We went back and forth in our banter, bringing up our most spectacular failures, fighting one another with our words and memories being our weapons. As we danced, I kept my mind focused on the main weapon I had -- the cold, sharp dagger tucked beneath my dress. A sense of tranquility and confidence swept over me as I felt the weight of it press on my thigh, providing reassurance to me.

As the orchestra followed through with the music in a tremoring crescendo, somewhere in the crowded ballroom, a champagne glass hit the ground. Clink, Clang, Crash! My instincts took over and I was on full alert. I reached for my dagger but before I could pull it out his hand caught mine. My eyes flew up to meet his. Maintaining his firm grip on my hand, slowly placed it back onto his shoulder, all while his eyes bore into mine. He pulled me closer, so close that I could feel his warm breath down the exposed side of my neck. A chill ran down my spine and I shivered involuntarily as his deep, velvet voice reached my ears.

"Trust me, you're not the only one with secrets."

He pulled back the side of his jacket and revealed a couple cartridges sewn in as well as a faint outline of a handgun near his waist. My eyes darted back to his face and my lips pursed together as I watched as his lips formed a smirk on his face. Silence settled between us as we expertly weaved, twirled, and glided across the dancefloor so smoothly it was like we were dancing on air. It quickly became apparent that we were the stars of the show, the reflection of the ballroom lights on the chandelier above casted a spotlight on us and the applause grew louder. Looking around, I saw that most couples had temporarily vacated the floor for a short break but were now joining us on the floor again.

There was barely a ruler's distance between partners but despite the crowded atmosphere, the world around us started to disappear until it was just the two of us dancing together. Stop it, I shouldn't feel like this. He is responsible for the murder of my family but here I am dancing with the devil himself. My body pressed against his as we moved to the beat. My hands were meant to kill him, yet I found myself in his embrace, dancing to the tempo of the music, to the beat of our hearts. The desire, the temptation grew once more between us. My cheeks started to heat up against my will when I realized how close, how intimate we were. I dipped my head slightly, in hopes of hiding my flushed cheeks but was rather unsuccessful.

"Hey tomato face! Are you having second thoughts about killing me now?" His eyes sparkled with amusement and I scoffed in response.
"You wish. I'm simply embarrassed to be dancing with the ugliest man in the room, my reputation is at stake." Lies, lies, lies. As much as I didn't want to admit it, he wasn't all that bad looking.
"Are you sure you can handle dancing with me princess?" Again with that stupid nickname of his.

Before I could retort, my vision blurred as the effects of the champagne I drank earlier started to take effect only now as my heart momentarily reigned control over my body, pounding uncontrollably. My vision may have cleared but my mind buzzed as my common sense and rationality flew out the window. I swear my alcohol intolerance is higher than a singular drink of champagne. Before I could ponder more about this I found myself on my tiptoes, leaning in, and answering his question with one of my own.

"I think the better question would be, could you handle me?"

Without giving him a chance to reply, our lips collided with one another and time seemed to stop as I felt sparks explode like fireworks on the fourth of July. All my senses left my body, my guard dropped, my body tingled with the feeling of his strong arms wrapped around my waist, and a firm hand behind my neck. The foreign feeling felt almost forbidden and it was all too good to be true -- probably because it was. I remembered too late who I was with, who was my partner, who was my target. I remembered too late that time doesn't stop for anyone and in our lifestyles, emotions are just an easily exploitable weakness. I felt it before I saw it -- a pinch on my neck and a needle in his hand. As my heart shattered to pieces and my eyes started to flutter shut, I briefly acknowledged the final, long, aching notes the orchestra drew out in conclusion.
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