You'll be a beautiful widow soon enough.
Funny, wasn't it? How a few words could affect you. Change your entire outlook on things. Give you a new perspective on life.
Takeru was going to die. Andrómeda didn't know how to feel about it. And, because of that, she didn't want to hear, talk, or know anything about the topic. But, she had to prepare. Elaborate a strategy. She was also tired of being a mere pawn when she was the most important piece in the chess board. The Queen.
Bank accounts opened under different names, that couldn't be tracked back to El Sombrerero. New uniforms for guards and service; blue. Like a general dressing their troops, a color everybody identified with her. So that they knew who they really belonged to. Phone calls, asked favors, rekindling old friendships. Honeyed words, free days conceded. Favors guaranteed.
Busy as she was, she had almost forgotten about the pair of unwatching eyes that saw everybody's moves. A man as dangerous as an inland taipan, as docile as a rabid wolf. They were supposed to believe his loyalties were clear, but Andrómeda knew better. And if the last few weeks proved something was that absolutely every person had a price.
She knew his room, just as she knew everyone's. So she made her way there, one afternoon, wearing a beautiful, figure-hugging midnight blue dress, smelling of vanilla, cherries, flowers, the sound of her heels against the wooden floor commanding respect, drawing attention to herself. Carrying a flower pot with the most striking burgundy and black dahlias in her garden. Soma was a man of knowledge. She was sure he would know what they meant. Betrayal.
Knocking on the door, however, her voice was sweet as sugar. And yet, demanding, imposing. Refusing to accept a no for an answer.
'Soma? I bring a present for you. May I come in?'