He usually called on Tuesdays, asking for a Wednesday night date. A gambler, he would want her to escort him to a high-stakes game. He never let her play; she was the eye candy sitting on his lap as a distraction to the other players before he lost more than he ever won, burying his sorrows in her later. 

A neutral thought before, but it made her skin crawl, now. Ever since that night with Fio a week prior, she'd gone on a professional hiatus. When it became clear she should probably get back to making money, she'd made an abrupt decision to find another line of work. But what? She had no skills, really. No experience. No references she could use. Her handler, neighbor, and friend, Molly, had suggested she dig into the connections she'd made as a pro.

And dig, she did. A bold request for a meeting with one of the local mob bosses on the The Strip had gone better than expected. When Chelsea came to him looking for a job and explaining that she'd rather find one on her feet than on her back, he'd grinned. A slew of names ensued, Chelsea shaking her head at each. Don't know him. Nope, not that one, either. Sorry, doesn't ring a bell. Wait, who? Yeah, I know Cash Matthews. Poker every Wednesday...

And just like that, she'd been handed a gun and given a job. She thought it might be hard, pulling the trigger on her first hit, but she'd heard that it got easier after that. Hopefully, that was the case, here. 

When Molly stopped by on Tuesday with the address and time written on a sheet of paper, Chelsea took it like she always did. She'd have to tell the elderly woman later, after the job was done, that she'd gotten a new job. But that was later, if this even worked out. Chelsea spent the rest of Tuesday familiarizing herself with the Colt she'd been given; dry-firing it, loading, unloading, concealing. She was proficient with guns, her father had made sure of that, but she simply hadn't had a reason to use one regularly.

On Wednesday, she was ready. A black, glittery gown with a matching bolero jacket hid the shoulder harness, just barely. Black heels and sunglasses. It was nighttime, but most of the players would be wearing them, and the hotel staff knew what was what. She would just look like another player arriving. Chelsea took a cab to the hotel where the poker was being hosted in one of the rooms, and took the stairs rather than the elevator to the fifth floor. Once she'd caught her breath, she pulled open the door of the stairwell and quickly paced to Cash's room, two doors down from where the game would start in an hour. He wasn't expecting her this early. Chelsea removed her sunglasses right before he opened the door.

"Crossfire. I thought I said 9? It's only 8," he said, backing up to let her in anyway. "Hey, I'm not paying for the extra hour," he winked, moving to the minibar to mix her a drink that she would never touch.

"I thought we might...you know. Before the game. For luck? You lost your ass last week," she said, then watched a flare of anger cross his features. Of course he'd be mad...he was in fifty large to the boss who'd just hired her. He wasn't proficient enough as a player to ever get ahead, and that debt would never get paid. A hint of fear chased the look of anger as she watched. Pretending to ignore it, she moved to the bed, and after a moment, he followed. With an outstretched finger, she pushed him back onto it and straddled him. His hands rested on her thighs as she spoke.

"Close your eyes. Let's try something new," she said, and he complied. Her face would be the last thing he ever saw; Chelsea drew with her right hand and grabbed a pillow with her left, shoving it over his face firmly and then firing into it. The shot was a cannon in her ears, but no one came running, no one called. A minute passed. Then another. Chelsea re-holstered the Colt and stood, straightening her dress. Still, nothing. No shouts in the hallway or pounding of feet approaching. She let another minute pass, then opened the door and stepped into the hallway.

Right into Fiorenzo Uccello, for the second time in as many weeks. Chelsea froze, mortified. Not because of what she'd just done, but because of what it LOOKED like she'd just done.

"I didn't...I wasn't...I gotta go!" She said hurriedly, then bolted down the hallway and into the stairwell, her eyes trying to blind her as they teared up. She was never going to see him again, she was sure of it. The whole reason for her agreeing to murder someone was now gone.

The first real job for Nebula had been quite simple. His boss had been gambling at the casino the night before and some out of towner had decided to talk shit to him during game of poker. Nebula must have been feeling generous last night when he let him live. Today he was still thinking about it though, and Fiorenzo happened to be the first one to walk into the HQ that morning.

Fiorenzo was thrilled to see that he was still there. It had to be him. He was playing cards once again in the casino. Short brown hair, Stupid look, wore a gaudy golden necklace, was talking shit to the entire table. Yep this was him. Fiorenzo debated just buying in at the table and seeing where it was headed, but he was a patient man when he knew a reward was on its way.

Around seven thirty the overconfident fool had run out of money. Fiorenzo was happy to see he was headed for the stairs and not the elevator. It was nothing to hang back and follow the man. He was too far absorbed into his own world to ever see someone like Fiorenzo coming for him. When he unlocked door Fiorenzo kept walking like he was continuing down the hall. The man never even turned to look. Fiorenzo had his eleven inch switchback stiletto pulled from his suit jacket and stuck it in the doorway just before the door slammed back shut.

Fiorenzo carefully pushed open the door with his hand and let it shut back. The door clicked louder than Fiorenzo had anticipated, but because of the six whiskeys that Fiorenzo had seen the loud mouth take down earlier, this man wasn’t even aware he had company. The mark turned on the radio loud. "To clear his thoughts?"Fiorenzo supposed. He then headed straight for the window and was about to open the curtain. Fiorenzo had long since rolled his sleeves up and it was just a simple matter of dropping his suit jacket on the bed.

“Nessun rispetto. Stanotte dormi per sempre.”

Fiorenzo’s voice broke through the crooning of Bing Crosby. His victim turned to look with horrified eyes. It was obvious he wanted to fight back, but Fiorenzo had already plunged his knife upward into the man's solar plexus. The stiletto was on a collision course with a beating heart. He went to scream but Fiorenzo had grabbed his throat hard with his other hand pushing him against the glass. He held him there twisting the knife as he waited for the man to quit fighting back against him. When he went limp, Fiorenzo let him slide down the glass.

Immediately he darted for the bathroom to clean the blade and his hands. The man should have fought back more. It was too easy of a job. Perhaps that is why his boss trusted someone as new to the family as him for this one? Maybe it wasn’t just being the first face he had seen come through the door?

Fiorenzo was satisfied with how he looked in the mirror once more. His sleeves were back to normal. His suit jacket was back in place. The knife placed back where he had it before in his jacket. Rather than enjoying the tunes of Bing Crosby on the radio, Fiorenzo had been humming along to an Italian folk song his father used to sing to his mother. He didn’t know all the lyrics, but he remembered the tune. It had come back to him while laying in bed thinking about Chelsea. That seemed to be his new routine.

He decided to turn left out of the hotel room and head for the other stairwell. He looked over his shoulder to see if anyone had seen him exit the room at his quick pace. He ran straight into the wall again. The one that seemed to be there when he least expected it. How beautiful she looked tonight, but why was she here? The door shut behind her and the look on her face said it all. She was on a job. The way she sputtered out the words and took off for the stairwell. Was she hurt? He could have sworn she looked in pain. Fiorenzo’s eyes went cold and his Italian leather sole kicked hard at the door by the knob busting free the wood that held it in place. He already had his switchblade back in hand and barreled for the bed to put down whoever dared to make her look that way.

The blood was absorbing into the bed and this man had already hurt his last woman. It clicked instantly with Fiorenzo and he turned to exit the room. He made his way for the stairwell as he heard shouting from the other end of the hallway. He didn’t care why she had killed the man. He didn’t’ care if she was there on business. He just wanted to make sure she was alright. It seemed they would have a tail on them though. Fiorenzo could easily shake it alone. He wasn’t sure about with Chelsea.

When he got to the bottom of the stairwell he exited into the casino floor a lot faster than he meant to do. It put more eyes on him for a moment and he composed himself giving a big grin to the crowded onlookers. He knew that the quickest way out of here was back into the kitchen to the right and out the back alley. Chelsea would have connections at a place like this. She had to have known it as well. When the kitchen door to the alleyway shut behind him Fiorenzo looked left and sighed. Then back to his right and caught a heel turning the corner. He took off running after her. He had long since forgotten about the shouts in the hallway. He didn’t care if they were still on him though. He had one thing on his mind.

“Aspetta! Wait for me.” He said panting once he was no more than ten paces behind her on the street. She was headed down The Strip. Fiorenzo presumed to another location to hide out. When she turned he saw Chelsea's makeup was running. She had been crying. What had happened back there? It didn’t matter.

“You’re not hurt are you?”

He said grabbing her by the arm and walking fast with her down the strip taking the next alley off the main road and almost dragging her to a run. He knew it wouldn’t be long after he kicked in that door that this could go really bad.

The Italian delivered in a baritone she knew from her dreams was the only thing that kept her from turning and shooting the person who'd grabbed her arm and turned her into the nearest alley. Her brain was misfiring, and her priorities had finally shifted beyond the grey area that separated 'good' and 'evil'. She'd just murdered someone in cold blood, for money no less, yet it was the baritone that had her scared the most, until the words registered.

"You're not hurt, are you?"

She was all kinds of hurt. Wait. Why was he here?

"Fio. What are you doing here? There? You shouldn't have been there. You weren't supposed to...TAXI!!" She screamed at the nearest cab as it approached. Amazingly, it stopped, and they crawled in the back.

"Summerlin," she said, tossing a lot of money over the seat at the driver, who looked like someone's grandpa. "If you could hurry, and see and hear nothing?" The old man smirked and nodded; he was a Vegas driver, after all. This wasn't his first rodeo.

Sliding low in the seat, Chelsea swiped at her raccoon eyes and sighed heavily, then turned to stare at Fiorenzo in the darkened car. 

"I didn't. I haven't, not since the day we met. I can't. So I tried something else. It wasn't hard. Well it wasn't until I saw you. God, what must have gone through your mind?" She said, more to herself than him. Her eyes began to water again, so she turned her head towards her window and focused into the blackness beyond it. What the fuck was wrong with her? It was as if she'd gone ten years without emotions and now they were all just suddenly here, all at once. She struggled for a moment, trying to regulate her breathing. Her hand slipped out and grabbed his in the dark.

"This was a one-off job for some low-level boss on The Strip, but I'm thinking of making it permanent. There's a crew in Summerlin that have reached out. Maybe I can do this for a living instead. It would be better. Maybe? I don't know how to do anything else," she said, a tear coursing down her cheek. She swiped at it and concentrated on her breathing some more. Her skin felt too tight, like she couldn't fit inside it. The urge to open the cab door and just leap out was overwhelming.

"Stop." It was a plea, to herself. If only she'd fucking listen.

Fio's voice, rattling off her address as they crossed into Summerlin brought her out of her morose reverie. Moments later, they were at the curb in front of her apartment. She popped the door and nearly fell to the asphalt in her haste to get out; something akin to claustrophobia had set in. She was in no hurry to go inside as the taxi crept away into the night. She watched it go, the red taillights blinking at her.

"Well that's new. I don't rightly believe I've ever had a panic attack before," she said, then laughed weakly. "Also. You just missed your ride. I don't have a car."

“Non puoi insegnare niente a un uomo. Puoi solo aiutarlo a scoprire ciò che ha dentro di sé.”

Fiorenzo said in a calm voice as he wrapped his muscular arms around her and pulled her into an embrace. He looked her in the eyes searching for the words in English. He usually didn’t slip into his native tongue this often. There was something about when he was talking to her. Chelsea always had him in such a state of passion that his brain just found the first thing it could say.

“You’re going to have to answer yourself on most of your questions.”

His lips kissed her gently. Fiorenzo palmed her cheek and looked at her a moment more with a warm smile. He glanced over Chelsea’s shoulder to the apartment building. He began to speak to her again in calm, hushed tones. “I know what it’s like. The first time you do something like that. I thought you were there to… Can we go up to your apartment? I mean if you don’t mind Italian for dinner?”

He laughed a bit and nodded towards her door with a raised brow. Chelsea led him by the hand inside the building to her apartment without speaking. Fiorenzo had hoped she was at least a bit calmer for the moment, until they were inside away from eyes. Eyes like the man who had been drinking a beer sitting on the curb half a block down the road.

The door clicked shut and Fiorenzo locked it behind him after Chelsea finally gotten her keys into the lock to open the door. They moved to the kitchen and Fiorenzo went to searching for that bottle of white wine in the fridge. Did she always keep one? Was this the same bottle from that night that had turned him into quite the insomniac as of late? He smirked over at Chelsea who was just watching him as he began taking the liberty of her drawers in search of a- Ah there it is a corkscrew. As he twisted the corkscrew into the bottle he looked her in the eyes.

“I was so worried you were there on some other sort of business. I mean if you were then. Well that man would have still been dead. I don’t know what happened, but I know it looked like he had hurt you. “Nessuno ti farà mai del male.”

The cork freed from the bottle and he stared over at her a bit. He walked over and walked over to her. “Annausare.” Fiorenzo rolled off to her holding the cork to her nose. “Approvi?”

“We would be neighbors. I’ve already pledged myself to Dark Matter over on The Strip. I’m still living in a shitty motel room. I’ve been earning my keep though. It’s about time to upgrade to something better, truthfully.” Fiorenzo found two cups on his fourth cabinet he checked. He poured them both a generous amount of wine.

“I was there on business as well, Vedova Nera. Il mio portatore di dolce liberzione. We both honored our first contract tonight. The chances of us running into each other… I need to check for magnets.”

Fiorenzo sighed. It was a sound of content as he popped an All Jack loose from his pack and pulled it the rest of the way with his mouth. He smiled over at Chelsea who was watching him in thought of god knows what at this point. A match later and he was smoking. He looked around for an ash tray after setting the smokes and matches down on the counter and pushing them towards Chelsea.

“Do you smoke?” He said with a grin. He grabbed the glass of wine and took a large drink. “I’m glad you weren’t there on the type of business I had assumed. I should have called sooner. Look you need to have my number. In case you ever need anything.” And in you know so we don’t have to keep running into each other like this. Fiorenzo shook his head. He was getting ahead of himself. Instead he opted to walk over to her and give her another kiss. This time pulling her in and grabbing onto the back of her head gently. He kissed her for only seven maybe eight seconds, but both of them were a little breathless when their lips parted.

“Lascia la tua vecchia vita per me.”

She still had no idea what he said when he spoke in Italian. Not one word of it. But the sentiment was there, and she understood that.

"Already have." Her fingertip reached up and gently moved down his face, barely touching it. One day, she was sure that her hand would pass right through him. He was too good to be real. Taking a step back, she moved around him and went into the kitchen, looking for the ashtray she kept for guests. She didn't smoke.

Not cigarettes, anyway. Once she'd returned with the ashtray and handed it to him, she excused herself and fought her way through the untamed jungle of her bedroom, returning several minutes later in a long, silk robe, a clean face, and with a small, intricately carved wooden box. Lowering the lights, she turned on the radio and took Fio's hand, leading him to the couch. 

'Prostitute and murderer. You can't possibly think any less of me at this point," she grinned, opening the box she'd set in her lap and extracting a joint from a neat pile. It was probably the most tidy, organized thing in her entire apartment. Placing it between her lips, she lit it by leaning forward and touching it to the tip of Fio's cigarette. The end flared to life and burned down several millimeters as she dragged deeply on it. She held it a long while, studying him, then aimed her mouth towards the ceiling and exhaled it all in a massive stream. Chelsea slumped against the back of the couch and tucked her feet underneath her, reaching for her wineglass and taking a large swallow of it, her hand with the lit joint outstretched towards him in offering as she studied him over the lip of her glass. Before he moved to accept or decline it, she spoke again.

"You're welcome to stay here. I understand why you wouldn't...it's not The Strip, and you're probably expected to stay close to your headquarters. The offer is there, though. If you can stand the clutter," she finished, one side of her mouth quirking upwards in a half-smile.

He set the cigarette into the ashtray he had brought with them to the couch. Fiorenzo then grabbed the joint with a smirk as he stared at her. She hadn’t just meant for the night had she? The perfectly rolled thing fit into his mouth like one of his cigarettes. Fiorenzo took a small hit off of it. He didn’t hold it in long before he blew it out. It wasn’t really his thing, but he had smoked a few times. If his memory served the best times were right before and after sex.

“Oh, no! It’s a sexy lady who’s good with a gun!”

He then took another slow drag from the joint and stared over at Chelsea in her long, silk robe. She had that effortless beauty, the type that other women had to make up reasons to hate her for having. Fiorenzo was taken aback by the way she looked. He was still amazed she had quit her job. She must really feel the way he did. Fiorenzo handed the joint back to her knowing he would decline if she offered it again. He could already feel it going to work as he sat there.

“If you let me stay here. I wouldn’t mind helping out with all… well this.” He said gesturing to the whole apartment. “La mia bellezza disordinata.”

“I could be around for awhile. If you think that’s a good idea.” He looked over at her searching those emerald eyes once more. She gave up her old life for him? To take on one that would mean she very well could die any day. What kind of woman was this?

“This life isn’t such a strange and new one for me. My parents back in Sicily… I’ve been up to no good for a long time. Just on my own for awhile.”

Fiorenzo leaned over and kissed her again before she could blow out the drag from her joint that she was making sweet love to while listening to him. He wouldn’t leave her lips till she had shot gunned him the smoke in her lungs. He laughed a bit as he blew the smoke into the air.

The horns of Harry James' 'Ciribiribin' filtered across the room and hit her ears; the song title always made her laugh a little, and so did the stupidity of the lyrics. Frank Sinatra began to sing them, talking about how 'they were so in love'. The guy loved the girl, sure, but the girl wasn't anything but a tease.

Her foot began to sway, but by the end of the song, Chelsea could feel herself sinking further into the couch with each moment that passed. That familiar fuzziness had taken hold, the feeling like having her brain wrapped in a warm blanket. She placed everything aside on an overcrowded table and leaned her head on his shoulder. 

"You should tell me about you. Your family. Sicily. Why you're in the business now. Why you don't have a girl," she said, then decided her position wasn't good enough. She couldn't see him. Twisting around, she leaned back until her head was resting in his lap, then grinned up at him. "If I fall asleep, it's not because you're boring. It's because I'm very, very comfortable," she said on a happy sigh. "Just toss me in the shower if that happens. That'll surely wake me right up," she added, the invitation hanging there in the air between them. She needed to hear him out first, though. Wanted to listen to everything he cared to share with her, delivered in that baritone voice. 

Fiorenzo always thought it was funny the way Sinatra sang in Italian. He reached down to stroke Chelsea’s hair as he stared at her. He couldn’t help but smile while looking at her relaxing there in his lap. This wasn’t something he was used to at all.

“Se solo stasera non finisse mai.”

He said as his thumb stroked gently across her forehead before running his fingers into her hair gently massaging at her scalp. She must be so stressed with all the recent changes in her life. The gentle static had washed over Fiorenzo from Chelsea’s stash. He felt very content there. He would have been happy to never have to leave that couch. He wanted to be something in this life, but this felt like something to him right now.

Fiorenzo forced himself to think back to memories he wished to leave in the past. “My father was Sicilian; my mother was Fiorentina. Saverina was not so much involved in this life, but Marcu Uccello...” His hand stopped for a moment as his eyes fought to keep a soft look in them. He shook it off and smiled down at her enamoring face. The face that had kept him up in that shitty motel room for a couple of weeks now. The face he was sure would be keeping him up for nights on end if he does move in here.

“My father was a respected Under-boss in Sicily. He trusted people. You can’t trust people.  It cost him and my mother both their life, in their sleep no less. He should have been preparing. I don’t know why I wasn’t killed. Avrei dovuto saltare in battaglia. I didn’t stick around as long as I should. I had been doing jobs for my father since I was fifteen. He taught me a lot. I couldn’t find anyone in Chicago I thought worthy of my talents... So I did what I like to do. My own thing. It just lasted a lot longer than I expected.”

His eyes blinked as he shook his head. He was really feeling the effects now. Was he talking too much? Did anyone see them get into that cab? “Listen to the music” he thought to himself and calmed back down staring at her. Her eyes were like a drip of morphine. It settled his nerves back down.

“I don’t ever talk about them. I can’t remember the last time I spoke their names out loud. I’m here because I want to become something that my family would have been proud. Io rispetto Nebula.”

A smirk crossed his lips as he thought about the shower she offered. The water would feel great right now. Nothing like washing away the death off your skin.

“Doccia, adesso.”