He almost gaped. He had been shot. By Damien Cray, his former employer. The blood was spreading, and he was tempted to gasp, but his iron will didn't let him. The boy…Alex. He needed to know…

Damien Cray was dead by now, and the plane landed. Yassen briefly wondered what would have—could have—happened if he had instead shot Cray, saving the children's and his own life. It was too late now. The pain was becoming almost unbearable, but he continued.

"Alex," he said softly, evenly. The boy turned to him, and he said something else, that he couldn't remember now.

Alex, the son of the man whom he had loved like a son loves his father, loved like a brother looks up to an elder one, said something else

"If you don't believe me, go to Venice. Find Scorpia. And you will find your destiny..." Yassen said finally, knowing that now, the shot had taken its toll, and he was dying. And now, he remembered.

--

Sixteen years earlier—

Silently, she dropped onto the roof and landed as easily as a cat. It was just her latest test from her mentor, she told herself. Even if it required something that had daunted her.

Her task from The Gentlemen, a twenty-something year old up and coming contract killer, was to destroy one of Scorpia's sponsors, a Middle-Eastern man named only as Ouji.

This was no easy task. As she was approaching the end of her "apprenticeship", if you would, the tasks had become trickier and she had to use all of her cunning and skills to achieve success. Ouji was protected by his security, as well as the newest graduates from Scorpia's academy.

Who was she? She was KKJ. Those who learned from The Gentleman no longer had names; they had initials. And that was the way they stayed, for the rest of their killing career.

Her black hair blew in the wind, and her toffee colored eyes scowled as she drew her revolver. Ouji's chauffeured Rolls-Royce was approaching now. The Gentleman had allowed her three shots; she would have to make each of them count.

There would be bonus points for each Scorpian men she brought down.

Silently, she waited. The late Iranian afternoon sun bore down on her, and KKJ knew that she would have to change position soon as she waited for Ouji to appear out of his car, and into the building.

It would be those few steps that were the most crucial.

She shifted into the shadows of a dark pillar, wincing as a blonde bodyguard's eyes jerked upwards to scan for the origin of the movement. KKJ remained still, and slowly, the man's eyes returned to ground level.

That had cost her a few precious seconds, and Ouji was halfway to the doorway now.

KKJ leveled the revolver and fired.

The yell of a bodyguard told her she had hit her target, and she fired twice more to take down men that she recognized from pictures the Gentleman had shown her. They went down as well.

But there was no more time, and she darted off the roof and leaped off, landing on a cloth stretched above a doorway, and she jumped again, rolling as she hit the ground.

Now, she was sprinting towards the spot where the Gentleman had organized a car to be waiting for her.

But then—an unexpected sound. Bullets.

KKJ swore softly and ducked into a cluster of homes, knowing she would have to destroy this latest diversion before they got too close to the car.

There, she held still against the dried clay walls, and when a body came hurtling into the entrance, she sprang.

KKJ knocked the gun off of his hands, moving quickly and pinning his arms behind his back, wary of both his arms and legs. If this was a Scorpia man, then he would have been trained in the same way she had.

Sure enough, he attempted to throw her off using a technique she was familiar with—spinning quickly and using his back to push her away. She was ready for it, though, and pushed him against the wall to examine him.

He was tall, taller than her, slim, like a dancer, with startlingly light blue eyes and chiseled pink lips contrasting against his pale skin. She recognized him.

"Who're you?" he asked, eyes sweeping her and noticing that she was lean, obviously strong. But the thing that caught his attention most was the look in her eyes; much the same as his. It was apathy.

Her face tilted, and she looked him in the eye. "To kill you or not…" she murmured.

"Who're you working for?" he demanded.

"No one you know," KKJ shot back. "But I know who you are. Yassen Gregorovitch. Recently graduated from Scorpia's very own assassin academy, top of your class. Born in Russia, and by 14 was an orphan, and through the Mafia found Scorpia."

His own head cocked. "Would it be too presumptuous to ask if you are a fan?"

"Yes, it would be," she said, wondering if she should kill this man or not. Obviously, it would be a tad difficult without a quick bullet, with him being a Scorpia man, but her time was running out. KKJ estimated that she had four minutes left.

"How about I cut you a deal," she said. "I won't kill you, and you won't go after me."

"Why would I do that?" he asked, slightly enjoying the feel of her pressed against him.

She hissed softly. "That or I kill you now. Shame to waste that talent."

He tilted his head. "Tell me who you're working for."

"Deal then?" she asked, preparing to let him go.

"Yes."

"Myself," KKJ smirked, and bolted.

--

She received a 150% on that task.

Now, it was a few months later, and she had emerged a full contract killer, and was promptly hired by one of the richest men in the world to destroy his rival company's head.

She should have known that fate would have brought her and Yassen together again.

It was at a meeting that both of their employers were required to attend, to discuss the failing global economy and new sanctions on the industry, with all of the oil mining business man.

And now he was pressing her to a wall, in one of the hotel's many rooms that they had been given.

"You lied," Yassen said softly. "Last time."

"You can't do anything about it now," KKJ answered, feeling his body against hers, her eyelids threatening to close, as his gorgeous lips brushed against her neck.

She wrenched them open. How was he ripping through her self control like it was tissue when she had worked years for it to be iron strong?

It was probably the lack of physical contact she'd had ever since becoming the Gentleman's apprentice.

"So what is your assignment now?" he asked, lips trailing to her ear.

KKJ stiffened, and threw him off of her. He stumbled backwards, but regained his balance as quickly as she had thrown him off.

"Just looking for answers, are you?" she hissed, eyes blazing.

He growled. "Sexual frustration. You. Me. That bed. How does that sound?"

"We don't trust each other," KKJ said. "How the hell—"

"Pure, straight fucking."

"Done," she said immediately.

Their clothes and weapons made it to a pile on the floor.

--

In their six years since that day, they had almost fallen for each other. Almost.

Agents didn't fall for anyone.

But what they had could almost count as such.

There were occasions where they would fly and meet at a certain point, their clothes flying off and rough kisses bruising each other on a hotel bed. At the beginning of their—what could they call it?—relationship, they would leave immediately after. But then, they had begun to speak to each other, had almost begun to care for each other. It was a strange courtship, with dealing death as their career, and they met in between each kill. It was an fragile, uneasy sort of relationship.

But this too, had to be ruined.

By this time, they had made their fair share of enemies. And even a few that hated them both.

Such as the killer Gerard J. Wilkens. Overshadowed by KKJ's brilliant apprenticeship under the Gentleman and later career, he hated her. And Yassen had destroyed a number of Wilken's employers over the years, and it was the reason how he was rich, and Wilkens not so much.

And so, when he followed KKJ one day to her latest assignment, he had opened fire. She died instantly, the mission failed and with only a note left on her body: Y. G.~ You've been warned. G. J. W.

When Yassen had learned of her death, he had been devastated. She had been the closest thing towards love any assassin could have, the emotional connection that he had lost. Barely ten minutes into mourning, had he made up his mind to destroy the man who had destroyed her.

Two months later, Gerard J. Wilkens was on a flight that exploded in a fireball and collided with the Swiss Alps. There were no survivors.

And so, as Yassen Gregorovich lay dying ten years later, he was not afraid. He was almost eager, in fact.

KKJ, love, I join you now…

And he moved no more.

--

Something that I'd been thinking up for quite some time. It had originally been planned for a short story, possibly 5 chapters, but I don't have the time at the moment. Please let me know how you like it.