Haynes
Velora Louisa Alvaro. The name rolled off his tongue like fine wine, rich and complex. Thirty years on earth and she'd sent more men to their graves than he could count. Started with the Syndicate as a young girl, barely out of her teens. Nineteen. Baby assassin. Now she played the role of a therapist at some fancy center she owned. Clever. Lost her mum early, a classic origin story. Lost her dad by eighteen. A hard life, designed to mold her into exactly what she was: a perfect seductress wrapped in a perfect body.
She had the looks that could make a man forget his own name, the charm and the kind of wit that would move any human being to smile. But those were just tools she used in her blood game. What intrigued Haynes was the woman behind the charm, the facade. She wasn't like the pathetic excuses for men she and her Syndicate usually took down. Not some loose lip, dim-wit like Marcello, her latest target. Marcello had it coming. Haynes thought. The guy was practically begging to be taken down, six feet under.
There were tons of Syndicate killers out there, doing the same job as Velora, disappearing into the shadows after taking someone out. But Velora? She had this… thing about her. It wasn't just about her appearance and aura, though he totally thought she was good looking and she could turn on that charming smile like it was a light switch. But it was more than that. It was the way she carried out her missions, like she knew something everyone else didn't. Like her brain was always working overtime. Most of the Syndicate's people were just tools, replaceable. But she felt different to him. Like a special piece on the board, the kind he had to really figure out before he made a move.
Watching her that first night at the rooftop bar felt entertaining. Her whole life was a movie, but he wondered how long her show would run.
He was able to spot her unease the very first day he saw her. Beautiful? Hell, yes. Absolutely stunning. She was the kind of woman who could stop traffic and probably cause a few accidents while at it. But pretty faces weren't enough to change his plans. Getting her into his bed? Child's play. But he wasn't interested in a quick score. He wanted the whole game. He had a plan that he had meticulously mapped out and he wasn't about to deviate.
Walking past her and her soon-to-be deceased friend, Marcello, he had felt her eyes on him, even though she pretended to be wrapped in their conversation. When he'd spoken, he'd seen it. The look of surprise on her face that she had tried to mask.
Her attempt at playing dumb when he mentioned "deserved to live or die," felt amusing. An Oscar-worthy performance. But he knew who she was. Louisa. The name her mother had given her. The name she buried alongside her mother. He was impressed by the look on her face when he had called her by the name.
The second time they met at the charity was impressive. He had dropped a pen for the waitress at the rooftop bar to hand it over to her if she returned, knowing her curiosity would bring her back and as predicted, she did. Also, as predicted, she searched for him at the ball. The emerald dress she had on was breathtaking. She almost had him, he'd admitted to himself. The smile, the way she moved, her soft delicate hands on his and those eyes. But he wasn't some lovesick puppy. He saw the calculation behind every charm and he knew better than to visibly let it affect him.
Again, he'd sensed the fear when he'd mentioned Marcello. He had planted a little seed of doubt in her, watching it slowly take root. He wondered what her reaction would be if he casually dropped the names of the next two targets yet to be sent to her by the Syndicate. She'd probably lose her composure completely.
For now, he wanted to play the long game. Mess with her head slowly, until she couldn't handle it anymore. Exactly what she did to her victims. She wasn't a weak woman and he knew it, but he was relentless. He was expecting a fight, maybe even some clever attempts and switching the tides. He knew she would be digging into his background, for what she could find. Probably some dirt she could leverage on. But Haynes Rosàrio didn't operate like that. Haynes worked the way Haynes worked.
He loved the fear she felt of being watched. He stood in his office, a cigar in his mouth as he watched her office, not so far from his building. He knew every damn thing going on in her life. She had a man over the night before. And for some reason, the thought of a man with her didn't sit well with him. He wasn't jealous, it just felt…odd. She was the Black Widow, she didn't seem like the type to want a man breathing beside her. Every man seen around her was either dying soon or working with their Syndicate. Except Him. He was a glitch in her ordered system.
He knew, deep down, that she was going to try and get a step ahead of him. That was just her nature. But those things didn't happen with Haynes Rosàrio. He was always ten steps ahead, anticipating every move, every counter-play. She hadn't even bothered showing up at her office today. Smart girl. Probably stuck in her penthouse, glued to her laptop, trying to piece together the puzzle that was him. He smiled, a slow, satisfied curve of his lips. Let her try. The more she she did, the more satisfying the final outcome would be.
He'd considered sending her a text, something to really crank up the paranoia but decided against it. Not yet. He didn't want to spook her too much, not before the grand finale. Dedicating a whole damn year to studying someone, to understanding their every move, their every fear… that was no joke. And everything was playing out exactly as it should. The pieces were moving across the board, and soon, very soon, checkmate would be in sight. And he had a feeling the Black Widow wasn't going to see it coming.