Her Name Is Satine

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The most notorious and skilled assassin, feared by many worldwide, yet she's known only as Madam Rouge or Lady In Red. How can a faceless assassin strike fear just by the mention of her name? Satine lives buried in richest passed down to her and from her immoral side job. What happens when she gets requested to take down the most infamous mafia boss Sergio Amiro? A man that many have tried to bring down but have ended up not seeing another daylight. With an enormous cash prize, she doesn't think twice about the consequences. Will her greed for more be the ultimate death?

Romance / Action
4.0 2 reviews
Age Rating:

A New Beginning

You could hear the nervous tone wrapped around every word he spoke. I didn’t have to look at him to understand he is beyond terrified. Working with La Madame Rouge, or better known as Lady in Red to my English underdogs is petrifying and quite a formidable work.

‘I... I know this is an arduous task.’ He pauses for a moment as I twirled my fingers around the phone cord, looking outside the window.

It was pitch black in the office, with only the city lights and the moon illuminating the otherwise dark room.

He cleared his throat before continuing with his ceremonial speech. Why can’t he get to the point already?

’I need Sergio Amiro dead. I heard you are the right person for the job. I’m offering you £30 billion.′ My ears perked up after hearing that sweet word. I do love the extra zeros in my bank account.

I looked at my glass cupboard, where I stored all sorts of jewellery and other miscellaneous items. I could use another set of dims and gems.

I straightened my back and turned around in my chair, propping my legs on top of my empty desk.

‘That’s a lovely sum.’ I looked down at my diamond incrusted necklace, gently touching it, admiring how it gleamed in the moonlight. ‘How long do I get?’

He filled me in with everything, and just like that, I am up on my feet about to walk back to my apartment and land myself a job at the Arielle Enterprise, after some research of course.

The sound of my alarm tore through the peacefulness. Any other day I would have grunted and turned around, except today. I couldn’t help but wake up with a huge smile on my face as today is not just any day, oh no, it’s the day I’m about to meet my entrée, my candied prey. Once this job is over, I will be bathing in money.

I threw my legs over the bed and started to walk towards the bathroom door. The moment I opened the door, the sweet smell of roses with a dash of sandalwood mixed in with the intoxicating sweet and with a hint of spice, the ylang-ylang flower, attacked my nostrils ever so gently.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath before exhaling slowly, taking in all the sweet fragrances around the room.

I strutted down the marbled floor to the middle of the room where my rose quart bathtub was. As I slowly turned the knob, I stared at the window wall.

The smooth sound of the water flowing and the beautiful scenery of clouds and bursts of oranges and reds in the sky, illuminating the room with a golden shade, which gracefully touched everything in the bathroom, giving it a shimmery and majestic look.

I clapped my hands twice to turn on my inbuilt speaker. The soft sounds of waterfalls and piano started playing. The type of music you hear at spas.

I relaxed my shoulders and let my red silk robe drop to the floor then I slowly took my red laced underwear and threw them to one side as I elegantly slid into the already filled and hot bathtub.

I further relaxed my shoulders and sank deeper into the water before taking a few quick breaths and submerging inside, allowing the water to consume my body.

I stayed under the water for a good few minutes and then hastily got up. I started to cough uncontrollably as I tried to regain my breath.

I gently wrapped my hand around my neck as I tried to steady my breathing. Taking deep and loud breaths, I leaned backwards on the rim of the bathtub, slowly outstretching my arms on the side as I left my head to dangle at the edge, whilst still trying to regain my breath.

Submerging myself underwater is something I have always done - religiously for many years. However, never have I ever had this type of reaction.

I shook my head and continued my morning relaxation and self-care before getting dressed for today’s mission.

I walked into my walk-in closet. At this point, it is more like a luxurious boutique that has two floors. The moment I open the door, the view of rows and rows of marbled shelves filled with clothes, shoes, and accessories all neatly stacked with shoes proudly displayed on LED-lit shelves, comes to view.

I always loved the monochrome look, so of course, my walk-in closet would only be decorated in the chicest colours there are blacks and whites with exceptional greys.

I walked to the marbled block table I have in the middle of the room and pushed the white button on top of the table. The centre of the table slowly separated as my computer elevated to the top.

When you have so many clothes, you do not have time to go through everything. Therefore, I ordered a high-tech machine which has all my clothes logged on.

This way it’s more effortless to select the outfits I wish to wear. Once selected, they appear in the closet section where I get changed.

The premia of a prosperous dame.

I decided to go for black high waisted jeans that are ripped at the knee with a black turtleneck, my black La Redoute trench coat and my Dear France Spirit Boots.

I walked out of the closet, out of my apartment complex and into the garage. Sure enough, Mr Johnson was right at the door.

A tall elderly man who has worked with the Reads for many loyal years, even after the death of my birth givers.

‘Which car will you be driving, mademoiselle?’ Mr Johnson bowed slightly. I smirked and huffed before walking towards the black 62 Chevrolet Corvette.

‘You do play the part so well, Mr Johnson.’ I laughed as I opened the door. Mr Johnson followed suit and sat at the driver’s seat. He ignited the engine, sighing.

‘Of course, I play the part well, my dear,’ I turned my head slightly to look at him. I knew he cared for me as if I was his biological daughter. He might not agree with what I do but he has been supporting me ever since.

I was only sixteen when he took me into his care. The women who gave birth to me was a vicious widow - constantly abused me. Then she blamed me and everyone for the disappearance of my father.

He was found dead in a hotel a year after his disappearance... alongside his mistress.

Who is the killer? Well, the woman he married, of course, but she was never charged - lack of evidence they said.

Hush money, I say.

They were both sorry excuse of parents. Both abused and manipulated me. Thankfully, my mother took care of half the dead weight. Me being a perfect little daughter took care of the other half.

By shooting her.

I remember that night so vividly. Mr Johnson was there; he saw it all unravel. I remember his face. That expression will always haunt me.

His eyes became so abnormally large as he stared at me in utter shock. I was covered with the splattered blood of the woman who laid dead on the ground.

I remember my violent trembles as I screamed in desperation.

‘She was trying to kill me!’

Instead of running away, calling the police officers, he asked me to put the gun down slowly and that it will be okay.

He said he’ll take care of this mess and make it seem as if it never happened. And he did. Mr Johnson had the perfect plan.

He apologised for what he was about to do - he punched me in the face to give me a black eye and later hit himself as hard as he could.

Vigorously cleaned the gun and bleached the sink before strategically placing the gun away. The police officers came later that night. Before they did, Johnson made sure I knew exactly what to say and do if they suspected, I had to blame him.

Luckily, they believed our intruder story, probably because I was more than traumatised with what I had just done and the visible bruises and cuts.

Ever since the night of her death, we have been living together like a family with his wife.

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