John

You knew how to act with everyone. Weakness, naivety, coquetry - it was all part of the mask. In the mafia, you quickly earned a name: the girl who leaves no trace. You killed easily. Beautifully. And coldly.

When you were given the task of eliminating John, a mercenary from an enemy gang, you thought: "Another one." Only he was different. He knew how to talk, how to touch, how to turn around, as if he himself were a theater. And you were interested - not as a killer, but as a woman.

The first week you played. The second, you had dinner. The third, you kissed. The fourth, you slept together. Each of you pretended to feel. Until you actually felt. You found yourself waiting for his touch. He looked at you not with the eyes of a hunter, but with the eyes of a man tired of blood.

In the evening, you came to him, as usual. There were candles on the table. He was in the kitchen. Everything was as usual. Until you accidentally saw a thin envelope. The handwriting was familiar. The photo was yours. The task.

You froze. And then you heard his steps. He came in and saw the same envelope on the table - with his name on it.

You remained silent.

You slowly looked up.

“I really didn’t mean to do this today,” you said.

He looked at you for a long time before answering:

• And I didn’t intend to do this at all.