Blood On His Hands

Родина. That is the name. Pronounced Rodina for you English speakers. It pretty much means “motherland” in Russian. The name of an ancient underground group of mafia-like “godfathers” who are in every means powerful and deadly. Not anyone gets in this group. It is very secret, very hidden, but somehow, VERY known for its wickedness.
My source calls it a cobra with the deadliest bite. The initiation for this group is one of the cruelest initiations in history, even the Italian Mafia leader said he would never do such a thing. The one thing you must do to even be considered part of the group is the greatest sacrifice, you must kill one of your family members. Now, they’re may be some family members you wouldn't mind being gone, if you think you’re hardcore enough to kill them.
No, Pодина doesn't let you kill anyone. They handpick your family member, that’s what makes it worse. They don’t want you in their group, they don’t want more members, or else they wouldn't make their initiation so damn hard. They, in known history, made Old Igor kill his last daughter, who was only seven. Pyotr had to kill his beloved uncle, who was like a father to him. Overall, it’s extremely tough.
Although, there are families so involved in the group since its first origins in 1663, that some are just born into the group. Of course, with the old families like these, one man automatically becomes the leader of the group. Just happens like that, I guess because of heritage and credibility. So, nowadays, Pодина is ruled, led, or whatever, by the fearsome Takhev Milov Kyacheslav. Now, there’s a guy who doesn’t give a rat’s ass about anyone. He’s like a rock. Not even with his family is he ever unguarded or less grim. I guess he fits well as the leader of such a group.
But hey, I shouldn’t be saying anything bad about this group, because I’m no better. I’m an assassin…yeah, close your mouths. It’s not like I chose this. It’s like the same with this group. My family is a family of assassins, from way back when. Once I could walk and talk I was being trained in martial arts and learning to shoot guns, throw blades, slice stuff up with swords. Now, it’s just become my thing. Good thing is, since my family is “the” assassin family, I have some privileges. So, I tell whoever chooses my assignments that I will only kill bad guys. Cause I’m a good guy. Seriously!
~Chapter One~
“I can’t believe the ball is tomorrow! Ahhhh!” Kat shrills as she clasps a pillow, pressing her face to it.
“I guess…It’s just my uncle Nikolai’s yearly ball. He has it every year, the same as always.” Natasha murmurs, looking at her nails wonderingly.
“Still! It’s a ball! Glorious ball gowns, rich foods, gorgeous men. It’s every girl’s dream.” She then prances about as she hums a waltz. Natasha rolls her eyes but a spike of excitement spears her stomach. She really is looking forward to the ball, because she found the gown of her dreams to wear to it.
She slithers out of the room while Katya is busy humming away, prancing katya-like down the hall, into a familiar place: her bedroom. Casually, she walks up to her large boudoir, and pulls it open. A spicy perfume wafts out of it, she smells it gleefully, her favorite scent, the scent of vanilla incense. There it is, the shining wine colored fabric shouting out at her. She pulls it out, the feel of the silk smooth and cool against her skin. Her gown. THE gown.
It is a ball gown, reminiscent of 17th century fashion. The color is wine red, almost blood red with a purple hue. There is black thread woven through the torso in a flowery, almost lace-like design. Natasha has a matching dark gold corset to complement the sleeves which are gold laced and have ribbon that weaves through the tip of the sleeves. The skirt has layers of red, gold and black fabric, all layered on each other but parting down the middle and adorned with rubies scattered along the whole skirt.
“It’s beautiful.” A voice whispers, and Natasha swivels her head to the voice. There’s no one there but her balcony door is wide open. She runs to the balcony, looking down and seeing a tall dark figure running down the road. She shivers and closes the door shut.
~The Ball~
The group of girls enter the ballroom, the announcer decreeing: “Miss Katya Mileena Kyacheslav, daughter of Lucretia Isadora Vierona Dios of the royal family Vierona and Takhev Milov Kyacheslav." Katya stops at the top of the steps, bowing to the crowd. Her gown is the color of a Robin’s egg, blue with silver lining on the bodice and a full skirt. Her hair is piled on top of her head in golden ringlets and a pearl circlet. She looks beautiful.
"Miss Natasha Irina Gennadiy, daughter of Aneska Gryta Firenze of the Noble family of Firenze and Dmitriy Vadim Gennadiy of the Noble Gennadiys." Natasha emerges, a strikingly pale beauty with raven black hair, braided into a marvelous updo adorned with rubies. Her dress, as described before, flashes a dark wine red and coal black, gleaming with rubies and gold lining. She smiles and curtsies, feeling the intense stares of the crowd.
The other girls follow, Katya's sister; Sabrina Chekhov Kyacheslav, Natasha's cousin; Isabella Fortuna Leon, another noble girl by the name of Ivana Nasya Ruslan, and her close friend, a Scandinavian girl; Jeneve Axelia Elof, who comes from a wealthy family.
The group moves in unison towards the dance floor, sashaying and craning their necks as they look around at the young, available men and beautiful gowns of their rivals.
Natasha looks around, but not really seeking. Then she catches the dark smoldering stare of a young man, and is caught. They look into each other’s eyes for a few seconds, she blinks, and he is gone.
They sit in a row of seats on the side of the dance floor. Katya sighs, shifting her skirts.
"I'm bored! I wish someone would ask me to dance..."
As if on cue, a gentleman appears and sweeps her to the dance floor. All the girls sigh, except for Natasha. She is thinking of the man whom she saw. His eyes were piercing blue, but dark so that you might think them black. His hair was dark and slicked back, a little long at the ends, so that it curled at the back of his neck. He was wearing an Armani suit, and being a great fashion enthusiast, Natasha knew right away from the cuffs to the fit of the jacket.
The band strums up a waltz, and Natasha's attention is drawn to the dance floor. Katya is spinning and smiling, being twirled by Sebastien Guillame D'Artagnan. Sabrina was yawning off the side, being talked her ear off by Ivana. Isabella was drinking wine with Jeneve and two noblemen, Antonio Rafael Vidal and Keenan Brawley Gallagher.
Sighing, Natasha rises to join Sabrina and possibly lure her to safety, but her eyes catch a dark figure by a pillar. It's him.

~Mikhail~
She was beautiful. Regal, proud, and fierce. Her eyes were a warm gold, framed by thick dark eyelashes. Her lips pursed as her eyes wandered the room, until they settled their gaze on me. At first I was startled, I didn't think she'd find me, but here I was, my cover blown. This was the girl I was assigned to kill?
I managed to break eye contact and slip away into the shadows once again. I need to make a plan...A dance? Yeah. I'll ask her to dance. Then once I get close, flirt, and charm her; I'll drag her away into the gardens to kill her. Yeah...easy...
I hear the music stop, the musicians taking a break. This is my chance. She's still sitting, so I make my way to her from across the room.
SHIT! She starts to get up, and I slow down. Too late. She sees me...Well, here goes nothing.
"Hi there..." I stumble, sounding like a total creeper.
"Hello..." She responds. I scratch at the back of my head, ready to bolt. "What's your name?"
"Um..." Should I say my real name or a fake one??? "Mikhail. Mikhail Davion at your service." I bow and get a little giggle from her. Score!
"My name is Natasha. Nice to meet you Mikhail." The way she says my name sends shivers down my spine. I gaze into her eyes. Then the music picks back up.
"Well, Natasha; May I have this dance?" I stretch out my hand to her. She grasps it and we waltz.
We dance around the room, slow and measured. I watch her as we glide around the room, her eyes stare back into my mine, and my heart jumps. Clearing my throat, I murmur, "What're you thinking about?"
"Oh, nothing. Just...can I ask you a question?"
"Shoot."
"Well, I don't know much about you; can you tell me things?"
"Like what?"
"What is your favorite color?"
I laugh and think. What is my favorite color? Have I ever, in my lonely existence, thought once about my likes and dislikes? No one has ever asked me this before. Her eyes, I love her eyes.
"I love the color gold."
"Really? Well, I guess mine is red; like my dress."
"Oh, by the way, you look beautiful."
"Thank you, Mikhail." The damned shivers again! Finally the music stops, we bow to each other, and I lead her outside. I'm sweating now, the blade under my sleeve and my pant leg growing heavier with each step. We sit on a bench near some overly extravagant fountain, how cliché.
She turns her luminescent eyes onto me. I can’t go through this, at least not today. I look around for any exit ways. "What's wrong?" she murmurs.
"Uh, nothing. I just realized...” I glance at my wrist, "Oh! Look at the time! I forgot that I had another, Erm...engagement. I'm so very sorry. Goodbye." I bow, sorry to leave, but nevertheless high-tail it out of here. I knew if I stayed any longer, Nikolai would look for me.
(So I'm not sure if I want to add Uncle Nikolai's view in the story. Let me know what you think)
~Nikolai~
"Доброе утро отец. Good morning Father." I bow and look up. My fearsome father, Sergei Pavel Gennadiy, was sitting at his mahogany desk, lavished in a lion’s fur, his gray eyes studying every fiber of my body. Although his body was becoming crippled with age, his eyes have never changed. I stand erect and at attention.
"At ease Nikolai." He rises and begins to pace the floor. “Something has been brought to my attention."
"Yes father?"
"There was a strange guest at your ball two days ago."
"I did not know of this."
"No you wouldn't, because I made sure my men hid it from you. This man, he was not on the guest list, but somehow he was let in. It is said that you let him in, my son." He sits back down in his chair, folding his hands atop the desk, calculating my expression.
I keep my face composed, and reply, "This man, he is from a very noble family. I made his acquaintance just that day and invited him last minute."
Raising his eyebrow, my father inquires, “And how did you make his acquaintance?"
Fluidly, making sure I did not pause for too long, I stated, “I was at the cigar shop getting my Columbians, and he was there picking up some cigars and bourbon. I commented on his choice of cigars, referred my favorite brand, and we started talking."
My father just harrumphs, waving his hand in dismissal. I bow and escape through the wooden doors. A squack resonates above me and I take out my hand gun and shoot the damned bird. All I see is red.
I whip open my phone and call Mr. Davion. I have a few choice words to say to him...