Ori clicked the lock on the door closed, then walked briskly back toward Tara and kissed her, taking her face in her hands and slowly bringing their lips together.

She smiled against Ori’s lips

“You… are… infuriatingly… stubborn,” said Ori, in between slow kisses.

Tara’s skin was on fire, lit up with everything she ever hoped to feel and more.  The fear, the absolute relief, the joy and sadness of all the time and all the things that had passed before this moment and a thousand other things she couldn’t name fluttering through her mind; it made her tremble.

“Yea, but you like it.”  Tara chuckled, nuzzling the other woman’s face, pressing herself into Ori, wrapping her arms around her tight, trying to absorb the feel of her.  She sighed a shuddering breath. “Now… now you can tell me how we’re getting out of this mess.”

Ori, still kissing Tara, shook her head.

Tara’s mind raced as she returned Ori’s kisses and tried to speak between them.  “Tattaglia is God here… yes?” It was stupid. So fucking stupid and she knew it.  Knew how it would end but she just didn’t care. 

Ori, kissing Tara’s neck, murmured a “mmmm hmmmm.”

“He… won’t let them, because I love you.”  She kissed Ori again. “He won’t let them stop us.”  Her fingers played in the other woman’s hair, Tara took in the scent of her and found herself floating.

“How are you drunk on a half a cup of wine?”

“Shut up,.”  Tara said between kisses.  “Let me show you.” She kept kissing Ori and moved to sit on the edge of the bed.

Oriana moved toward Tara quickly, pushing her weight against her as Tara snaked her legs behind Ori’s back.

“How long… have you known?”  She rubbed her thumb hard against Ori’s skin on her upper arm, feeling how soft she was for the first time, really absorbing the truth of her.

“Since you walked into your room at Vassar and found me on the bed.”

Tara laughed.  It was the sum total of her frustration, her love, her fear and absolute amusement at how long she’d suffered in silence as the other woman watched her writhing on it. 

Ori pulled away, reaching back for the cup of wine and taking a long drink from it before handing it to Tara. “I should tell you what happened to me. Just so you know everything. Know me.”

“I know you.”  She said confidently.  “I knew you from the moment you put that knife to my throat.”

“You may not want… this.”

“Impossible.”

“And that’s fucked up, Tara.” Ori smirked.

“Don’t make me make you hurt me.” She smirked back grabbing hold of Ori’s outfit gently.  “Just… be patient with me. Like everything else, I’m still learning, okay?”

Ori looked at Tara slightly differently- like she was seeing her from a different angle. Then she nodded and slid onto the bed, moving to where her head rested on one of the pillows. 

Tara crawled up beside her, the way she imagined she could have if Ori had let her read the journals to her that first night in her dorm.  She’d dreamed of it every night since, even after the incident in the tent, though admittedly some other elements had crept into those dreams as she learned more and more about her would-be lover.  Tara touched her face with the tips of her fingers, running them along her jaw bone - staring into her eyes.

“There’s nothing you could say that would make me not want this moment.  Even if you told me that …” She shook her head stopping herself. “Nothing.  I promise.”

Ori took a deep breath, then rolled onto her side and kissed Tara again- slowly, at first, but building in rhythm and hunger over time.

Kissing Ori made all of the world melt away into nothing.  For a time, Tara could not say how long, she kissed her lover and simply let that be.  But Tara’s mind was ever turning. Never silent. Were it not for her Nona’s journals she might have thought it a form of madness.  Instead she’d come to see it as a gift. In this instant, her mind drifted back to Ori’s repeated attempts to talk to her and came to realize that maybe it was less about Ori’s fears and more about Ori’s needs.  Tara’s lips came away from Ori’s.

“Talk to me.”  She whispered, her legs were over Ori’s.  Her arms and breasts touching her, all the parts of her body trying to give her lover comfort and reassurance.  In her arms, Ori would always be safe, Tara needed her to know that.

Ori froze, then slid off the bed quickly and scrambled toward the door, reaching for a knife that wasn’t there. She listened at the doorway for a moment with an intense concern in her face, then exhaled, relaxed, and even smiled.

“False alarm. I thought someone was getting hurt next door. But it’s the opposite.”

Tara’s whole body had locked up as Ori left and acted in such a state, but upon hearing her relief, Tara could only laugh.  “The Eye of the Storm. This place… it’s the fucking eye of a hurricane, isn’t it?”

Ori nodded as she walked back toward the bed. “Come here. Stand up.” Something had changed in her voice.

Tara obediently moved to the edge of the bed and she rose up beside Oriana. 

“If at any point,” Ori walked behind Tara, “you want me to stop. Just say so.” Then Tara felt Ori’s lips on the back of her neck, and she felt Ori’s hands reaching for the clasps of Tara’s dress. Undoing them, her arms slid around Tara as they had when teaching her shooting, but this time they were pulling at fabric.

“You wanted to tell me something,”  Tara said in a breathy voice.

“Uh huh.” 

“I wasn’t very good at listening… been thinking of this for so long that it was all I could think about, but there’s not much I know how to do to make you as happy as you’re making me… god… the least I can do is list-”

“Tara… shut up.”

The dress hit the floor. Tara’s breath caught as the dress came away. Ori’s hands reached forward to Tara’s hips and, as Ori leaned forward, Tara realized that Ori had lost her clothes- if you could call them clothes. 

“Lie back on the bed. Tell me if you want to stop. But otherwise… shut up.” She smirked.

Tara nodded and moved onto the bed quickly, she knew it was silly but her arms instinctively covered her front, shielding her from both the chill and Ori’s eyes.

“Close your eyes.”

Tara laughed nervously and then did as she was told.  If Ori had suddenly become the thing of her nightmares, even if she had killed her in this moment, Tara could think of no better way to be sent to St. Peter than this.  If death is coming, she thought, let it come.

For the next ten minutes, Ori tormented Tara, kissing her once on the brow, and then slowly tracing her tongue lower on her body. Tara’s collarbone received two minutes of attention. Her shoulder. Her arms. Just when Tara felt like she was composed enough to open her eyes, Ori’s catlike tongue trailed across her chest and caused Tara to grab onto the silk sheets. After that, time became fluid for Tara. It was a daze of feeling Ori’s body against hers, feeling Ori’s tongue and fingers exploring each inch of her body. 

At some point, as Ori traced her tongue up her thigh, Tara began to scream. Then her whole world went white- white with a mixture of lust, joy, tension, and, finally, relief. As the color bled back into her world, Tara’s breathing steadied and she looked up at a smirking Oriana.

“Brigitte definitely heard that. Just so you know.”

“Good.”  Tara said gasping.  “She thought she could seduce you… you know that?”  

She laughed.  “I’d say that was a win for you but um… I can’t help but feel like I’m the winner this time.”

Ori smiled, leaning back on the pillow next to Tara and wiping a few beads of sweat from her brow- and from Tara’s.

“My god… you are even more beautiful like this.  I didn’t think that was even possible.” Tara took a finger and wiped at Ori’s brow and lips - still flush with lust, her blush went unseen.

Ori bit one of Tara’s fingers lightly, then slid off the bed and tossed Tara a silk robe.

“Do you still want to hear everything?”

Tara took the robe and glanced at the bath before nodding, “Of course.”

Ori gave a good natured sigh. “Do you still want to hear everything in the bath?”

She shrugged, “Seems like a waste of a perfectly good bath not to and… well, our host wants us pleasured.  Maybe we should do what he wants for a little while longer? I don’t want to be rude.”

Ori walked back toward Tara and sat on the bed, draping one leg across the other. “Oh? What do you want to be?”

“Just like this… forever.  I don’t want to leave. I mean, it’s stupid but no one here would bat an eyelash at us.  We could just… be happy.” She smiled, she knew it was impossible, but Ori had asked her what she wanted.  She didn’t want to leave this place, not ever. It might well have been the most perfect place in all the world.

“For a little while longer… okay. What do you want?” Ori smiled as she cracked her neck and flexed her fingers.

Tara laughed again, she’d been laughing more in the last hour or so than she had in weeks.  She’d almost forgotten how good it felt. “I want to …” She looked Ori over, drank in the color of her skin, the shifting hues in her eyes and the gloss of her hair.  She mostly let her eyes linger on the soft, round and perfect places on the other woman’s body. This time, for once, without fear or guilt and instead with all the curiosity and anticipation of a child set before gifts on Christmas morning.

“Everything.”  she smirked. “I want to make you happy.  Will you tell me how, what you like, where… how.”  Tara timidly touched her lover. HER lover and smiled again.

Ori froze again for a moment, then she nodded.

“Ori?”  noting her hesitation, Tara tilted her head to the side and her smile faded.  “You … we… don’t have to.”

Ori nodded again, more emphatically. “I want to.”

She said her name again, this time as if her voice were caressing it as she had done to her skin, “Ori?  What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.” She moved forward to kiss Tara again.

It was Tara’s turn to freeze and she put a hand over Ori’s heart, firm, trying to stop her.  “I don’t believe you… what did I say?”

She put a hand on Ori’s cheek.

“I’m just not used to this. That’s all.”

Tara nodded, “That makes two of us.  That’s not a bad thing. It means we just… talk.  Help each other. Please each other as we can of course but…”

“Okay. Do that.” She moved again toward Tara with a grin.

Tara obliged and kissed Ori, shaking her head slightly, “And I’m the stubborn one,” She said coming up for breath.

“You said you wanted me to tell you what to do?” asked Ori. Tara nodded. Ori lay back on the bed, trying to relax. For the next few minutes, her voice was musical and perfectly under control. Tara sensed Ori’s responses mostly through sound, at least at first. First, her breathing grew deeper. Then, there were unplanned pauses in her directions. When the first moan escaped from in between Ori’s lips, Tara grinned triumphantly before returning to her work. Ori fought against it for a while, but she screamed, too. When both women were spent, Tara looked over to find a tear running down Ori’s cheek that was quickly wiped away.

Sensing the other woman wasn’t going to want to talk about it, Tara reflected on the wisdom of dreams and just ‘did’ something.  Silent she pulled Ori into her arms, encouraging her to rest her head just above her breasts so that she could run her fingers through Ori’s hair.  Laying there listening to her breath, not able to see one another’s eyes, she’d let Ori be alone with her thoughts but made certain that she never once really was alone.  If Tara had anything to say about it, Ori would never be alone, not ever again.  

They both pretended that the occasional drop of water rolling down to Tara’s chest didn’t exist.  After a long time, Ori spoke again. “Do you want to hear about what happened to me now? Or in the bath?”

Tara lifted her head and kissed the crown of Ori’s head and then fell back onto the pillows.  She kept petting the other woman’s hair and running fingers along her sweat-soaked skin. “I’m comfortable here… the question is, do you want to talk about it now?”

“You should know some things. Someone has to. Just in case.”

“Alright then.  I’m listening to you, Ori.”

“Okay. I’ll start a few weeks ago, as much as I know about everything important, at least…”

Chapter 9: Addiction

Francesco paced back and forth over the Ponte Sant’Angelo; he was as pensive as any pope who’d taken refuge in the nearby castello. Oriana would come. There was no doubt. She’d already killed a number of his contacts spread throughout the country, including his partner in Bari, and Francesco could only guess at the information she had already. Better to wait for her here in Rome than let her find the new compound. It had finally been modified to his liking, and he had no intention of losing it.

The women following him on either side were a study in contrast. Viola, brown-haired, was gentle. Serena, golden-haired, was grim. Spread around the area, hidden in alleyways and under the bridge, were the seven 15-16 year old girls who represented the future of the program.

It was a future that Oriana had jeopardized on her previous trip to Venice, but Francesco was confident he could chart a course toward the future. The Italian government, specifically Francesco’s patron Il Duce, had less of a need for him- or less confidence in him. Francesco preferred to think it was the former. No, at this point it would be better to work as a mercenary, both to operate without restriction and to rebuild the program’s reputation after it had nearly been destroyed by Oriana.

Francesco bared his teeth, exposing them to the chilled night air. The girl could infuriate him. But she was unique- special. She was his greatest success in decades of forging weapons: the deadliest, the most ambitious, the most beautiful…

Serena cleared her throat, as if she knew that Francesco had been dwelling on her better. Francesco was about to chastise her when Serena whispered, “Listen”, barely audible in the exhalation of her breath.

Francesco heard a muffled cry from the south, then silence for a moment before the sound repeated. Oriana was removing the younger girls who’d been hidden as snipers. Francesco growled with frustration, a deep rumbling that drew the attention of Viola and Serena. How many of them had been stationed there, four? He’d have to find their bodies, find new recruits… narrowing his eyes, Francesco whistled, readying the three girls hanging down off the sides of the bridge. 

Oriana walked to the edge of the bridge hold a machete out to side like a katana. She was beautiful in the moonlight, and Francesco smiled as they made eye contact. The smile seemed to spur her to motion, sprinting forward with her hand moving toward her gun.

“Take her alive!” shouted Francesco, loud enough for Oriana to hear.

Alive, however, did not mean healthy. The moonlight reflected off of Viola and Serena’s knives, and Francesco almost sighed at the poetry of the scene. Three of his girls, moving like dancers in the moonlight. Serena, thinking of herself as always, feinted to draw Oriana’s attention before letting Viola make the first move. Viola’s knife thrust was closer to Oriana’s chest than Francesco would prefer, but she wouldn’t have the opportunity to make the same mistake twice, as Oriana dodged it and quickly swung the machete upwards, cleaving off Viola’s arm at the shoulder. Serena charged, but Oriana dropped the machete and, using Serena’s motion against her, tossed the blonde off the bridge. Francesco whistled a signal.

Oriana spun toward him, drawing her Beretta, and Francesco stood with his hands out to his side, genuinely curious about what she’d do as he smiled warmly at her. He saw the beautiful grey eyes warring with indecision. Her trigger finger flexed but it didn’t pull. Francesco nodded at her understandingly. They spent three seconds locked in a motionless gaze. Then Oriana whirled around, surprised by the sounds behind her, as a swarm of three girls simultaneously stuck a dagger into Oriana’s side and lifted her gun safely into the air. Within a minute, Oriana was bound and on her knees, her head hanging low as she stared at the ground. Francesco knelt next to her on one knee, tilting her face up by the chin and smiling at the tears running down Oriana’s face. She almost never cried; the guilt at nearly killing him must be overwhelming to her. Francesco gave her a smile.

“Welcome home, Oriana.”

With a kiss on Oriana’s brow, Francesco stood. Serena, still dripping wet, appeared at his side and said, “The other girls are alive. She just knocked them out- didn’t kill them.”

“Excellent. Bring them all back to the garage and we’ll be on our way.”

“And Viola?”

Francesco looked down at the ruined girl. Her skin was white, her breath was ragged, and there was a large pool of blood between her and her arm. “She’s dead,” he said. “Leave her.”

As Francesco walked off the Ponte Sant’Angelo, he couldn’t help but feel pleased. His priorities were clear. He’d return to the compound, where his first priority would be winning back Oriana’s complete loyalty. She was confused, and he would dispel that confusion. She would, in time, stand by his side and help train this new generation. He would be kind to her, he would patiently explain why she was wrong, and she would return to him- as always. Then, they would build up the program to become the premier mercenary group on the continent for infiltration and assassination. He’d call in favors with a couple old friends, leave Serena on the continent to disrupt anyone looking for Oriana, and trust the seven new girls to protect him: two drawn guns would be on Oriana at all times, at least until she proved herself.

All would be well. All would be well.

***

The compound was in the forest, located near the top of a mountain that looked north onto the ocean. There were only a few small buildings clustered together, some built with wood and others with stone. The largest building was the training room, which had padded floors for sparring and was connected to an open-air shooting range. The dormitories, which had beds for a dozen, housed the girls. Francesco had his own building of course, crammed with luxuries not found in the rest of the spartan compound. There was a small armory with supplies and other explosives, located away from the other buildings. And then there was the building he was walking to: the medical building. It was staffed by an older woman who had been a nurse and was capable of nearly any medical procedure. She’d been with Francesco for a decade; she never asked questions, but simply took her money and sent it somewhere. It was an agreeable arrangement. 

Francesco walked through the door to find Oriana lying in one of the beds, wearing the same pants and blouse that she’d been captured in, wrists and ankles restrained.

“Oriana, we’ll have to get you changed.” He ran two fingers through her hair.

Oriana looked up at Francesco with a blank look, but she didn’t say anything to him as he approached her. She had spent the previous night thinking about this moment; it had given her both dreams and nightmares, and she couldn’t decide which she was more ashamed of. 

“Why don’t you tell me why you came after me? Then we can figure out how this miscommunication ever occurred.”

Oriana looked away from Francesco, but as she spoke her gaze repeatedly returned to him, only for her to try to cast it off more emphatically. Francesco seemed to notice her efforts and smiled. He took a seat, and sat across from Oriana for… she couldn’t even tell how long. She kept her eyes closed, trying to ignore him, trying even to fall asleep. But it was no use. From the ages of 12 to 22, she’d thought about Francesco every day; he had shaped her to love him- to need him- and that desire wasn’t something Oriana could beat with willpower.

Thinking about Lucia and Tara was like an adrenaline shot to Oriana’s heart; the world suddenly regained its clarity, and something dark must have flashed in her eyes, because Francesco furrowed his brow. Lucia and Tara felt like the one part of Oriana that he couldn’t subsume, and Ori clearly saw the two choices before her: she could either hold on desperately to those connections or let them go. If she held onto Lucia and Tara, Francesco would find them in her mind, break them down, and corrupt them. Oriana had no doubts about this eventuality.

Instead, Oriana chose the second option; she bottled up the parts of her that had connected to Lucia and Tara, and she cast that bottle out to sea, hoping and trusting that it would find its way back to her again. She couldn’t fool Francesco; she had to give herself over to him fully. Then, she had to find her way back to being herself. 

The next time he leaned over to kiss her cheek, she turned, let her lips meet his, and the Ori who had run away ceased to exist.

***

She drowned herself in Francesco, buried herself in him until she once again felt him at her core and every extremity. It had been a long time since she’d felt so good, so comfortable with her life. Gone was the indecision, angst, and turmoil she’d felt while on the run, and now she truly felt like herself. Why had she even run away? There was so much chaos about… things… people. She didn’t allow their names or faces to enter in her mind; in fact, she tried to erase them without thinking about them, but failed. 

At first, after giving herself back to them, the girls had been suspicious: two guns on her at all times, ready for her to grab a makeshift weapon and try to kill Francesco. There were seven girls, total, ranging from 13 to 15. Perhaps determined to avoid the mistakes of Oriana’s group, Francesco had simply assigned them numbers rather than names. One was the oldest; Seven was the youngest. The girls accepted Oriana slowly, then all at once. They remembered her attacking them- and they remembered attacking her. But as the days bled together, two guns pointed at her became two guns within arm’s reach, then one gun. They didn’t dare violate Francesco’s orders, but as Oriana slid into a hybrid maternal/big sister role, they relaxed. Why wouldn’t they? She was better than any of them, trained them well, and slept in Francesco’s bed every night. To the girls, this was a revelation- and some of them began to idolize Oriana almost as much as Francesco.”

***

Despite feeling more comfortable with herself and her life than she had in a year, Oriana found it was the opposite while she was sleeping. Her nightmares had rarely been so bad. Francesco said they would pass, in time, so Oriana simply ignored them. In a particularly vivid nightmare, she found herself on the beach walking with someone, when a huge wave dragged her out to sea. She tried to swim back to shore. Someone was calling her name. Then she was underwater, her lungs screaming for air.

Oriana crashed back into reality from her dream, sitting up in bed and gasping for air. Francesco, lying next to her, didn’t wake up. Taking a few deep breaths to steady herself, she looked down at him. He was vulnerable; no guns were allowed in his bedroom. But Oriana was incapable of hurting him; she no longer had any desire to. With a smile, she sat up in bed, not bothering to pull the sheet up to cover her chest. She rang a small bell to summon Serena.

“I’d like a glass of water, please,” said Oriana.

Serena’s eyes flashed with anger, but she disappeared and returned with the glass. “You were louder, tonight. Better be careful, or you’ll give those girls an education,” said Serena, her voice dripping with bile.
“Well, I suppose someone has to. Obviously, I was missed…” Oriana drank a small sip from the glass before placing it on the nightstand. “You can leave now, Serena.”

Fighting to stay silent, Serena exited and closed the door behind her.

***

After two weeks of a warm, comfortable peace, Oriana once again found her life turned upside-down. Five was practicing with her Beretta, and she reached her arms around the girl to fix her aim, and something in Oriana’s spirit cracked. Immediately, she could smell Tara’s hair. See the girl’s eyes. Hear her voice, endless asking questions, talking. One crack followed another as Ori froze, open-mouthed. Vassar. Camping. Singing. A new life. Tara.. Ori experienced such a rush of emotion that she nearly fell over. 

Five looked back at her, confused as to why Ori had fallen silent.

“Sorry,” said Ori . “I just remembered something.”

“Is it important?” asked Five.

“Very.”

I think I love Tara Mastrosimone.

What the fuck am I supposed to do now?

***

The next few days were hard for Ori. The first time she tried to lie to Francesco, she was convinced the man would see right through her- but he didn’t. She imagined Tara whispering in her ear, telling him what to say. When she smiled at Francesco, she imagined Tara behind him. When she screamed his name, she imagined Tara’s. It might not have worked if she had done it when she was first captured, but Francesco had always been confident of his control- particularly with Oriana. 

Slowly, she began to carve out more of her new self, hiding everything behind a mask.

***

“I’m sending you both to Naples,” said Francesco, greeting Oriana and Serena in his room. “There is a group of people who’ve been hunting me. Americans, mostly. Some of your old associates, Oriana.”

Ori dropped her eyes, feeling excited but trying to project that she was ashamed.

“You’ll wait with Stefano Tattaglia. You both remember him, of course, and our mutual arrangement. In his house, there can be no violence. Even the two of you could be killed if you try something. I want you to wait with them, to evaluate this group of enemies, so that we can better plan for their eventual attack. I have resigned myself to the fact that this compound may not remain hidden, and I intend to make them pay dearly for forcing us to move so soon after we became comfortable.”

“Why just scout?” asked Serena. “Why not kill them outside Tattaglia’s place?”

Oriana nodded.

“Because,” said Francesco, looking at Oriana. “I don’t want to kill all of them. I want one or two of them alive- the Mastrosimone girls. I intend to train them.”

Oriana couldn’t hide what flashed over her face; Francesco knew her too well. “... what was that, Oriana?”

“I…” Oriana paused. If she said it was nothing, he’d know it was a lie. “I don’t want to be replaced. Threatened. I want things to stay like they have been.” She smiled, imagining Tara standing behind Francesco. He stared at her for a moment, then he nodded.

“No one could replace you, Oriana,” said Francesco, as Serena seethed behind her. He waited, considering something, then he sent them away. “Go to Naples. Gather your information, and return. If you don’t, for whatever reason, I expect I’ll have to start over elsewhere- an entirely fresh start, with new recruits. Succeed- both for your sake and for theirs.” His glance out the window toward the dormitories made it clear who he was referring to.