[CHARACTER CREATION] ✦✦ Make your mobster character here ✦✦

A seemingly endless line of tuxedo-wearing men and gown-adorned women walked down the velvet carpet and into a certain manor, one built for and only for the elite. "House of Gold", as they call it - hallways, curtains, and even tables lined with shimmer and glitter for but the most fitting of guests. Multimillionaire businessmen, superstars, and a mix of both have been invited to and are here for the "Autumn's Dance", a ball to be held in the finest location in all of Europe.
Natasha exited her '72 antique model, and made her way to the red carpet leading to building's lobby. She dropped her keys on the valet-in-waiting, giving the clean-shaven man a word of advice.
"Don't scratch it," she said, before being escorted through the entrance. The man nodded, and proceeded to take over the car's driver seat.
She was then greeted by another valet, holding a record book flipped open. "Your pass, madam?"
"Here you go," replied Natasha as she brought out a black card with golden edges and handed it to the man wearing a red vest.
"And here, ma'am. Name and signature."
Natasha wrote down the name "Rusalka Smirnov" and quite the elegant signature, one that is most fitting for someone (pretending to be a member) of the high society. The valet then stepped out of the carpet, and the doors opened.
Security guards were stationed at every nook and cranny of the manor, making her job harder than it already was. With a sigh, Natasha discretely flicked a small lever, disguised as a zipper, on her satchel, resulting in static being emitted from small speakers planted inside her ears.
//Cough if you get a clear copy of my voice, Rusalka.//
Natasha coughed, as if clearing her throat.
//Noted. Your target is Giovanni Manfredo, head of the Ascension Enterprises. You are also tasked to eliminate secondary targets, given the opportunity. I take it you already knew this, yes?//
Silence followed, coming from Natasha's end.
//Follow the plan, Rusalka. We have the whole thing set up. All you need to do is to pick up and pick off. Are we in the clear?//
"Fine evening," Natasha replied, looking at one of the numerous guards. The man in the black tuxedo then bowed his head in gentlemanly respect.
//Very well. Weave the web.//
The transmission was cut off, signaling the end of the briefing and the beginning of what was to become the birth of the most notorious pair in modern times.
Natasha went to the bar counter situated near the entrance, her long blue gown following her steps. She took a seat at one of the seven bar stools and asked for a glass of cherry amaretto.
"Comin' right up," replied the bartender, quickly seizing, squeezing, and shaking all the ingredients, whipping up a cherry amaretto within a minute's time. The tender then prettied up the drink, adding a lemon garnish and a few other aesthetics to the mix, before placing the glass in front of the lady.
"Thank you," Natasha replied, winking at the man, before standing up and leaving the minibar, placing a few thousand-pound bills in the counter as tip.

"Now then, first door down this corridor. There we go," she silently uttered. She then went inside the ladies' washroom and went inside the third cubicle. A change of clothes greeted her entrance, and hidden within the folds of cloth was her first weapon.
"A fresh set of perfume-smelling clothes, and a push dagger. Not bad, though I'd prefer something a little flashier," she commented before changing attire, ditching her long gown and satchel for a bartender's get-up. Natasha then went back to the bar, crossing paths with the male bartender from earlier. "Phase one complete," they said to each other, as the man handed the tips over to her and left for the washrooms.

"Sorry for the wait," the new bartender - Natasha - said, preparing a few glasses and metal shakers. "What will your drinks be?"
"Just some whiskey, and a Caesar's for the lady in red over there," a middle-aged businessman replied, pointing his finger at a woman wearing a short crimson dress not far away from the bar counter.
With a few quick motions, Natasha seized, squeezed, and shook all the components for the two drinks with as much finesse as a world-class bartender. After all, efficiency is Natasha's trademark.
"Here you go, sir. A glass of whiskey," she said, raising her free hand slightly. A young man serving as a waiter approached her, silver tray in hand.
"To the lady in red," she whispered to the waiter's ear, motioning her hand to the direction of the woman of choice. "Say that the man sends his regards."
The clean-shaven man nodded, and made his way to the guests. Natasha, however, was restless.
That man... He was the valet, wasn't he, she thought to herself, keeping note of the valet-turned-waiter's facial features. Her focus was removed, however, by a man in a white tuxedo who sat in the bar stool in front of her.

"A glass of amaretto, please. A sweet one," the man said, keeping his gaze focused on one of the many women entering the lobby. The word 'amaretto' came out of his mouth with strong and stern 'o's and 'e's, and rolling 'r's.
"Ah, comin' right up."
Natasha quickly fixed her sleeve and went to work, grabbing the ingredients and crafting a fine glass of cherry amaretto. She then impaled a (unusually) large olive on a toothpick, and garnished the drink with a slice of lemon and a small umbrella, reminiscent of summer's heat.
"Here you go. Glass is a bit full, but it will do," said Natasha, handing the glass over to the man. The man, still looking at the female guests-of-honor, reached for the glass and went for a quick sip.
The heavy olive, however, fell out of the glass and landed square on the guest's pure white tux, staining the jacket with cherry red.
"Bloody hell!” exclaimed the man, placing the glass back to the countertop and reaching for his handkerchief. "I don't even have a change of clothes," he said with an expression of shock and disbelief.
"I'm so sorry, sir," replied Natasha, bringing her face close to the man. He looked up and stared at her bottle-green eyes, to which Natasha responded with a soft gaze of her own. He was lost to her eyes. Natasha made one swift motion and grabbed the man's pen which rested snugly in his breast pocket.
"Ah, ne-nevermind, nevermind. It was my fault," replied the man after a few seconds of silence. "The stain's minor. Don't worry about that. I'll just finish this hand-crafted amaretto of yours, if I may."
"If you say so, then please, go on," said Natasha as she reached for the wineglass's stem, purposefully not letting the man see her other arm. The man reached for the glass as well, causing him to accidentally and carelessly touch her soft fingers. He immediately retracted his hand, and Natasha gave the glass to him.
Two pairs of men and women then made their way to the stairside bar and ordered drinks of their own. The seductive mood was destroyed, so to speak.
The bartender from earlier then returned and whispered a few words to the girl. "We've set it up. I'll be taking these," he said as he reached for the thin and transparent wires arched over her ear. He pulled on these wires, removing the small speaker planted inside.
She looked at the man in the white tuxedo as she walked away. He was clearly jealous of the bartender, who got so close to her. The two made eye contact, and she winked her vividly-tinted green eyes. The man materialized a smile of sensual glee.
"Two martinis, a bourbon, and mild champagne," she said as she left the bar. The bartender replied with a stern nod as he smiled.

Natasha quickly walked into the ladies' washroom and started changing attire once more. She removed her contact lenses and replaced the bottle green tint with those of a hazel tinge. Her waist-length auburn wig was also replaced with a wig of slightly shorter length and dirty blonde color. She then tied it up neatly with a few hairpins, resulting in the hair dressed up as fitting perfectly in a formal event.
Her clothes were undone, and in its place, Natasha wore a black ladies' tuxedo and pants she removed from the fresh corpse lying inside the third cubicle. She clipped an identification card to its breast pocket, bearing the name "Alexandra Worth" and the title "Head of Security". She then fastened a pistol holster and a taser in her belt before locking the silenced sidearm in place. In front of the mirror, she cleared her throat and stood firmly.
"Alex Worth, head of security," she said repeatedly as she perfected her false British accent. After eight trials, she put on the intercom snugly on her ear, badge in her pocket, left the scene and made her way to the lobby's west wing.

The doors of the west wing stood wide, each side guarded by a man in black, further justifying the fact that security for an entire gathering of silver spoons is no joke. No easy access. And yet, Natasha, a hitman, walks bearing the false identity of "security head".
"Any suspicious identities so far?" Natasha asked one of the guards, giving the man her taser.
"None have been reported yet, Chief Worth," the guard replied. "Two hundred and thirty one guests are present as well."
"Double-check that data. There seems to be more than two hundred and fifty here. No room for uninvited guests," replied Natasha, before turning towards the other guard. "And you, scan the perimeter for me. First floor up."
The other guard answered with a "Yes, yes" like some easygoing fellow.
"I need a reply."
"On it."
"Good."
Natasha then proceeded to move to the ballroom, the prime attraction of the manor.

The ballroom could be described as "set in glittering gold" - claret floor carpet giving surface to the gold-and-marble tables, the marble chairs, and the gold tableware. A large kitchen could be accessed by entering a large hardwood door, leading to the west wing's far end. Beside it is a smaller, though still large archway which grants people access to a spacious unisex bathroom of wood, marble, jade, and stone - once again fitting for only the richest.
"Alex Worth, head of security," said Natasha - Alex - to the head waiter as she presented her badge. "I'll need you for a minute."
"Marcus Hernandez, standing in currently as head waiter. As you wish, Madame," the Hispanic replied as he followed Alex. The two went to the washroom and proceeded to talk.
"Are there any problems with the security?" asked Alex, locking the bathroom door.
"Yes, one of the fellows seem to be out-of-place, if not downright unusual. We've been receiving quite the amount of questions and complaints regarding him."
"Aside from him, are there any problems?"
"Not much. Some of the floor and kitchen crew have been missing though. I'd like to know where they currently are," the head of the floor crew replied.
"Give me a minute then."
She then turned around and spoke to the small mic attached to her tuxedo collar.
"Worth here, head of security."
//Can hear you perfectly, miss.//
"I'd like to request you guys to do a sweep through the ground floor for any kitchen or floor crew. Some are missing."
Natasha received a moment of silence, followed by nothing but static.
//Didn't quite catch that. Please repeat.//
Putting her hands on her waist, Natasha repeated the request.
//Got it. Mobilizing twelve men.//
Alex then turned around and looked the head waiter in the eye. "You heard them. They'll be finding your men soon enough."
"Ah, such good news. I'll be-
Blood trickled down the marble-lined floor as the head waiter struggled to breathe with the presence of a gaping wound in his chest.
Alex wiped her push dagger clean of the red fluid with the man's necktie before putting it back in her belt. The man fell down as soon as the tie was let go.
"Never trust a stranger, Marcus Hernandez. But then again, I'm currently not a stranger, am I?"
"You're not, I believe," a voice from behind Natasha said, opening the door with a spare key, a huge briefcase in hand. "At least to those in your web."
"So? Have you taken care of the security cameras yet?"
"Job's done. All I did was send sparks flying to the hard drives, and the system fries itself. This is Marcus Hernandez, right-hand man of the primary target, right?" he replied, giving the taser back to Natasha. "I suppose you've met the man as well?"
"Yes. I stained his clothes back at the bar. Awkward with women, it seems."
"Some speed seduction should do the trick then," the man said while fitting the waiter's corpse inside the briefcase. He then sprayed the bloodstains with a canister of liquid, causing the blood to boil and evaporate, leaving no visible trace behind. "You are seducing him, right?"
"Yes, I am. He fell in love with my green eyes."
"Sucker for green eyes then? I'm a blue eyes lover myself. And by the way, you could drop the accent."
"Yeah, yeah. Enough with the chitchat. Everything set up?"
"We've got one man by the fuse, one near the escape vehicle, among others. And here's the final mask you'll be sporting."
The man then plucked two keys from the ring. One was labeled "Dressing Room" and had a wooden keyhead, while the other was a plain black key. "You know what to do", he said as he handed the keys over.
"Thanks, Sinclair."
With these words, Natasha opened the doors, and the two exited the room.

Natasha removed her wig and contact lenses, exposing her true face - shoulder-length pale blonde hair, paired with cold pale blue eyes. She then wore a simple long-cut gown, painted in iridescent blue.
Sinclair carried Alex Worth's clothes and the two parted ways.
The clicks of Natasha's remarkably high-heeled sandals were muffled by the House of Gold's carpet, which covered the entirety of the manor. She made her way back to the dining hall, where most of the few hundred guests stood.

"Good evening," she said repeatedly, glancing back and forth at the many renowned guests, men and women alike. They replied with either a simple "good evening to you," a curt bow or nod, or an offer to join them in their tables. Being a man (a woman, actually) of quick but careful action, Natasha declined all the offers for drinks.
"The cherry stain should still be in his clothes..."

She climbed up the grand staircase which served as the dining hall's in an effort to get a bird's-eye view of the hall, but her eyes met those of a few bachelors. The men all looked alike, the only difference visible lying on their hairstyles.
"Good evening, fine miss," the first of the three men said. "You seem to be alone."
"Are you perhaps lost, Madame?" said the second bachelor.
"Shall we guide you to your destination? We know our way around these parts. No, actually, more like the whole floor plan," continued the third man.
"Ah, I could certainly use some help," Natasha replied. Normally, she would just brush off hot-blooded young men looking for someone to hit on, but considering the valuable piece of information the men held, they'd work well as pawns. "Well then, how about you join me for a quick chat?" she added, sporting her seductive gaze and coquettish smile. Natasha gestured, and the three men followed the lady and descended the stairs.
"Garcon, a table, please," she ordered, and the waiter led them to a table of four near the velvet-lined walls.
"Take a seat, milady," the first of the man quickly said, pulling back a seat as if mimicking common fairytale gentleman manners. Natasha complied, and sat down. The three pawns also took their seats shortly afterward.
"So then, what are your names?" she asked, looking at the men.
"I'm Anton Dominico, and these men are Arvin and-
The man sitting in front of Natasha quickly stopped Anton's words, imparting some words of his own. "I am Arman Dominico. Pleasure to meet you."
Arman stretched his arm and offered a handshake. Natasha smiled at the man, accepting the offer. The man gently pulled her hand and kissed its back, causing Natasha to express intrigue towards the trio.
"Why, you certainly are advantageous," she said. "Triplets, I assume?"
"We are indeed," Arman laughed. "And yes, we are triplets. Born under a lucky star, I believe."
After a brief pause, Arman continued. "And you, miss? What's your name?"
"Natasha Elizaveta Irina Smirnov-Milyukov," she answered in her addictively beautiful Russian accent. "Quite a long name, right? I prefer to be called Natasha though," she added with a smile.
"My, that's a long name. Befitting for you though, for some reason," said Anton. The other two boys expressed their agreement.
"So, Lady Natasha, what-
"Please," Natasha cut off the boy's sentence. "Drop the 'lady'."
"A-Ah, very well."
Arvin cleared his throat and started again on his sentence. "So... Natasha... What is it that you need our help with?"
"I'm finding someone I met earlier. He's a man, standing at a little less than six feet tall, and wears a white tuxedo with a red stain. It was a cherry drink's stain, if I remember correctly."
"And who is this man? Do you like him?" the three men expressed their interest.
"Just a man. I prefer younger men after all," Natasha answered, staring directly at the young Arman's eyes. "He dropped this pen of his, and it looks priceless, so I might as well return it. Wouldn't you agree?"
"Ah. Leave such a task to us then. We'll find him for you in no time. But first..."
Anton took out his phone. The others followed as well. "Your number, mademoiselle?"
Natasha let ought a short laugh, and punched in her phone number. "You really are advantageous."
"We are indeed. Now then, shall we go?"
"Let's go then," she answered.

The four then made their way up the second floor of the mansion. The second floor was just as extravagant as the first - gray fur carpets lining the floor, priceless artworks decorating the walls, and, as expected, guards in both sides of the hallway, the number easily amounting thirty, if not more.
"So, how are we going to find the man?"
"He's wearing white with a red stain, about six feet tall, and has his hair tied up in a bun. Can't miss him."
"Well, I think it'd be best if we split up then? Two on the second floor, and two on the topmost."
"I'll accompany Natasha then," Anton quickly responded, gently placing his hand on Natasha's shoulder. "Now, shall we make haste? We'll check the second floor."
"Quick on the uptake as always, eh?" Natasha commented.
"The early bird catches the worm, and the early man catches the finest lady," he winked.
"Now I'm curious as to why such a man as you is still single," Natasha replied with a smile.

With those words, the pair walked towards the west wing's corridor, where faint echoes of the noise from the dining hall reached their ears. They asked the station guards and maintenance crew for clues regarding the man's whereabouts, but their efforts bore no fruit.
"Give me a second," Anton said as he reached for his phone. He dialed Arvin, and the two had a conversation while the pair was walking.
"Arvin, have you found him?" he said in an accent traced by a hint of Hispanic lineage.
"Have not. Seems to be a ghost, that guy."
Anton sighed. "Must be on the other side."
"Probably. We're getting to it."
"Gotcha."
He ended the call, and fixed his eyes on Natasha. "That's half the floor. Shall we go check the other half?"
"I may need to take a break. These high heels are killing me. Not used to them," she answered as she walked past Anton, stopping in front of one of the many rooms in the wing.
"Let's sit down for a while then," Anton replied as they entered. This particular room - bearing the name "231" - was built to mimic a lounge, the furniture being made of dark wood, carpets dyed a deep red-purple, and a stone fireplace to fit the theme.
"Ooo. Sexy."
"It is, isn't it," Anton remarked. "Well, feel free to take a seat there."
"Thanks. You know your way around here, and that certainly helps."
"Well, we're actually the owners of this manor," he replied, taking off his coat and placing it above the coffee table. "I put in more funds than the other two though," he winked again in a (feeble) attempt to impress Natasha. The girl replied with a gentle smile of her own.
"Well, this is surely a nice mansion you have here."
"Yes, it is. We're actually planning to have the garden near the entrance transformed into a pond, to give off that... 'sophisticated' but 'serene' feel."
"I can picture that." Natasha took off her sandals and placed them atop the coffee table as well. "What's the exact purpose of this mansion? A party-place for the filthy rich?"
"Nothing like that in the beginning. It was actually supposed to be our house, the three of us. Pa moved us to Spain just weeks before finishing construction. Well, better to turn this place into a lively gathering for the upper class than letting it gather dust and mold. Last week was actually the first time I saw this place, fully-furnished and all. And boy was I happy. Arvin and Arman were too."
"Oh. And you guys don't have girls yet?"
"None at the moment. We're pretty picky, and we didn't like ninety percent of the girls we saw."
"How about me then?" Natasha leaned towards Anton. "Am I part of that ten percent?"
Anton moved back in reflex, his heart racing as the girl's white-blue eyes pierced him. "I'd say you're the best of the ten percent I've met."
"I'm flattered," she replied, straightening her posture. She then looked around the room, searching for any objects that might interest her. Her eyes finally met a bottle of fine red wine. Natasha smirked in delight.
She got up and walked towards the bottle, grabbing it by the neck and preparing three glasses as Anton cleared and cleaned the coffee table.
"Oh wow. Will you look at this beauty," Natasha remarked. "A double-magnum bottle of fine Blanc 1947. Just where does your money come from, that you managed to get hold of such a spectacular work of art?"
"It got listed in an auction. You could say I took advantage once again."
"And for how much? I'm assuming around forty grand?"
"Higher, actually," Anton replied. "Around fifty."
"And what is such an expensive bottle of liquor doing here, lying in this table?"
"A few of my acquaintances came over. I decided I'd give them a sip of one of the rarer drinks."
"I won't do that for an acquaintance," Natasha laughed. "They won't even get a taste of any cheap vodka in my collection. Well, not like I collect cheap liquor."
"Now, that's surprising. You have a bar?"
"No, I just collect rarities as my hobby. I do have the skill of a bartender though," she replied, handing over a glass to Anton. The man thanked Natasha and took a sip of the drink.
"That's post-war wine for you. Such exquisite flavor."
"Does it?" Natasha took a sip of her own. "You're right. It tastes great. Worth the weight in gold."
"So... Are we still going back to finding that man of yours?"
"Probably. I'm still immersing myself in this drink. Do you know what ichor is?"
"The blood of the gods, is it?"
"Yes. That divine fluid said to course through the veins of the deities themselves. Don't you think ichor is wine in its purest form?"
"I agree that wine is the most... divine liquid of them all, so you may be right about that," Anton laughed, following Natasha's own gentle chuckle.

A series of knocks followed the pair's laugh, to which Anton responded with a "Come in." The man entered, sporting tinted avaitor shades and a black-and-white tuxedo attire, the same uniform worn by the many, many security personnel present in the manor.
"Miss Milyukov? You said you needed help with finding a man?"
"Yes, I do indeed. Have you found someone matching the descriptions?"
"We seem to have, miss. Someone from the other side of the floor," he answered as he closed the door and walked towards the pair. "And you are?"
"Anton Dominico, one of the owners of this manor," Anton replied, standing up and offering the man a handshake. The guard accepted the handshake and pulled Anton towards him rather violently, to which the former responded with silent shock.
The man then drew out his pistol and pointed the barrel at Anton's abdomen. A singular muffled, silenced sound of pistol fire followed. Anton gasped for air as he coughed up blood, limping and dying mere moments later.
"Better if the target openly identifies himself. Makes it easier for both parties," the man said, looking at Natasha before putting the lifeless body down.
"Oh? I never thought he was one of your targets. And here I was just starting to extract information from him too..."
The man took of his shades, revealing his sharp-shaped eyes, each of which bearing a different color - one a distinctly faint whitish blue, the other nut brown.
"Don't worry. At least what I said was true. Your target's been spotted roaming the east wing," he said as he wiped the pistol's barrel clean of Anton's blood with a handkerchief.
"That's quite the pistol, Sergei," Natasha commented, gazing at the pistol with an interested look. "Smith&Wesson?"
"Mmm-hmm. It's called 'The Governor'. Fires shotgun shells instead of the usual bullets. Quite the dirty tool, if you ask me. And what's that you're drinking?"
"Oooh. It's a Blanc '47. Post-war wine, I think. Guy says he bought it for fifty grand," Natasha replied, handing the third glass over to Sergei. "Taste it. It's full of flavor."
"Is it now?"
In one huge gulp, Sergei downed the wine, ending his 'taste test' with a refreshing "ahhh".
"I must say, this is good. Mind if I have more?"
"I do. Save the refreshments for a better time."
She pried off the wineglass from his large, callous hands, and placed it above the coffee table. "So? East wing, second floor?"
"Yes, exactly. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll be hunting down the rest of my targets. Seems to be brothers, my victims."
"Two more, then?"
"Yes, two more. Arman and Arvin."
Natasha laughed for a while, to which Sergei responded with a curious look. "Anything funny?"
"Well, I've actually met all three of them. They're at the third floor, searching for my target. Also, nice move, having Sinclair tell me the room number. He was all like 'Two-hundred and thirty-one guests are present as well'," she replied, following it with another laugh.
"Gotcha. Here's to our success then."
"Yes, to our success."
As Sergei held the doorknob in his right hand, Natasha reached for his left. The man looked at the woman, sporting another curious look. "What is it?"
"Don't tell me you're leaving me with the body."
"Oh, right. Almost forgot. Close call," he said, quickly dragging the corpse across the room and placing it under the sofa. "Quite the clumsy move, but it will do. Well then, I'll be off."
Sergei exited the room, his pistol safely tucked in his belt. Natasha then put on her high heels and walked out the room, giving the double-magnum bottle of wine one last look.
"I'm sure we'll meet again, ichor," she said, exiting Room 231.

Natasha quickly headed towards the eastern wing, where she spotted a familiar face - the face of a hot-blooded hopeless romantic in his mid-20's - the face of her target.
Now then, the question is how I could get close to him. Well, good thing I have this in hand.
Taking out her pen (well, it's actually his pen), Natasha walked towards the man, who was then moving at a brisk pace.
"Ah, excuse me, excuse me, sir," she called out, but to no effect. "Sir, sir, excuse me."
The man proceeded to ascend the staircase leading to the third floor, leaving Natasha behind. Natasha quickly followed, almost tripping a number of times.
"Sir. Sir! Excuse me, sir."
The man continued his brisk walk. Natasha was left with no choice.
"Sir Manfredo?"
Sir Manfredo turned around, tracing the source of the voice. His attention was caught by Natasha's raising her hand, to which he responded by turning around and walking towards her.
"May I... help you?" he said, trying hid best to maintain eye contact.
"I may be mistaken, sir, but is this pen yours?"
The man in the white tux quickly noticed his pen in Natasha's hand. He then searched for the pen in his breast pocket, confirming its absence and that the pen was indeed his.
"Oh, I... uh- I believe so."
"Oh, thank goodness. I almost forgot to give this to you. It seems you left this when you left the bar near the entrance."
"Oh, have I? I must be thinking about a lot of things back then."
"Things like?"
"Probably how so much of the female guests are beautiful," he laughed. "May I know the name of my savior?"
"It's Natasha. Natasha Milyukov."
"Miss Natasha... Giovanni Manfredo, uh... head of Ascension Enterprises, one of the leading names on the field of nanotechnology. May I invite you for ummm... a drink, Miss Natasha?" he said, stuttering and pausing a number of times (probably due to his weakness to women).
"I accept your invitation, monsieur."

"Please, Miss Natasha, come in."
Taking off her high heels, Natasha walked into Giovanni's room. It was a (surprisingly) simple room, fitting for two guests or so. A king-size bed stood elegantly as the humble space's centerpiece, and only some parts of the room were lined with gold and glitter. A minibar could also be seen from one corner of the room, sporting only a few bottles, and no more than ten glasses. Quite a refreshing sight, if anything else.
"This is quite... nice," Natasha commented, walking towards the bar and grabbing a bottle. She noticed a few details which didn't fit the picture, most unusual being the presence of a used wineglass carelessly left sitting above the bar counter.
"It is... It is indeed. Even I was shocked at how different the individual rooms looked. In comparison to say, the hall... this is quite an impressive sight in its own."
"No, I meant the bar, but what you said is true as well," Natasha laughed. She popped open the bottle of champagne and filled two glasses of the drink. "I know there's no reason for celebration, but here you go."
"Why, uh... thank you."
Natasha sat down on the bed, gesturing Giovanni to sit beside her. The man complied, making sure to leave a distance between him and her.
"Oh? Quite the shy one, aren't you, Giovanni?" she said as she leaned towards the man, closing the gap between them. She then took a sip of the champagne.
"I'm, ummm... not used to talking to women."
"Are you now? That's charming."
"Charming? Aha..."
With a coquettish smirk, Natasha pushed Giovanni, lying him down on the bed. Natasha went on top and started to remove her gown.
"O-Oh, what-
"Exactly what you thought, Giovanni. I figured I'd take away a bit of your shame. Now then, shall we begin?"
Peeling off the top part of her dress, Natasha closed in on the still-shocked Giovanni, her firm breasts covered only by her lingerie pressing against his tuxedo. "Shall. We. Begin?" she repeated.
"I don't know what's happening, but I think I like this," he replied, finally exposing a smile, his face beet red.
"Oh, you will like this. I know I will."
Natasha undid the buttons on Giovanni's tuxedo, stopping at the fifth button. She then parted the clothes, revealing his chest. "Quite the body you have here, Mr. Manfredo. Impressive."
With a quick swipe, Natasha reached for the push dagger clipped to a makeshift holster tied around her right leg and pointed it at the man's chest, its sharp tip touching his skin. "Checkmate, head of Ascension Enterprises. Quite a price you have above your head."
"Wha-
"Multiple conflicts with several underground organizations has led someone to hire me to bring you down, Giovanni. You could say this is consequence equal to the crime. And your time is due," she replied, pushing the man's abdomen down with her other hand.
"I didn't do anything wrong!"
"Emmanuel Bedford says otherwise."
"Bedford?"
"If I recall correctly, he was the right-hand man of your right-hand man, Marcus Hernandez, who has now sadly passed away due to unknown causes."
"Marcus, de- You killed him?"
Giovanni's pants and gasps of air gradually went louder as both of them spoke.
"Who knows. Well, at least I am here to kill you. Memento mori, Sir Giovanni Manfredo."
At that moment, the doors to the bathroom opened, and a man wearing nothing walked out, bottle of wine in hand. His other hand held a towel, which he used to cover his privates.
Both Natasha and Giovanni were undoubtedly shocked - after all, seeing such a lunatic prancing around in nothing but a towel is nothing close to common.
"E-
The man slowly closed in on Natasha and Giovanni, not uttering a single word. This moment of silence lasted for almost half a minute, ending with the unknown lunatic standing just an inch away from the edge of the bed.
"Manfredo, right? Giovanni Manfredo?"
"A-Ah, ye-
The man then forcefully slammed the bottle, smashing it to shards as the leftover wine splashed on the bed and on Giovanni, whose now-broken face clashed against the bottle.
Natasha jumped backward in surprise. Giovanni just laid there, still breathing, but not uttering any sound.
The unknown man then pulled out a gun from his towel, making it appear as if he was grabbing... something. He pointed the Smith & Wesson .500 at Giovanni, delivering a loud finishing blow. The gunshot's noise was especially loud and echoed throughout the room.
"O-Oh wow..."
Natasha couldn't believe what she just saw. A random naked man, smashing a bottle at and then shooting Giovanni? Who in their right mind would believe that?
"Nice... shot," she added, clenching her push dagger tightly as the man approached him.
"Nice tits," the naked man replied, handing over to Natasha the bottleneck. He then walked back in the bathroom, staying inside for a good two minutes before once again walking out, fully clothed. Natasha remained silent the whole time, her mind still processing what happened.
"Well then, I'll be going now. See you," he said before jumping off the balcony and plummeting three floors down.
"What just... happened...?"
Security entered the room, their eyes meeting quite an unexplainable sight - a dead man, shot in the head, lying in a bed splashed with wine and glass, and a woman on top of him, half-naked and holding a bottleneck.
"Ma'am, please come with us."

"So? Still don't remember anything?"
Why... How did... What just happened?
"Well, missy, if you won't talk, you can't walk. Let me repeat myself." The old fat policeman cleared his throat and took a small whiff of his cigarette before proceeding. "The alleged murder of Giovanni Manfredo. Do you know anything, missy?"
Natasha looked at the man in uniform, her confusion waned, though still present. "I, uh... There was a man in there. I was Sir Giovanni's partner for the night, but then this, how do I put it... strange naked man came out of the bathroom with a wine bottle in his hand. Then he just... smashed the bottle."
"Then, why weren't you able to do anything?" he laughed.
"Well, I think anyone would be shocked."
"How do you explain this then?"
The policeman reached for a portfolio underneath his table and took out a picture from inside it. The image showed Giovanni's face, shards of glass still planted on his skin, and a gunshot wound leaving its mark on his skull. "This. Don't tell me the guy has a pistol as well...?"
"He had one, actually. A 500."
"Such a powerful gun, in the hands of some lunatic? Are you fucking messing with the police?" the policeman replied.
"True story, man. It ain't my problem if you don't believe it," Natasha shrugged.
"Now, listen here, you. If you had told the truth from the very start, then we might have been over here. You might even be taking your rest by now."
Natasha clicked her tongue in irritation.
"Ugh... What am I going to do with you..."
"Chief, I've returned," another voice said as the doors of the interrogation room opened. A skinhead entered, dressed in a clean black uniform, as opposed to the chunky policeman's sickening blue tinge. "The boys said they need you there."
"Oh, do they now? Fucking hell. Keep an eye over this missy. We ain't done here."
The doors closed, marking the fat man's exit. The man in black sat in front of Natasha and leaned over the table, looking to his side a few times before saying his words.
"Fancy seeing you here, Rusalka. I guess something went wrong?"
"Target confirmed dead, and yet I messed up my exit. Fuck."
"Well, the first part is all that matters. Both targets down. And I heard Sergei's targets were all eliminated as well, and he said he has his own story to tell. But I'm more interested in hearing yours first. So? What happened?"
"A lot of things," Natasha sighed. "Look, can't you just free me now? The black key should be somewhere inside my satchel."
"Sure thing, missy."
He walked towards a plastic chair, where Natasha's bag sat neatly. Surely enough, a small black key was placed inside.
"In case of emergency. Man, the Society sure is prepared," he commented, unlocking Natasha's handcuffs.
"They are. It can get pretty scary at times."
"Even though it's scary, it's handy. I mean, if it weren't for them, you'd be rotting in jail by now."
"You're forgetting something wrong, Danny. If it weren't for them, I wouldn't be in any of this mess. I wouldn't even have this job."
"Is it weird if I can picture you in my head, poor, homeless, and selling your body for a living?"
"No, it's not. I'm pretty sure I'd be exactly like that if I wasn't taken in."
"A poor and homeless Natasha? I'd pay to see that. Well, anyway, here's your boring excuse of a satchel, and here's the key to the lockers. Oh, and don't worry about the old man. I'm pretty sure he knows about what's going on by now."
"Got it. So, where's the man in question?"
"Listen here... Your job is practically over now. The yacht is yours as payment, so doing this won't be necessary. You're part of the bigshots now! You could own the streets! So why waste time on some random, naked teen?"
"I'd like to settle things with him. You could say I'm thinking of him as a pretty interesting guy."
"Settle things with him? Are yo- Nevermind. Fine. The man's been spotted by one of our informants just near the Marina. Near the yacht."
"What's his status?"
"He's riding the 72 you drove. You know, the one you used to get in."
"Wait, what? There's only two sets of-
Moments of silence followed, broken by the casual chatter of police over the radio.
"Don't tell me... No, I couldn't be wrong. The valet. It's him. And the waiter. It's him. As well as one of the guards..."
"Correct, Natasha. Intelligence identifies him as Alexei Mager, a gun-for-hire, with no affiliations. Kind of like a mercenary."
"Why didn't you say sooner?"
"Well, you know how notoriously slow our intelligence arrives..."
Natasha sighed, and both of them exited the room, heading towards the lockers at a brisk pace. "Anything else I need to know?" she asked.
"Well, the car has this huge-ass E-shaped scratch in its hood. You can't miss it."
At a hurried speed, Natasha changed clothes, this time wearing her final facade - a white-and-blue police uniform. She strapped her weapon of choice - a Model 29, able to go toe-to-toe with Alexei's .500 - and exited the police station.
"Well then, I'll be off," Natasha bowed.
"What's with the formal attitude? You're scaring me," Danny laughed. "Well, I hope to see you soon, and congratulations on the promotion!"