September 28th, 2007 - Riyadh, Saudi Arabia

Alessandra lay curled up on the bed, its sheets wet with her tears. The man had left an hour ago, and still, she felt his presence in the room and on her skin. He had been the first, and yet she knew there would be many more just like him. She did not know his name, but she believed that he was one of her captors. He had said nothing as he violated her, except to grunt in pleasure as he did so.

A line had been crossed, and no matter what she did from that day forward, she would never be the same person ever again. Her head and her throat hurt from crying, but somehow, there was still pain left inside that she could not manage to dislodge by any means. Her body hurt, and her soul was bruised.

She had told herself that she had to be brave, that she had to play the role until rescue, but she wasn’t sure that was going to happen. None of it was meant to have gone this far, they promised her. They had told her that she was safe, that she was protected. It all felt like a lie now. A disgusting, dirty lie that had ruined her.

She no longer felt like an adult, but rather, a lost child longing for the comfort of her mother’s arms, for anyone to tell her that it would be ok, that she could get better. None of this was meant to happen; nothing like this should ever have happened to her. The grim reality was beginning to finally set in now; she was alone, and nobody was coming to save her.

“It does get easier,” a soft Russian-accented voice offered. “Eventually, you learn to control them, and it is not always so bad.”

Alessandra flinched at the sound and looked up to find a skinny blonde girl standing at the end of the bed. The girl was dressed in a pale pink silk robe, her legs bare and her face heavily made up. Despite her appearance, her eyes told a different story. No amount of lashes and makeup could hide the haunted depths within. Depths that told Alessandra without a word that the girl spoke from bitter experience.

“I’m sorry,” she sniffed. “Who are you?”

“Anja,” the girl offered. “May I sit?”

Alessandra pulled herself upright and hugged her knees to her chest, nodding slightly. The girl smiled in response and walked around before sitting carefully on the edge of the bed. “I am trapped here like you.”

“You are?” Alessandra was surprised. She had been here for days, and she had not met another soul beyond her captors. She would have imagined she was alone if not for the occasional faint screams and sounds of sex she could hear from beyond the walls. “Why are you…?”

“Here?” Anja asked, her lip quirking slightly. “They told me to make sure you are ok, that I had to teach you.”

“I’d rather just die,” Alessandra glowered, letting her head drop back against the headboard of the bed. “I’m already dead.”

“I wish I could say something to make it better, but I cannot,” the girl admitted. “It is all we can do to survive.”

“I don’t think…” Alessandra began slowly. “I don’t think I was prepared for what it would be like. When he…” she shuddered. “It hurt so much.”

Anja regarded the girl for a second and frowned, “You mean to say that you had not… You were a virgin?”

Alessandra blushed and nodded slightly, unable to look the other girl in the eyes.

“Oh my darling,” Anja sighed. “I am so sorry you had to experience a man this way for the first time.”

“I didn’t want to experience one at all,” Alessandra whimpered.

Anja frowned, “You are… lesbiyanka?”

“No, I’m…” Alessandra paused, uncertain as to what she should say. “Honestly, I'm not really sure about anything.”

“This is not the best way to learn about yourself,” Anja conceded.  “I promise you, sweetheart, a man who loves you is a far more enjoyable experience. Back home in St. Petersburg, I had a boyfriend… he was good to me.”

“Do you miss him?”

Anja nodded. “I was foolish, and I got myself into trouble with the wrong men to pay for my surgery. Look at where it has landed me.”

“Your… you mean?”

“I think we all are,” Anja admitted sadly. “They seemed to pick us especially. Pretty trans girls are what these men want. There is the added benefit that we are not so missed when we disappear.”

“I… What will happen to us?”

“I wish I knew,” the girl admitted, her finger tracing circles on the bedsheet. “All I know is that we do what we must to survive. That much was made very clear for me when I arrive.”

“How long have you been here?”

Anya shrugged, “I do not know, not accurately. Perhaps a year? Maybe longer. Time is a little hard to tell. I do my best to be liked, to be useful. I suspect eventually even I will outlive my usefulness. What happens then, I do not know.”

Alessandra looked over at the other girl. If she had met her on the street, she would never have known that the girl was also born a boy. She was pretty and had fine elfin features, despite the gaudy makeup. With her waifish Russian figure, she could have easily been a model on the catwalks of Paris in another life. 

It was easy for Alessandra to recognize and understand her plight, given what she went through to prepare for this assignment, even if she could not personally resonate with her internal sense of self. This girl, as far as she knew, wanted to be like this, and as far as she knew, so did she. 

Ryan desperately wanted to confide in her, to tell her how wrong this was, that it was all a huge mistake, but she knew better. Alessandra had to keep control, even in these darkest moments. She had to stick to her cover or death was almost guaranteed. She had to be the same as Anya; she had to be the girl that this woman was trying to sympathise with.

“Does it get… easier?”

Anya reached over and stroked Alessandra’s cheek, brushing strands of loose hair behind her ear, “No, it does not, but you do, however, get used to it. Whatever way you look at it, that is some relief, I suppose. If there is the right man, sometimes you might even get some pleasure from it.”

Alessandra shuddered as she was reminded of the grunting guard that had violated her, “I don’t want to enjoy any of it, I can’t.”

Anya sighed, “I will give you one piece of advice, one piece that took me far too long to learn. Always act as if you like it. No matter what happens, no matter how bad, fat, stinking, or rough, they were the best fuck you ever had.”

Alessandra grimaced, “I’m not that good an actor.”

“You will learn to, or they will get rid of you,” Anya offered sadly. If you cannot act like a good little pet, you are useless to them.”

“Worse yet,” Anya continued. “No matter how much you learn to be their perfect little doll, there are clients here that want to hurt you; it gets them off.” “Whatever they do, act like it hurts and play the frightened little girl. There’s a good chance that they won’t try any harder, and it will be over much quicker. Do not fight back,” she ordered, hiking up her robe to show Alessandra a jagged scar carved into the flesh of her milky white thigh. She smiled sadly as she traced the outline of the scar, “Never fight back.”

 

 

May 31st, 2014 -  Milan, Italy.

Ryan gazed at the building across the street from him with thinly disguised suspicion. Francesca’s driver had picked them up that morning and driven them across the city to a beauty salon that she had on retainer. According to his mentor, appointments at the establishment were by referral only, and it maintained a policy of total discretion for its wealthy clients. Despite this, he still felt an overwhelming sense of dread and embarrassment.

“You are going to stand here all morning?” Francesca asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“I’m just scoping the place out,” Ryan shrugged. “Checking exit routes.”

Francesca tutted, “This is not a CIA operation, this is a beauty salon. Tell me you did not bring your gun?”

“I am being hunted by an intelligence agency that thinks I committed multiple murders and acts of terrorism,” Ryan pointed out dryly. “I promise that I won’t shoot any stylists, deal?”

Francesca threw up her hands and muttered something unintelligible in rapid Italian as she set off across the street. Ryan wasn’t sure he wanted to know what it meant, but he was positive that it wasn’t remotely polite. Not wanting to tempt fate or her patience any further, he buried his reluctance and set off after her.

The reception of the salon was clean, bright, and clinically minimalist in design. It almost gave the impression that one was arriving at an upmarket hospital rather than a place of beauty and pampering. Behind the front desk, a pretty young woman was seated, and she smiled politely as they arrived, “Buongiorno, Signora Ricci. I can bring you straight through. Giulia is already waiting. Can I get you anything to drink before you start?”

“Capuchino, grazie,” Francesca replied, barely pausing as she made her way directly past the reception desk. “Two.”

“I might have wanted booze instead,” Ryan opined dryly.

“Nonsense,” Francesca waved her hand. “It is early, and there is much to do. You will be complaining enough without good coffee. Do not be a baby.”

The receptionist flashed Ryan a sympathetic smile as he followed in Francesca’s wake. Did she know why he was here? Ryan wasn’t sure, but he blushed crimson all the same.

Following Francesca, Ryan was led through to the rear of the Salon and up a flight of stairs. They entered a sweet smelling room that centered around a large padded table with a hole at one end. Inside, a stout woman in her late fifties was mixing up something in a pot. The scent was instantly familiar to Ryan, and he immediately regretted not getting alcohol.

“Ciao, Giulia,” Francesca announced as she breezed in. “I have for you, your victim.”

“Not pulling any punches, huh?” Ryan winced.

The woman turned around and looked Ryan up and down like a butcher assessing a side of beef before the carving. Nodding, as though satisfied with what she saw. “Bongiorno, Signore,” she offered, continuing to stir the pot. “If you wish to undress and lie on the table, I will not be a moment.”

Ryan glanced over at Francesca, who simply smiled and shrugged, “I thought I would stay for moral support. I have already seen more than enough of you, Mia Cara.”

Ryan blushed at her use of the feminine term of endearment and glanced nervously over at the technician who was busy stirring her simmering pot. The woman hadn’t reacted, or she was being paid more than enough to not care. It barely lessened his already extreme embarrassment.

Seeing Francesca was clearly not planning on leaving, Ryan reluctantly began to undress. It was true that she had seen far more of him than anyone else, but it did not make it any less embarrassing. During his original transformation into Alessandra, she had been heavily involved. During their time together, he had become so comfortable in her presence that being semi-nude around her felt normal.

That had all changed after Operation Orsino. When everything had gone wrong, and he had been subjected to all that had befallen him, his own body began to disgust him. Ryan stopped going swimming and even visiting the gym. Anywhere that changing clothes or nudity in a semi-public setting might be required became something to be avoided at all costs.

Finally naked, Ryan lay down on the table and made himself as comfortable as he could. Which, under the circumstances, was not particularly comfortable. He was glad, at least, that Francesca gave him the smallest dignity of a towel over his bare buttocks. He wasn’t naive enough to expect that to last particularly long.

“Ok, the wax, it is ready,” the woman announced, walking across to where he lay. “You have had the wax before?”

Ryan nodded as much as he could with his face down, “Yes.”

“Then you are used to it,” the woman observed as she began to slather the warm wax along the back of his legs. After applying the cloth strips, the beautician allowed the wax to cool for a moment before unceremoniously ripping the first strip from his body in one clean motion.

“OW, FUCK!”

“Calm yourself, darling, this is necessary,” Francesca chuckled from behind Ryan’s shoulder. He didn’t need to see her to know the woman was delighting in his present torture; he could hear the mirth in the tone of her voice. Never let it be said that beauticians did not have more capacity for torture than the CIA’s own enhanced interrogation experts.

“This wasn’t exactly fun the first time around,” Ryan complained into the table. “I forgot how much it hurt.”

“Eh, it gets easier after the first strip,” Francesca shrugged. “And you have let yourself go. If you had maintained your routine, then this would be nothing but quick maintenance. Regardless, hairy legs would pair terribly with your dress. Beauty is pain, Bella; get used to it.”

“I am not wearing a… ow… dress,” he grumbled bitterly as the technician tore away another strip. “I’ll be a damn girl again, but I am not going to be some fashion doll again like the last time.”

“This is true,” Francesca chuckled. “I do not think the way you used to dress would be suitable for a young mother.”

Ryan was glad he was facing the table as the crimson flush colored his cheeks. He didn’t need to see Francesca to know the woman was smirking away behind him; at least one of them was finding his humiliation amusing. The thought cast his mind back to the clothes that he had worn the last time as Alessandra. He was certain that he had no desire to reprise the overly sexual stylings of his former cover identity. Whatever Francesca had in mind, he would work to moderate it, at least for his own sake. 

As much as he was uncomfortable with the idea of what they were doing, he also knew that it made sense in a strange sort of way. He had done this before, which would make his life considerably easier and mean that he was far less likely to make a mistake. Secondly, there was no way that the men looking for him would even think of this as a possibility. Anything they did not expect was an advantage he sorely needed.

Ryan’s greatest fear was what this return to womanhood would do to his memories. When he had buried Alessandra away, he had left as much of the pain and torment as he could with her. Reopening that wound was an unknown factor at a time of great risk. Whether he could maintain his clarity and operate as a hundred percent was a total unknown.

Truth be told, even with a new name and identity, the entire thought of returning to womanhood frightened him almost as much as Alessandra’s experiences did. What he had gone through with her would haunt him for the rest of his days. 

It took the sadistic technician, Giulia, thirty minutes to remove every hair below Ryan’s eyebrows. After she was finished, his body was left pink, raw, and utterly hairless. Completing her task, she left without as much as a word.

Sitting up, Ryan wrapped a towel around his waist and sat awkwardly, hugging his abdomen. The sensation of losing what little hair he had felt unfamiliar, and his skin still felt overly sensitive from the aggressive process. “I do not want to do that again in a hurry.”

“You know yourself, it is a lot easier once the hard work is done. You were not particularly hairy, but it was still a long time, no?” Francesca offered, placing a small bundle of clothing on the bed next to where Ryan was sitting, wrapped in a towel.

Ryan eyeballed the clothing suspiciously before looking back up at Francesca, “Straight in at the deep end, huh?”

Francesca smiled sympathetically, the mirth no longer present in her expression. “I think if you get yourself into the correct frame of mind, the rest of this will be easier for you, Mia Cara. The sooner we are done here, the sooner I can start on your new documents and get you back to the little one.”

Béatrice; she was his entire motivation for doing this hairbrained insanity. Without her, he would take his chances as Ryan Knight, come what may. For her, he would suffer whatever indignities Francesca wanted to inflict upon him if it meant that he could keep the child safe. It had been a little over forty-eight hours since they had fled Nice, and already, he felt a strong connection to the girl. The motivation to keep her alive and safe was stronger than anything he had ever felt before, now even stronger than his own dignity. It was a feeling that he was still struggling to understand.

 “I’ll be out in a few minutes,” Ryan sighed reluctantly.

Francesca excused herself and closed the door to the treatment room behind herself, allowing Ryan a little privacy. After seeing him largely naked on the waxing table, it seemed a little superfluous, but he did appreciate the gesture all the same. Both of them were more than aware that Ryan would need no help to dress in the clothing that she had left for him.

Reaching down, Ryan examined the items left for him with no small amount of trepidation. Crossing this line again felt different when it was no longer for an assignment. He had done what had been asked of him for the Agency and to help save lives. Once his mission was completed, he had never touched women's clothing ever again. Doing so now felt somehow more sinful; this wasn’t for an assignment, this didn’t have the protection of being for a greater cause than himself.

If he did this now, it would be because he chose to do it. No matter how sensible it might be, given the circumstances, he had a choice; he could take his chances with Béa as a man, or he could choose this instead and make their lives far easier. The real question was, easier for whom? Despite his familiarity with the garments in front of him, Ryan had never felt more uncertain.

Gingerly, he picked up the flesh-colored panty and sighed. He had been familiar with that particular item the last time and was not particularly excited to reacquaint himself. It was some form of dancers' belt, an item of clothing designed to flatten and contain his genitals. With a mental shrug, he slipped the item into place and took care of rearranging matters downstairs until he presented a smooth and more feminine front.

It turned out that Francesca had gone easy on him as far as the panties and bra were concerned. Both items were thankfully plain and comfortable rather than the more lacy variety that Alessandra had been forced to wear. They presented very little challenge to his familiar fingers, but they certainly represented a line in the sand to his fragile psyche. What surprised him the most was that it was a far easier line to cross this time around.

That first time Francesca had assisted with his transformation into his cover identity as Alessandra De Luca, she had thrown him in at the deep end. To get him comfortable in time, she had trussed him up in the frilliest and most feminine attire imaginable. It was, in her words, just as important that he felt as feminine inside as he appeared on the outside. For that assignment, it had been all too successful.

Ryan regarded his body in the mirror with some skepticism. He had never really considered himself to be particularly feminine in his appearance, but the reflection staring back at him told him an entirely different story. The person in the mirror had slim shoulders and a slight flare to their hips that wasn’t typical of a male body. On top of this, the overall hairless appearance and a flat crotch, when combined with the impression of breasts that the bra gave him, made him look far more female than he remembered.

The face on top of that body still seemed like his own, but after finger-combing his shaggy hair into a more feminine style, he began to see faint traces of the old Alessandra peaking through once again. Alessandra… it had been so very long since he had seen her eyes looking back at him.

Wrapping himself in the provided robe, Ryan took a deep breath before letting himself out of the room. Outside, Francesca was waiting nearby. When she heard him, she looked up and smiled. “Not so hard, once you get the hang of things, is it?”

“A different sort of difficult,” Ryan admitted, crossing his arms. “I feel silly.”

“You do not look it, Mia Cara,” Francesca smiled reassuringly. “Come now, you have an appointment next with the stylist. Your hair, it is not long enough for what we need, so I have arranged for them to give you hair extensions. These will last you far longer than a wig might, even one that is glued on. It will also give you a little more freedom, I think. Far less for you to worry about under the circumstances.”

“In for the whole pony then, I guess,” Ryan sighed. “Look, thank you for making this easier on me; I know I seem reluctant and like I don’t care, but I really do appreciate what you are doing to help me.”

Francesca cupped Ryan’s face in her hands and kissed his forehead. “Mia Cara, I know that this, it is a lot for you; that much is not lost on me. It is for the best, I think you know this in your heart. You will adapt far quicker than you believe. Some people, they are made for certain pathways, yes?”

Ryan frowned. “You tried to tell me that I’d be better off this way the last time. I’m pretty sure that my mind hasn’t changed on that subject.”

Francesca shrugged in that distinctly Italian way that said so very much in a single gesture. “Believe what you like, carissima; I think, deep down, there is a part of you that this is right for. No man would have been able to portray Alessandra so well with so little ‘elp.”

Ryan remembered exactly what she was referring to and flushed, “I don’t have the luxury of working that out right now. I have people looking for a kid and me to take care of. What I want doesn’t really matter.”

“You will,” Francesca smiled ominously. “Even if this is not your path, you will still have plenty of time to think about it. Do not rule out other possibilities, that is all I am saying.”

Ryan rolled his eyes and sighed, “Fine, lead on, before I have a burst of common sense.”

Hair extensions, especially the type that were attached strand by strand, take a great deal of time to install. As such, Ryan was left in the care of the salon staff while Francesca returned to running her empire. While the stylist worked, other technicians arrived to shape his brows and manicure his nails. With everything that was happening, it was hard for Ryan to not get lost in a blur of ever-growing femininity. Rather than try to resist it, Ryan gave in and allowed himself to go with the flow.

Sitting in the stylist’s chair as he felt the gentle tug on his hair as the woman worked, Ryan felt calmer than he had in a long time, certainly since the beginning of this nightmare. Being pampered was relaxing, even if the end result was one that filled him with anxiety. As each new change was inflicted upon him, Alessandra got closer and closer to the surface. Whether it was his hair, his brows, or the way the lengthened gel nails made his hands look slimmer and more graceful, Ryan was struggling to not allow her back in.

Francesca had been right, but then again, she always was. Even the simple act of dressing in a more feminine way had reawakened long-forgotten behaviors and mannerisms in Ryan that he had thought lost far in the past. As painful as it was to his sense of self as Ryan Knight, it did make what was happening slightly easier to tolerate.

The laborious work of attaching extensions was finally completed by three in the afternoon. By that point, Ryan’s new, longer hair had been cut and styled, transforming his scraggly mop into blonde waves that extended down past his shoulders. His eyebrows, which had never been particularly expansive before, had now been trimmed back into delicate arches that softened his face and opened his eyes.

When the stylist finally revealed the results, the young woman in the mirror looking back at Ryan caught him by surprise. While he had seen himself as female in the past, it was still a shock to see her staring back at him. Alessandra had become a vessel for so very much pain in his life,  a personification of what had happened to him long ago. What disturbed him the most was that, despite that, he was still somehow glad to see her again.

Try as he might, he could see no trace of Ryan Knight looking back at him in the mirror. The woman who was staring into his soul was all too familiar to him. She carried a great deal of pain within her heart, pain that had nearly brought Ryan to his knees once before. Pain that had to be banished along with the girl to give him a chance at life.

Ryan’s emotions clashed as the memories he had suppressed for years came crashing back in a tide of unending sorrow and pain. His past mixed with strange feelings of comfort that swirled around each other like turbulent eddies at the confluence of two mighty rivers.

As he stared at his reflection, tears flowed freely down his cheeks. Alessandra De Luca had been buried to take away the pain. Now, she could feel it all too well once more.

 

 

October 20th, 2007- Joint Base Andrews, Washington DC.

The first thing that Ryan noticed as he stepped off the aircraft was the wind. October had arrived in Washington DC, and it had brought an unseasonably deep chill that caught him off guard. Having spent the last five months in the Mediterranean and the Middle East, it was a shock to the system.

“Ma’am, are you ok?”

Ryan snapped out of his daze and looked up at an airman wearing a high-visibility jacket. It was only at that point that he realized he had been standing stationary at the bottom of the jet’s steps and was now by himself. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he muttered, crossing his arms against the chill.

“Do you have any bags, Ma’am?”

“No,” Ryan shook his head. “It’s just me.”

“Roger that, Ma’am. You have yourself a good day,” the airman grinned before jogging up the steps and into the now-empty cabin.

Ryan frowned and set off walking towards a line of waiting SUVs. The man’s behavior was strange, but then, after the last few months, he barely understood how to act like a human being anymore. Perhaps the man was just being polite?

“Feels weird being home, huh?” Sutherland asked, shouldering a large kitbag as he fell in beside him.

“More than I expected,” Ryan admitted. “What are you guys doing now?”

“I’m going for a beer with the boys, and then I’m dumping my shit and heading for the airport. If I’m lucky, I get home in time to tuck my youngest in.”

Ryan smiled fondly at the image of the grizzled soldier rushing home to be with his children. It was something so normal that it felt out of sorts with his current world, detached from their dangerous reality. It was a sort of normal that he desperately wished he still had to experience himself.

“I can’t begin to thank you enough, Pete,” Ryan began, looking away for a moment. “You saved my life, I won’t ever forget that.”

“You don’t need to thank us, kid. I’m sure as hell glad we could get you out. Nobody deserved that, it was…”  ” the man shook his head. “Anyway, I don’t envy you.”

Ryan faltered, “What do you mean?”

“I get to go grab a beer and see my kids,” Pete grinned, repeating himself. “You have to go do who knows how many hours of debriefing and bullshit back at Langley; Not my problem.”

“You guys don’t have reports?”

“People write reports about us, they include us in them, and our bosses write plenty of the damn things. Me? I kick doors,” the soldier grinned. “Best place to be in the hierarchy.”

Ryan nodded, “Yeah, that sounds like a far better deal.”

“When do you get to go home?”

“No idea,” Ryan admitted. “When they’re done with me.”

“Who’s waiting for you?”

“Nobody,” Ryan admitted, as they arrived at the line of SUVs. “It’s just me.”

“No boyfr…girlfriend?” Pete asked, shaking himself mid-sentence.

Ryan let the slip go; he was too tired to worry about it. “No.”

“Folks?”

Ryan shook his head, and the old soldier frowned, “I’m damn sorry. Don’t be alone, not after something like this? Ok? It won’t do you any good.”

“I think a little bit of alone might actually be pretty nice,” Ryan admitted. “People have been the problem this entire time. I haven’t been alone for the last two months; the change might be good.”

“Don’t be a stranger, ok?” Sutherland offered.

Ryan smiled with more energy than he felt, “Yeah, and thank you, again.”

Sutherland set off to join his men while Ryan climbed aboard the SUV that would return him to Langley. He had meant what he said; somehow, he knew he would stay in contact with the old soldier after all of this mess. The man had shown him compassion and kindness when he needed it the most. He had not treated him like a stranger or a confusing creature like some of the others.

Slumping down in his seat, Ryan closed his eyes and tried to find sleep. Being back in the States did not feel like being home. If anything, he strangely longed for that quiet house in the Lombardy countryside. It was the only place he had felt wanted in years.

As the vehicles pulled away and set off across the tarmac, Ryan began to wonder what Francesca Ricci was doing now that he was gone. Had she been told about what had happened to him? Had she returned to her normal life in Milan and forgotten all about him?

During their time together, they had grown rather close. He had felt a strong connection with the woman, one born of friendship and respect. She had been so significant in the creation of Alessandra de Luca that she had almost taken on a maternal role in the girl’s life. Now that it was all over, would she even care about Ryan Knight?

Ryan felt a wave of shame wash over him at the thought of Francesca seeing him as he was now. There was no way that he could face her after what had happened; he had failed so completely that she would never forgive him for what had happened. He had taken her beautiful creation and allowed her to be ruined by the hands of terrible men. All her hard work had been desecrated and soiled; what remained was a shadow of the confident and capable young woman who had left her care.

It saddened Ryan, but he knew that if he was to get over his experiences, he would have to pack Alessandra away. Sadly, that meant that he would have to leave Francesca with her. He knew that if he saw her again, she would only remind him of their time together. A time when he had found something… different. Francesca was a part of Alessandra’s life, and that made him feel strange. He was not sure if it was shame or temptation, but he knew that if he saw her again, he would never be able to allow Alessandra to stay buried.

She had to stay there; it was the only way.

 

 

May 31st, 2014 -  Milan, Italy.

When Francesca Ricci returned to the salon later that afternoon, she was directed to a private room at the rear of the building. Inside, she found the young agent sitting alone on a sofa. The girl was curled up, hugging her knees to her chest. The tear tracks on her cheeks and the look of sorrow in her eyes told Francesca everything she needed to know. Without uttering a word, she could already tell that the man who had arrived on her doorstep two days prior was no longer present. In his place, her precious Alessandra had returned to her, although it was clear that she was in a great deal of pain.

Sitting down beside her, Francesca gently rubbed the girl’s back and waited for her to stop crying. She was amazed at the transformation that had taken place. While the physical changes were not significant, the person inside the skin had shifted entirely. While she was clearly deeply troubled, she looked a lot more real.

After a few minutes, Alessandra seemed to collect herself and wiped her eyes, “I’m sorry.”

Francesca lovingly stroked the girl’s cheek, “Shhh, amorina, you are safe now, I am here.”

Sniffing sadly, Alessandra looked up at the older woman, her eyes red and puffy. “I thought I could do this, but I don’t know if I’m strong enough. I don’t know if I can handle this again.”

Francesca wrapped her arm around Alessandra and drew her into her shoulder. “I know that you can do it,” Francesca affirmed softly. “You can do it for yourself and for the bambina. I know that this hurts, but you do it because it will make things better for you both, I promise.”

“It’s all coming back to me,” Alessandra sighed dejectedly as she wiped her eyes. “The memories, the nightmares. It’s almost as if it all happened yesterday.”

“I thought it might,” the older woman nodded stoically. It had not escaped her that the girl had even reverted to Alessandra’s lighter, more feminine vocal register. “There is nothing wrong with that. You deserve to find answers to your questions. Bottling up your feelings never helps to resolve them.”

“I have to be strong for Béatrice,” Alessandra sniffed. “I can’t let her down. How can I keep her safe if I’m falling apart?”

Francesca helped her to her feet and hugged her tightly, “I do not think you are falling apart. I know you, you have the strength for this. You will find your feet, and you will be strong for the little one.”

Guiding her over to a chair, she helped her to sit. “Come, let me take care of your face and get you dressed so we can get a photograph for your paperwork. The sooner we are done, the sooner we can go and introduce the bambina to her new mama.”

“You must think I’m totally insane,” Alessandra sniffed as she dropped down into the chair heavily, “utterly insane.”

Francesca smiled and shook her head. “No, Mia cara, I do not think you are insane. Perhaps you do not yet see it yet, but to me, it is as clear as day.”

“That I’m out of my head? Lost my mind?” Alessandra smiled manically up at the heavens. “This whole thing is totally insane. I’m just going to confuse the poor girl all the more when I get her settled somewhere safe.”

Francesca scoffed as she sorted through the makeup bag, “You still convince yourself that you will take care of her before handing her off to a new home. Who, where? You would send her to an orphanage?”

“No,” Alessandra gasped, her hand flying to her mouth in shock. “No… I… I have to find her...”

“What do you have to do?”

The girl frowned, “I have to find her a real family.”

Francesca walked across to the young woman and turned her towards the mirror in the room. “You are her real family, Carissima. You may not be linked by blood, but you were prepared to give your life for her. You risk it all to protect the bambina; that is what true family is.”

“I don’t know the first thing about being a father,” Alessandra shook her head. “When we’re safe, when I go back, I don’t know where to start.”

Francesca smiled. “I believe you will make a wonderful parent. In many ways, you already are one, Mia Cara. I think perhaps, though, that father is the wrong word.”

Alessandra shook her head, “But I’m not… that,” she insisted. “I told you before; I’m not a girl.”

Francesca tapped the girl on the shoulder as they stood looking into the mirror. “You have to remember, I spent a great deal of time with you as Alessandra before you left for your assignment. I know you better than I think you wish to know yourself.”

“That was just for work,” Alessandra countered quickly, averting her eyes from her reflection. “It had to be done to protect my cover.”

Francesca shook her head, “I remember being asked to help this awkward boy become a beautiful young woman for her assignment. Much to my surprise, I did not need to do as much work as I expected. Once you got over your hangups, it all came so very naturally to you, mia cara.”

Alessandra shrugged, “Some people are good at acting.”

“That was no act,” Francesca shook her head, her large earrings clinking softly against her neck. “Just like when you take the bambina, you act on instinct. You do the same thing now, and in time, you will see that.”

“But I’m not doing anything,” Alessandra frowned.

“My point exactly! Here you sit before me, and all I see is una donna, a woman. If you put a man in a skirt and give him long hair, he is still a man. You bella, are no man.”

“Nature and biology would disagree with you,” Alessandra countered with a snort, doing her best to sit in a more masculine manner,  “I’ve got pretty strong evidence to the contrary.”

Francesca shook her head, “You work in intelligence, and yet, you cannot see that people are far more than they appear?”

“Sometimes they’re exactly what they seem,” Alessandra pointed out. Catching sight of herself in the mirror, she frowned. “Sometimes they need to be.”

 

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