Some Years Past

Ori woke up to someone running their fingers through her hair. Too gentle to be Francesco- it had to be Lucia. Her soft, playful voice confirmed it.

"Ori..." 

Lucia stretched out the name for ten seconds, continuing to stroke the 'sleeping' girl's hair. Leaving her face blank, Ori decided to see how long she could maintain the ruse. Maybe she could even-

"I know you're awake, Ori."

Fuck.

"Then why aren't you stopping?" asked Ori, sleep still clinging onto her voice. 

"I like your hair. It's always so straight. It's infuriating, really. I practically need to use dynamite to get mine as straight as yours."

"How'd you know I was awake?"

"Your breathing changed slightly, probably when you got excited about pretending to be asleep."

Fuck.

"Sometimes, Lucia, I feel like you can hear my blood pumping. You've got to watch out about the creep factor, there."

"It's not my fault I pay attention to things. I can hear your liver right now...." Lucia adopted a mock wounded tone, "Zee wine, Ori! You wound me!"

"Wait," said Ori, "Why are we talking English?"

"Today's Monday. New week. Next week is French, thank God. C'est le langage de la romance."

"Shut it," hissed Ori. "If anyone hears you, you'll get in trouble. Again."

"Fine. Fine. English week is still better than German week, at least. I always feel like I'm complaining about something when I'm speaking German."

"Because you're always complaining about something."

"Eh. Fair point."

Lucia had finally stopped running her fingers through Ori's hair, so the taller girl finally forced herself to a sitting position. She stretched, paused, and tried to fall back into the bed before Lucia lunged forward and caught her in midair. Growling, Lucia easily pinned Ori.

"Be honest, Ori. How many different ways could you break this hold and kill me right now?"

"Uh... twelve. Thirteen if you're allergic to peanuts."

"Well I'm not, but... shit. I could only think of eight."

"You forgot how ticklish you are."

"Ori! No, I-" Lucia's statement dissolved in a fit of giggling. 

Lucia "pinned" Ori again with a curious look on her face.

"Single digits?"

"Not even close."

Sighing and planting a playful kiss on Ori's brow, Lucia rolled off her and practically skipped toward the shower. Not for the first time, Ori thanked God that she has Lucia as a roommate. Shit, if she had Beatrice she'd probably kill herself. Or Beatrice. Viola would probably be her second choice. Or maybe-

The door opened and Ori was already moving. There was only one person who'd be visiting this early in the morning. She kept her spine straight, and set her face to express the sedate happiness that Francesco always preferred.

He strolled into the room nonchalantly, his long black coat matching his hair, although the latter had begun to show signs of greying, particularly in his goatee. Still, his eyes were intense as they'd ever been, and Ori still felt a cold electric chill when she made eye contact.

She wished, desperately, that he'd come fifteen minutes later. Then, at least, she'd be properly dressed and put together, instead of wearing a camisole and shorts. Or maybe he'd wanted to see her like that? The thought twisted her stomach into excited knots. Francesco seemed to sense it, and he gestured toward the bed. He sat in the chair opposite her. Disappointed, Ori crossed her legs as she'd been trained.

"You look more beautiful by the day, Oriana."

"Thank you, Francesco."

"You do have some competition in the group, of course. Beatrice. Viola. Ginevra." Ori couldn't hide the frown. Francesco seemed pleased as he continued, "and that's part of why I'm here. An opportunity has arisen for some special training. I'll be overseeing it personally and-"

"I'll do it."

"You don't even know what it entails yet."

"Doesn't matter. I'll do it."

Francesco stood, mirrored by Oriana, and rested his hands on her shoulders as he fixed his eyes on her.

"I'm very proud of you, Oriana. You're everything I dreamed this program would become."

Oriana's heart started beating faster, and she tilted her head up to welcome any move Francesco would make, but the man simply squeezed her shoulders again with a wicked look in his eye.

"Time for you to begin the day's training, isn't it?"

Oriana nodded. Then he was gone.

Closing her eyes for a moment, she walked to the bathroom.

Later that day, Oriana walked into the room and slammed the door behind her. She wiped the tears from her eyes as she ran to her bed. Fuck, she was an idiot.

We're going to bring in a few young men for you, said the doctor, as Oriana's inquisitive eyebrow spoke for itself. The goal was to get the boys to fall in love with you- or lust, at least. To get them to leave the room the room with you. 

Oriana could see Francesco watching her, and she could feel her heart beating. She'd make him proud. Thinking of Francesco, Oriana flashed a grin at the first young man they brought in.

Eighteen minutes later, he was ready to fight the guards to help her escape. The process was repeated another three times, with Oriana regularly looking at the two way mirror where Francesco must be standing. 

Instead of being proud, Francesco had coldly dismissed her.

What the hell had she done wrong? How had she failed? She'd obviously upset him... she wished Lucia was here. She understood people; maybe she'd be able to- 

Oriana was interrupted by the ringing of the small butler bell on the wall. Instantly, her expression changed.

A mission.

Quickly splashing cold water on her face, she sprinted to the briefing room.

***

Three other girls were already waiting in the briefing room: Viola, Serena, and Beatrice. Fucking Beatrice. Francesco was pacing at the front of the room, occasionally glaring at Signora Ricci, the woman who handled most of the mundane support for the girls. 

"Where is she, Signora?" asked Francesco, his voice cold and impatient.

"It's only been a minute, Dottor Bianchi. She'll surely be here in a moment."

It was a long minute before Lucia appeared, sliding into the seat next to Ori. 

"Well," began Francesco, "we can finally begin. We've received a request from the Minister of the Interior. A wealthy factory owner in Milan has been supporting seditious groups financially, most likely in an attempt to gain power for himself. He must be removed- cleanly. It'll be hard to make it look like an accident. Suicide appears to be the better option from my perspective, but you'll of course be making your own calls on the ground."

Francesco paused, locking eyes with Oriana before saying, "Viola will command the mission."

The girls were silent. Most of them, with the exception of Lucia, had commanded their own missions before- but never when Oriana was also present. Since they were fourteen and starting their first, basic scouting missions Oriana had never been anything but the leader.

The repudiation hit her worse than a slap across her face. Her mouth opened as if to protest, but the look in Francesco's eyes stopped her. He wanted her to say something, so he could twist the knife. Ori closed her mouth.

What the hell had she done? She thought she was making him proud.

She dropped her eyes.

The back of the van was full of girls who didn't know what to say. Lucia watched Oriana like a hawk, but the other three girls barely made eye contact.

"I don't care," said Oriana. She forced a convincing smile, as she'd been trained to do; unfortunately, the others had all received the same training. "It'll be a nice break for me, really."

"Did you do something wrong?" asked Serena.

"She must've," said Beatrice, smart enough to repress her obvious pleasure at the recent turn of events. Beatrice had always considered herself Oriana's chief rival for Francesco's affections. Oriana had never really considered Beatrice at all. 

"I don't think she wants to talk about it," said Lucia.

"It's fine. I don't suppose it's a secret. I had some special training today."

"With the boys?" asked Viola.

Oriana ground her teeth together slightly. So she wasn't even the only one. 

"Yep, that one."

"You must have failed pretty spectacularly to make Francesco that upset with you," said Beatrice. "Did you even get one of them to leave? I got two of them, myself."

"Me too," said Serena.

"Three," said a smiling Viola, earning a glare from Beatrice.

"I didn't even get any special fucking training!" said Lucia, whose ears had started to turn red.

"So what was it, Oriana? One? Or... don't tell me... none?"

Oriana smirked. Lucia read the truth immediately and started laughing, while the other girls looked at the diminutive blonde. Oriana let her friend do her talking for her. It was more satisfying that way.

"Ori didn't get in trouble because she failed, Bee."

"Don't call me that."

"She got in trouble because she was too good. Viola, Serena, how long did the training take you?"

"Uh..." the two girls looked at each other, seeming to agree. "A few hours? 3?"

"How long did it take you to persuade all four boys, Ori?" asked Lucia, leaning back and chewing the scenery like a supervillain explaining her plan.

"Hour and a half."

Ori opened her eyes, looking innocently at Beatrice.

"So you see," continued Lucia, "Francesco wasn't mad at Ori for failing. He was mad at her for succeeding. Ori made him jealous."

All four girls stared at Ori. 

Gods didn't get jealous.

Once again, Ori said a silent prayer for Lucia.

"So what's the plan, boss?" asked Lucia with her arms crossed. The short, blonde girl was feeling bold after her earlier epiphany had sent the van plunging into silence. Now, the five girls were seated in a circle on the floor of their hotel room.

Viola flashed a confident smile. "First, we get inside. We'll sneak in tonight, plant drugs and stolen jewelry in the maids' quarters. As far as Signor Rossi is concerned, it'll look like he's been housing a crime ring. He'll probably completely overhaul the staff. Lucia, because she's the smallest, will play a beggar who hangs around the area. The rest of us all show up to try to get hired as maids. Whoever doesn't get hired runs surveillance outside and acts as our references; whoever does get hired handles the inside work. Before Rossi dies, we need to know who he's working with. That means documents, access to the office, everything."

Oriana practically mouthed it along with her, but she didn't want to show up Viola, who'd always been one of the best ones. Just because Oriana wasn't in charge, didn't mean she wanted the mission to fail. 

Oriana and Viola were the two who were hired, which is exactly how Ori would have picked it. Viola was smart, talented, and-perhaps most importantly- knew her place. Ori would take a bullet for her without question. As long as it wasn't in the head. 

The job itself barely interested Oriana. Charm some guards for information. Pick the locks to the office and pass the papers to the girls on the outside, who made perfect copies before the originals were replaced. Ho hum. They spent five days dusting, cleaning, and serving. Oriana got so bored that she kissed one of the guards, but she felt so guilty about it afterwards and so afraid of what Francesco would do if he found out that she decided it would be best not to speak of it.

The girls had been training every day since they were 12 for jobs like these; it was as simple as making bread and butter. 

At least the suicide was interesting. Beatrice, Oriana had to admit, was a master at forging handwriting. The suicide note, currently folded up in Oriana's pocket, would pass any scrutiny.

Rossi was working late when the two girls walked in, closing and locking the door behind them. He didn't even look up from his work until they were right in front of him, and Oriana had her gun pointed in his face. Viola retrieved Rossi's gun from his desk drawer.

"Wha- what are you do-"

Ori grabbed Rossi's hair and held him up as Viola jammed the gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger, scattering blood and brains on the wallpaper behind him. Viola quickly wiped down the gun as Oriana placed the suicide note. 

They heard screams, but the sounds faded as they climbed out the window. There was some risk, jumping and climbing down from one balcony to the other, but soon they were in the van, driving back toward the mountains to the north of Venice.

They didn't say a word; they didn't need to. In the past year, they'd done 37 similar jobs. It was just their life now.

Crap. I thought this was memories of old school. My bad