She waited until her husband was out of the room, then took the knife back out of the waistband of her pants. It's been pressed uncomfortably against the small of her back, nearly enough to draw blood. But not yet, it hasn't punctured her skin yet. A few more minutes and it would have been a possibility, exposing her secrets. 

She takes her phone out of her pocket, clicking on the phone app and selecting a well-known name. It was nearly a household name, despite the fact that she and her husband have never spoken of them.

While the phone call rings, she twists the knife in her hand with ease. Usually, others would be scared to play with the blade, but she nearly finds it comforting. With years of experience on her side, she's not scared of the sharpness. She's not scared of the possibility of getting cut, because, for her, the chances are slim. 

But for others to get cut by this same dagger, oh, those chances are very high. 

That's why people that know about her stay safe around her, choosing their words wisely and making sure to stay straight. After all, one slip-up can send you slipping in your own pool of blood. 

"What do you want," the voice says, finally picking up. 

"Hey, you might want to grab some broth. Your voice sounds especially raspy today, and I'm not sure if I like it," she responds with a sly smirk on her face from her own joke. The man just groans in response. 

"I'm not in the mood for your jokes, just tell me what you need," he responds. The woman scoffs, not liking the serious tone of the conversation. 

“I call you nearly every day with the same requests, and you still don’t remember?” she starts sarcastically. “I’m starting to think you don’t like me, Roman,” she says, chuckling to herself. Roman’s silence on the other side of the phone bores her even more, so she answers his dull questions. “I want another assignment. As soon as possible.” 

“How many times have I told you that that’s not possible? Boss said that you’re out of the field. Benched, if I dare say,” he snickers. She rolls her eyes, sick of hearing the same words on repeat for the past year. 

“Just say his name, Roman. Don’t be scared of it,” she says through her teeth, her words as sharp as the knife in her hands. He gulps, staying silent once again. 

“You know what happens when others speak of him. It’s forbidden.” Words like those make his posh accent thicker, the formality of it matching the lengthy words. 

“Oh please. I could slice the man’s neck in a heartbeat and still get away with it. He trusts me enough to go into his office, through his things, speak with him, etcetera,” she says. She’s sick of the way people tip-toe around him, showing him the respect that he doesn’t deserve. 

“Yet he still doesn’t trust you with an assignment,” he retorts. She clenches her jaw, contemplating whether or not she should just shut off the call and just ask the boss himself for an assignment. But, she knows Roman’s words are true. 

After one mistake a year ago, she’s no longer fit for an assignment. She knows it too. 

Having a child attached to your hip makes it difficult to carry out assassinations.