing tricks on me. Now, let's get back on track, shall we?" I inhaled deeply, savoring the oxygen as it filled my lungs. I settled back into the chair and the room fell silent. I braced myself, mentally prepared for the words that were about to escape my lips. "Luca, was it? Well, here's my answer: No, Luca holds absolutely no significance in my life. But, since you seem so keen on the topic, I'll indulge you. To be perfectly frank, I derived immense satisfaction from orchestrating Luca's demise, watching him struggle in vain as he fought for his very existence. Does that satisfy your curiosity, or do you require further details? Not that it matters, I'm moving on regardless."

His eyes rolled dismissively, a display of his utter disdain. Slowly, he uncrossed his arms, leaning casually against the dresser, and he exuded an air of calculated ease. The expression etched on his face spoke volumes, a silent testament to the violent urges swirling within him. Every fiber of his being yearned to seize the darts that taunted him from the dresser and unleash his fury upon me. Yet, with an iron grip on his volatile impulses, he restrained himself.

"Now, Russo, allow me to wish you a delightful Halloween, or should I say, the commemoration of the day our parents met their demise? Putting that matter aside, I can sense a certain desire emanating from you. It amuses me how you still have desires while I couldn't care less about you and would happily end your life. So, spit it out. What is it that you desire?"

"Firstly, let me make this crystal clear: if you dare to utter a word about my parents again, you'll find yourself in a world of trouble. So, shut your mouth and keep their names far from your lips. Secondly, I find it rather irritating when you address me as Russo. I prefer Angelo, plain and simple. Now, onto the matter at hand. Yes, I do want something from you, but therein lies the problem; we have divergent desires. Camila, let me approach this delicately. I understand that you have a target on my back and that your intention is to eliminate me. However, my perspective on you differs from your perspective on me. I have observed you on the news, witnessed your presence in public, and recognized the true extent of your greatness as an assassin. Over time, I must admit, I have developed an interest in the immense power you possess. As challenging as it may be, particularly for me, I want you to fall in love with me."

In that moment, the mere thought of what he said made me nauseous, a sickening taste rising in my mouth. Suppressing the urge to vomit, I swallowed it down, pushing through my revulsion. It was a perverse inclination, but I couldn't help but feel compelled to hear him out. A twisted curiosity arose within me, urging me to listen to his reasoning, to attempt to grasp his perspective, even though every fiber of my being resisted it. The truth was, he and I were polar opposites; two distinct beings with conflicting beliefs and values. Yet, despite my reluctance, a part of me yearned to know what he had to say.

"Firstly, let's address the most crucial matter. Disgusting. You're well aware that we're utterly incompatible, that we despise each other to the core, and that my sole desire is to end your existence. So, when I say this, understand that you and I are never going to happen. There's no chance, no possibility of me ever falling in love with you, and your futile attempts to make it so won't change a thing. Secondly, fine, let's establish some personal boundaries. I won't bring up your parents as long as you refrain from mentioning mine. Consider it a deal. Thirdly, it's a minor point, but I'm growing weary of Russo as well. If it's so damn important to you that I don't use your last name and instead refer to you by your first name, Angelo it is."

"Thank the heavens, because your use of Russo was starting to grate on my nerves like a hen's incessant clucking. As for the topic of personal boundaries, I'm in agreement with you. However, Camila, there's something else I need to address. While you may harbor an intense hatred for me, I can honestly say that I've never felt the same towards you. Look, I understand your desire to end my life, and I'm well aware of our glaring differences. But why does that have to be a barrier? I firmly believe that we can find a way to make it work, despite the complexities you're creating by being solely focused on yourself and neglecting the thoughts and needs of others around you!" He paused, dragging out the silence, as if he believed his contemplative act would sway me. Stroking the stubble on his chin with his fingers, he attempted to appear thoughtful, as if that alone could convince me. His intense gaze locked onto mine, practically begging me to grant him the opportunity he so desperately desired, all conveyed through the pathetic expression in his eyes.

"Listen carefully, Camila. I implore you, set aside our differences, if only for a fleeting moment, and give this a chance. You persistently cling to your hatred, refusing to acknowledge the potential that lies within us. I firmly believe that we can forge a connection, but you choose to blind yourself to the person I can become. It's not a malicious individual you're rejecting, but someone who craves love and acceptance."

"Absolutely not, Angelo. We are destined to fail, and the notion of me falling in love with you is utterly repulsive. However, if I were to offer you the assurance that I won't beat your ass, would you be so kind as to release me from this chair? Only then, under those specific circumstances, will I consider striking a deal with you."

"What the hell are you insinuating with this talk of 'making a deal'? Are you suggesting that your decision not to physically assault me is somehow a bargaining chip? Explain yourself, Camila. What is the supposed deal you have in mind?"

"Angelo, here's a proposition for you: you have precisely one week to accomplish the impossible task of making me fall in love with you. If, by the end of that time, my hatred for you intensifies rather than any inkling of affection, then I shall proceed with my original objective: killing you."

"I'm well aware of the depths of your character, and I have no illusions about your ability to honor your end of the bargain. Even if, by some twisted turn of events, I were to succeed in making you fall in love with me within this week, I know that it would only lead to heartbreak in the end. Your desire to kill me outweighs any semblance of genuine care or affection that might arise."

He let out a deep sigh, a pitiful sound accompanied by the revolting noise of him inhaling his own mucus back into his nose. Squatting down in front of me, he clumsily fumbled with the restraints, loosening them before finally discarding them carelessly to the side. As my legs were freed, he straightened up, his gaze meeting mine with a sense of disappointment evident in his eyes. Reluctantly, he proceeded to untie my wrists and torso, preparing himself for the inevitable retaliation that was about to descend upon him.

With an explosive burst of energy, I leapt from the chair, my hand swiftly closing around his throat as I forcefully slammed him against the wall. He inhaled sharply, as if trying to regain composure after the shock that surged through his body. His towering frame loomed over me, but it mattered little, for I had him firmly pinned against the surface. Frustration twisted his features, causing his hands to curl into tight fists, burying them deep within his pockets. His mouth opened, a feeble attempt to form words, but uncertainty silenced him, his lips squeezing shut in a display of his utter cluelessness.

"Seems like mommy forgot to teach you a crucial lesson, didn't she? Never put your trust in the hands of cold-blooded killer."

After a series of deep breaths, he mustered the courage to open his mouth once more. Surprisingly, words formed within his mind, and he managed to find something to say to me.

"Camila, listen to me, even for a moment. I am well aware of the intense hatred you harbor towards me, your desire to keep your distance and your penchant for breaking promises. However, irrespective of your perception of me, I genuinely want to play a role in your life that extends beyond constantly having a target on my back. Something about this encounter ignited a spark within me, urging me to take a chance, to seize the opportunity. We may be relative strangers, but I want to change that. So, I implore you, give me a single chance, just one, and if it doesn't work out, so be it. But if this is genuinely what you desire, if you truly intend to end my life, I want you to know that I never removed the knife from your pocket."

I extracted the knife from my pocket, pressing its cold, gleaming blade against his flesh, right where his heart beat, never releasing my grip on his throat. Suffocating him would have been a valid option, but that wasn't my intention. With precision, I positioned the tip of the knife just above his heart, and he closed his eyes, bracing himself for the imminent strike. An inexplicable flicker ignited within me as I caught sight of his face. No tears welled in his eyes, yet his expression exuded an overwhelming sense of vulnerability, as if he teetered on the brink of tears. He clamped down on his bottom lip with such ferocity that blood trickled from the wound, mingling with saliva that dribbled from his mouth, cascading down his chin. He accepted his fate, but that look etched upon his face, for the first time in ages, halted my murderous resolve. In that moment, I found myself devoid of the courage to take a life, especially his life.

With a calculated slash that wouldn't end his life, I dragged the knife across his chest, leaving behind a searing wound. Swiftly, I returned the knife to its sheath, satisfied with the pain I had inflicted. He let out a guttural groan, doubling over in agony. The chest was a particularly excruciating spot to be slashed. Gradually, he slid down the wall, his hand desperately clutching the gushing wound, his face contorted with anguish. His body finally met the hard ground, his butt hitting the floor. As I turned to make my exit, his head turned towards me, an amalgamation of shock, disappointment, and a hint of anger etched upon his features. My hand curled around the door handle, ready to depart, but suddenly, I halted in my tracks, compelled to face Angelo, who couldn't tear his eyes away from me.

"I wasn't joking when I stated that I would grant you a week to make me fall in love with you." An exasperated groan escaped my lips as frustration coursed through my veins. I averted my gaze, deliberately avoiding his penetrating eyes, and instead directed my attention downwards, fixating on the sight of my own feet. Thoughts churned in my mind, searching for the right words to complete the sentence that lingered unfinished.

"However, there's one condition you must adhere to. If you fail in this endeavor, I will not hesitate to end your life. Understand, Angelo, that I comprehend the implications of your words. You believe that there's a possibility for this to work, and you'll exert every ounce of effort to make it happen. Yet, I disagree with your assessment. Nonetheless, I'm willing to provide you with an opportunity, provided you accept my terms. As for the wound, it will cause considerable pain but it won't prove fatal. Attend to it, dress the wound, and it should heal in due time."

With an assertive and aggressive motion, I swung the door open, exerting enough force to potentially damage a hinge or two. Just as I prepared to stride out of the room, my escape seemingly imminent, Luca materialized before me. The expression etched across his face revealed his profound discontent, and I required no further explanation to understand the reason behind his displeasure. Arms crossed and eyes ablaze, he advanced towards me with purposeful, short steps, his intention clearly to impede my departure. Angelo, in a venomous hiss, interjected, asserting his presence and halting Luca's advance.

"Don't you dare lay a finger on her."