Chapter 44: Chapter 44

THE WHITE...

Money moves the world, and I'm not superficial when I say that. Even the churches are full of millionaire paintings and corrupt priests. I mean, how far can we go in terms of purchasing power? Because everything has a price, some are just higher.

I especially like waterfront mansions and sports cars. My character is highly questionable if you have a million dollars to offer me. But don't tell me the word with less than that.

However, the money is not in the first place. Respect is.

I park my latest purchase in front of the Campbell mansion, owned by one of Italy's wealthiest families. After getting out of the car, I straighten the black suit, even though I'm sure it's perfect.

I walk to the front door of the house and, meanwhile, return to the previous thought. Money is everything. My last service was to Daniel Campbell's only son. He wanted his father to sleep the sleep of the just to put his devilish little hands on the family fortune.

If you ask me, I'll say I don't agree with your attitude, but I'm just a hard worker who makes my money honestly without meddling in other people's business. He doesn't owe me an explanation, he owes me five million euros.

I ring the bell, and I don't wait five seconds for the door to open, which leads me to believe that there was already someone on the other side waiting for me to arrive.

- Good evening, sir - the housekeeper greets.

- Good night Miss.

I make a brief assessment of my environment. The house is well lit, with background music. The woman in front of me is in uniform and her hair is combed. Not a lot, but passably.

"This way, please." She gestures down the hall.

I follow her in the house. Today in particular, I have an all-night dinner reservation with Christian Campbell, and I arrive ten minutes early. To be on time is to be late, and to be late is to be disrespectful.

The housekeeper leads me into the dining room, where Campbell is already seated on one of the chairs at the round table. He smiles broadly when he sees me, then stands up.

- The White !

The man is smiling and happy, he would never look like someone ordering the death of his own father. When we first spoke, he treated the subject as planning a birthday party. But at the end of the day, you never know when there's a criminal under your roof, using your last name or driving your car.

"Campbell," I return the salute.

He walks over to me and holds out his hand, but I just wave. I can say that I am a man of word, but not of touch. It's more intimate than people with half a brain think, and we Brits have always known that.

- Oh, I forgot – he takes his hand again – Sit down, please. Did you have a good trip?

We walk over to the table and I sit down next to her, then unbutton my jacket.

- Yes thanks.

Daniel Campbell was in England on business. I had to go and meet him, because my services don't last more than a week. Everything, as always, went according to plan. He was on the balcony of his apartment smoking a cigarette and drinking wine. I was on the terrace of the adjacent building. A bullet and goodbye. Poor Daniel, he didn't deserve such an ungrateful and selfish son.

- Well, you didn't come to taste Italian cuisine. Let's get down to business - Christian reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket and comes back with a small checkered envelope in his hand.

I take the envelope and put it directly in my pocket without even bothering to check. I'm not the kind of man who wants to get a single number wrong.

- Thank you for your service.

- He has.

I hear the sound of heels on the floor, and shortly after the governess returns with two glasses of wine and a bottle on a tray. Most likely, she's the only employee in the house tonight.

Well, I don't care how many people see me. I am not responsible for the incident with Daniel because it was not personal. If only my will was in question, he would be home, safe and sound. But Christian is a greedy bastard and I'm a service provider.

- Leave it on the table, Grace. I will,” Christian orders, and she does, but not before giving me a curious, surprised look.

I am an observer, I need to be. Of course, I noticed her green eyes and her breasts sticking out of her cleavage. Of course, I noticed the skirt shorter than when she opened the door. But, of course, I also noticed the gold band on his left ring finger. I can tell you it was 24 carats.

And I make no distinction. I like married women, but not when they come to me. This means that they are unreliable. If you weren't faithful to the man you share sheets with, who would you be?

- What vintage is this wine from? I ask, even though I already know.

- From our family – he replies smiling, proudly, but his smile gradually fades when he notices my serious expression – 1998, I think.

There are smart men. Those who move a piece of tin and call it a car. Men who make the world prosper, because they always take something out of their mind and put it in the ground. Daniel was one of them.

On the other hand, there are the muscular men. They rarely use their brain more than their arms. They are the executors. And yet, there is a third category. Those who don't use their brains to do something but pay someone to do it. Christian is that man.

And me? Well, maybe I'm everything and nothing at the same time. I have my enforcers, but I've never trusted the smart ones enough. I'm a man of instinct, not leadership. I can't be the boss when I don't trust people to build a team.

- It's my favorite - said Christian smelling the wine already poured into his crystal glass.

I watch him like an eagle, registering his every ridiculous move. He's nothing more than a money-crazed boy who'll spend all of his father's fortune in casinos with expensive hookers and fancy cars.

- I'm going to pass the wine, but I'm interested in what else you have to tell me - I say, and then I see Christian choking on his wine and getting a red tint on his face.

"Oh, I..." he stammered.

- You annoy me even after giving me the check. If you have something to tell me, now is the time.

This man is insulting me thinking that we would spend another ten minutes of this little talk before he mustered up enough courage to tell me what he needed. And unless it has something to do with my Bugatti parked outside, I'm not interested.

- I was trying to be a good host – he's lying – But you're right. I have... well, I have a lot of connections and...

"No bullshit," I cut him off.

- There is a friend of mine who would like to use your services.

His words almost make me smile for the first time all night. I knew Christian was an asshole, but I didn't realize how much. Because if you know someone who can pull the trigger without feeling remorse, stay away from them, don't tell your friends.

- Come to think of it, maybe it wasn't a good idea, but she's a woman I trust, and you...

- You pick up again, Campbell. Introduce me to the woman.

Yes, I want to meet her. Women still have the same demands; the rich, sickly husband who must die so they can enjoy the money with their lover thirty years younger.

When Christian opens his mouth to say another one of his blunders, the doorbell rings and it echoes throughout the house.

"She's here," he said.

I can read Campbell's terrified expression. That's why he needs someone to solve his family problems. The man is cowardice personified. However, it makes me want to meet the woman walking towards us right now.

A few clicks of high heels are heard, and then the heck of a scare Christian walks into the dining room, so much that he's on his feet before she even reaches us. I don't turn around, I just wait for her to appear in my field of vision.

Tall, blond, in her forties or younger, somewhat familiar.

- Gentlemen – deliberately velvety voice, forged for the moment.

- Mrs. Donneli – Christian holds out his hand.

I watch the handshake between them, but I feel his gaze scrutinizing me. A frown, because I'm different from what she expected, followed by a condescending smile, because she doesn't care.

"So it's the man," she said.

His voice is full of confidence. I smell the fear on Campbell, however, not on her. Only then do I get up, when I realize she is worth my time.

- LeBlanc – Let me introduce myself.

- Donneli – she doesn't raise her hand to greet me.

I look into her green eyes and she doesn't break contact. I met some very bad people, Christian is one of them. People who use tractors to run over their opponents. But Donneli is worse, she is the tractor itself.

- I imagine that you know why I am here - she smiles.

- I'd rather hear from you.

'Well…' Donneli walks around the table and sits on the other side, across from me. I stand up.

She shoots Christian a significant look, which he catches with surprising rapidity.

- I'll give them privacy. See you later - so the man leaves.

Donneli sits more upright in her chair, her face still looking familiar. Not someone I've seen in person, and certainly not someone I've slept with. Maybe a face on TV, but I'm not sure, since I haven't followed the news in years.

- I married a politician ten years ago. He had a beautiful daughter with his late wife, the first Donneli, as we like to say – she said with a certain contempt – My husband has an immeasurable fortune, and everyone knows it. Maybe it tripled after he took office.

Possession... Possession... Of course. How could I forget? This is Margot Donneli, who is none other than the first lady of the United States, wife of the most important man in the world.

"But I don't want his money, let alone his death," she continues.

Margot is the kind of woman who puts a fluffy dog in her designer handbag. She doesn't care about her husband, and it surprises me when she says she doesn't want to kill him.

"I'm listening to you," I say.

Although I have performed many services over the years, few have captivated me as much as this one. Margot has my attention.

- Twelve years ago, so Mrs. Donneli discovered that he had cancer, but unfortunately, he was terminally ill. Before she died, she left a simple gift for her only daughter – Margot taps her fingernails against the table, looking down at me though with a certain superiority – It was pink diamonds in a safe in Spain.

I put both hands in my pockets, listening to his words. These family melodramas are always worthy of an Oscar.

- No one but the family lawyer knows about this treasure, but luckily he's not against me – she smiles again, and then I know he's not against her because he's under her sheets – Even the girl doesn't know that.

- So? - incite.

- I want to get my hands on these diamonds, and to do that, I have to be the only Donneli alive. I'm not worried about Elliot because I know it will be a matter of time before I'm out of the game. He's a former politician. But the girl...

Margot searches in her purse and comes back with a photo. She puts it on the dining table and I look down at the photo. This is a photograph of the current president with his daughter, victim of the hatred of the first lady.

She's a young girl, and no, I wouldn't have to be a genius at human reading to say she's shy, but I am. The little girl can barely look at the camera, hiding under her father's arm so I can't even see her face. The dress is white, as is the hat on her head, to preserve the good girl image America adores.

"I don't accept it," I said simply.

- Oh, LeBlanc, don't say that until we talk about values.

- I don't care about the value. I don't work with children – I don't have many principles, but I'm adamant about what I do.

- She is twenty one. The photo is old.

The president's daughter, then? How many millions of cameras would that involve? How many billion people? How many years? It sounds like a challenge.

- The diamonds cost thirty million dollars each, and there are a hundred in the safe – Informs Margot – Would ten of them satisfy you?

She knows it, I see it in her sly smile. A big job, which will probably cost more than a week. Three hundred million for a bullet. Normally, I prefer to work with people like Daniel. A rich man, but not famous. His death didn't raise any dust, because he just wasn't important, even to his son.

- You have until the start of the election, when Elliot takes over.

- When is the election? - I ask.

- In two months.

I am not a buyable man. I did jobs for ten dollars just because I thought the cause was just. I also worked for millions, because I needed to change my car. The question has never been the money, but how hard the job gets my attention. Whoever tells the best story wins, it's worth a bullet in the head.

- May I assume that you have accepted? - Margot presses.

- I will be in America tomorrow morning - I inform.

- I knew it – she celebrates with her hands – What information do you need?

- The only thing I need to know is the girl's name.

I do not accept information about my work. I am not a psychopath. I like to get close to the victims, have breakfast and afternoon tea together. Knowing my target as a rider knows his horse. I won't send this girl to heaven until I'm sure even God won't suspect me.

- Angelique Silver Donnelli.