"I hope you've kept it clean this time, Mr. Beilschmidt," a voice calls out to the shadow of a man getting up from his kneeling position, wiping a dirtied knife on his pantsuit. He can hear the echoing clicks of kitten heels marching down the hallway towards him.
"Always, Miss Martens," he answers with a slight smile, looking up from his work. He is greeted by a familiar fierce gaze and ruby red lips settled into a teasing pout.
"You've made a mess of your suit again, you fool," Emma tsks, readjusting the lapels of Ludwig's jacket and smoothing down his tie. Her hands linger on his broad chest before reaching his powerful arms as she looks down at his hands. "And look at your hands! Not to mention the carpet," she adds, tilting her head towards the soiled floor. "You know he won't be happy about this. This is the third time you've created a mess after you promised him we'd use subtler methods on our targets." She gets out a handkerchief from her clutch in an attempt to remove the blood from Ludwig's jacket.
He stops her midway, gripping he wrist with one arm and wrapping his other around her waist, pulling her closer in one swift move. Emma poses her hands on his shoulders daintily, looking up at him with one eyebrow raised in coquettish interest.
"You should know by now, Miss Martens," Ludwig smiles, dipping her slightly, "that I am not a man of my words."
She sighs, returning his smile with one of her own disarming grins. "Only in regards to certain affairs, if I recall last night," Emma teases, smile widening when she spots the slight red forming on her lover's cheeks. She leans forward, pecking him on the lips before lightly tapping the underside of his chin twice with one of her perfectly manicured fingers. "Now unhand me, Mr. Beilschmidt. This is all well and good, but we mustn't stall; we've got another client to see to before midnight. We'll send in someone else to clean up after you." She flattens the creases of her dress and her fur coat once he does so, watching her partner clean his hands with her handkerchief while she reapplies her rouge, smacking her lips for effect.
Once she is done, putting her lipstick back in her clutch, she holds out her arm expectantly towards the man she so adores. "Ready, Mr. Beilschmidt?"
He links arms with her, calm smile never falling off his face, eyes never straying from her twinkling eyes. "For you, Miss Martens? Always."
He throws her now used handkerchief over his shoulder before leading them back to the corridor, footsteps echoing in the darkness.
As murmurs of You had better get me a new handkerchief and laughter following an of course, darling reverberate through the darkness of the house, the handkerchief sways side to side as it flutters languidly to the ground, finally resting atop the marred head of another corrupted businessman, fallen victim to the couple's business. A steady stream of blood stems from the deep cut on his neck, pooling on the floor beneath his corpse.
Outside, the snow falls steadily on the streets of New York.