He was CIA.
Her nickname was DOA, cause when she left it was always DOA.
He even smelt like a cop. She caught a whiff of the old spice. His sent lingered in the air as he passed by.
She sat watching him with stealth. He didn’t notice her, but she noticed him, watching him through Prada lens
She was being dined, Dom Perignoned, Filet mingoned, all the while she was on the job.
Her eyes and ears were on her date. And this Jake, she was on his scent.
Her date would be her dessert. He was caramel-cinnamon, and he smelled delicious.
Byredo Slow dance.
He was so handsome. Chief of finances. CFO.
Crowned with looks, sophistication, and success.
“Umm!” She couldn’t wait to see how he taste.
Eat him up, tie him up, then stick him up. Transfer his funds into her account.
Her love came with a price; murder and cash.
She exuded high class beauty: Fendi, Prada, Channel, Loui. Only thing coach was her bag; she flew first class.
All over the world she was understood. The earth know where she go she brung that shadow.
A black cloud.
She was a harbinger of death and style. She murdered the runway with her fashion, and killed for the bag.
The world was unaware of where she would next slay.
She just popped, then flowed away. In that same breath, a body would drop.
Then a glimmer of her image would appear on the news. Just her shadow and the emblem on the shades.
Her likeness was synonymous to murder.
Meanwhile, back at the dinner date, He ate , Unaware.
How couldn’t he see that death was staring him in the face? He just saw beauty and eyes covered by shades.
By, her imported, amorous, aura, he was inflamed.
He wanted to Burn in her scent, wrapped in her ebony skin.
He couldn’t wait to see how she flowed, when she stepped out that blouse and skirt.
“Dam!” She was heaven on earth.
After the meal, a night stand.
They were in France, Toulon. AM he had to hop a jet to Milan.
So, now was the time. ” How about we end the night with a bottle of white wine on the balcony, and watch the sunrise?” He spoke with music.
The agent drank Jack at the bar, rough, no rocks, just straight shots.
On the job, acting the part of a Russian. Member of their mob.
The Jack helped him act. He was undercover, full time, lifetime job.
The acting he did was immaculate, trying to get to the top, and knock off some Russian oligarchs.
He was smoldering in liquor.
He was all eyes and ears though. Expert in systematic, secret observation.
Like that broad, over there, acting like she was dating. However, she was observing him.
She didn’t glance at him with the eye of a spy. Maybe, she was digging his look, that mob vibe.
Vlah, the name of his alter ego, his crook. That’s how he would hit her, disguised as a Russian killer.
She let him peep her peak.
Romantic glances she would sneak.
This guy was all in his ego. He was sweet.
She told her date “In a little while, I’ll meet you in ya room. Just give me a second. I’ll be there in a few.”
She turned her attention to the man at the bar. He was the mission, his head was the bag.
He approached “You look familiar”
Already did he want to kiss her; sex appeal was real.
He could only imagine, how those soft lips would feel on his skin.
From afar she was beautiful, up close she was a diamond.
“I don’t know you.” her words were equivocal.
“Are you an American?”
“No” She said. “I’m an assassin” She smiled. However, she didn’t transude a favorable disposition.
Her smirk was filled with venom.
The way that she beamed, oh, she was the woman of his dreams. She was exotic, tantalizing, hypnotic.
Her diamonds gleaned in the light. This was the charm he wanted in a wife.
Her pretty had him off point. He was on the job, temporarily off duty.
He wanted to bask in her presence. Her ebony was sublime.
murder was on her chest, money was on her mind.
She hated a cop who portrayed a willy. Embellishing the part of a gangster. The words that he spoke in her ear was silly. more of a reason to kill him.
“You’re Russian? Are you sure? That accent to me sounds American.” She swirled her drink. She called his bluff.
Watching him frown, he was wondering was he found, and how could she detect the so subtle sound of his accent?
He thought he had this Russian shit mastered.
Her soft hand touched his skin. She had him fucked up.
Mixed emotions. Hide, leave, stay? He didn’t know.
Her touch was electrifying, she touched him with some sort of potion. She had his whole body buzzing.
She sipped the last of her wine then stood. She did her thing, now it was time that he understood.
“Who you are, I’ve been known” She was all in his face, as if, he was her date, whispering in his ear.
His jaws were locked, he couldn’t talk, he was becoming scared. He couldn’t move, his body was immobile.
“CIA…Ha” She mocked.
“I tapped into your phone. GPS. I was all in ya home”
His eyes were bulging.
She kissed him, and the last words he heard, was her whisper:
He was CIA.