Ven's Apartment - April 6,2020- 9:18 PM
---
> Warm lights fill a small, cozy kitchen.
A radio hums softly in the background — an old romantic song playing faintly.
> Ven stands by the counter, pouring tea into two mismatched mugs.
Behind him, his fiancée — Sonya — enters, one hand gently resting on her belly.
---
Sonya (teasing):
> "Tea? Not vodka?
What happened to my bad boy assassin?"
Ven (smirking):
> "He got assassinated by prenatal vitamins and back rub duty."
> She laughs and walks over slowly.
Ven immediately helps her sit at the table — careful, gentle.
His movements are practiced. Protective.
---
Sonya (watching him):
> "You've changed, Ven."
Ven:
> "Have I?"
Sonya:
> "Yeah.
You smile more.
You sleep sometimes.
You even say please now."
Ven (grinning):
> "That's growth."
Sonya (soft, playful):
> "So when are we getting married, Ven?"
> Ven chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck like it's the first question to catch him off guard in years.
Ven (pretending to think):
> "Hmm.
How about… right after I kill every bastard that ever looked at us funny?"
Sonya (smirks):
> "That might take a while."
Ven:
> "Then it's a long engagement."
> She reaches for his hand again. This time, he holds on tighter.
---
Sonya (serious now):
> "I'm not asking for a church. Or a big dress. Or a hundred guests."
Ven (quiet):
> "I know."
Sonya:
> "Just you.
And our baby.
And peace."
---
> Ven exhales.
For a second, he lets the weight of his old life fall off his shoulders.
---
Ven (slowly):
> "Then I promise.
We'll do it simple.
Just us.
In a quiet place.
Somewhere no one knows our names."
---
> Sonya nods.
Her smile is small, but it holds everything.
She leans her head against his shoulder.
Ven kisses her hair —
like he's afraid she'll vanish.
---
Ven (in his thoughts):
> "Let the world burn.
Let ghosts rise.
This... this I will protect.
Even if I have to die again."
> Fade to black.
No gunfire.
No screams.
Just a man holding onto the last light in his life...
before the darkness takes aim.
Marchesi Bridal & Suits – District 3
🕰️ April 7, 2020 – 2:47 PM
---
> A soft-lit boutique. Velvet curtains, tall mirrors, racks of elegant gowns and tailored suits.
Sonya stands on a platform, laughing as a stylist pins the hem of a simple ivory dress.
> Ven is across the room in front of a mirror — in a sharp charcoal suit.
The fit is perfect, but he tugs at the collar — clearly more comfortable in tactical gear than silk.
---
Sonya (teasing):
> "You look like you're about to shoot the priest, not marry me."
Ven (deadpan):
> "I'd prefer a rooftop exit."
---
> They laugh.
The moment is real, unguarded.
> Then the bell above the boutique door jingles.
Someone walks in.
> A tall man in a dark coat. Clean. Calm.
Polished shoes.
Eyes like winter.
---
> Vincent Cassano.
> He smiles as if this is just chance.
He strolls toward the tailor's counter.
Vincent (light, friendly tone):
> "I heard this place does precision work.
I have... a ceremony coming up too."
> Ven looks at him through the mirror.
Recognition doesn't hit.
Not yet.
But there's a strange tension in his jaw.
> *Vincent walks over, slowly, and stops beside Ven's platform — just close enough to feel like a shadow.
---
Vincent (smiling, eyes unreadable):
> "Congratulations.
You two make a... striking pair."
---
> Sonya smiles politely.
Sonya:
> "Thank you..."
Ven (shaking Vincent's hand):
> "Appreciate it."
> But something in that handshake...
Too firm.
Too long.
Too familiar.
---
Vincent (still smiling):
> "She's glowing.
You?
You look like a man who's seen too much… but found something worth living for."
---
> He nods once.
Turns.
Walks away without looking back.
---
> As he leaves, the camera focuses on the mirror again.
Vin's reflection is gone.
Only Ven remains — standing alone.
Staring at himself.
> Ven's smile fades.
Cassano Estate – Private Room – April 7, 2020 – 7:12 PM
---
> Vincent sits at a long wooden desk — dim light from an antique lamp.
A single red flower lies next to him.
Beside it: a black gift box… and a small remote device.
> He hums softly — something classical.
No lyrics. Just the echo of his own calm.
> He holds the flower up. Twirls it.
Then stares at the two items on the desk.
---
Vincent (thinking, amused):
> "Can I give him something?
Something... personal."
> He leans back in the chair, smirking to himself.
---
> Then — with two fingers —
he plays rock-paper-scissors in the air.
But only in his mind.
---
Vincent (silently):
> "Paper..."
"A luxury keepsake. Polished. Beautiful.
Laced with meaning."
> "Scissor…"
"A bomb. Precise. Quiet. Timed for poetry."
---
Vincent (thinking, slow whisper):
> "Paper… scissor…"
> He chuckles.
Picks up the box.
Holds it for a second.
---
> Then — without hesitation —
throws it into the fireplace.
The flames swallow the ribbon whole.
> He turns calmly.
Picks up the detonator.
---
Vincent (with a sick grin):
> "No souvenirs.
Only messages."
(End of the chapter)
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