Once all targets were eliminated he was in a clear. He quickly turned off the ear piece, and pocketed the contact lens cameras that connected him to Diana Burnwood. It wasn't originally his idea. The thought was weeded into him by a man in the bustling Bollywood streets of Mumbai. The sales pitch thrown at him was simple, 'We have the finest wares in here. Best cloth, finest cuts, dresses in all sizes. Come in and have a look!' He could've easily ignored it as it wasn't the intel he was looking for. But the last few words 'Perhaps something for your wife, yes?' has gotten into him.

Is 47 at the age where people could forwardly assume he is married? Yes. Does he have a ring on his finger? No, and perhaps he never will. Then why is it that he is carrying a Carmine cloth bundle through a sea of people and back to his rented chawl? Again, the thought was weeded into him.

He quickly packed his suitcase haphazardly, with one exception. His only souvenir from Mumbai. He placed it methodically on the very top of the suitcase, as gently as one of his background could muster. He plans to take it to Tom, despite knowing that the blind tailor's specialty is in suits. Perhaps he'll make an exception for such a strange request.

His plane landed around afternoon which was good news to him. He hailed a taxi outside the airport, and told the driver the direction to Tommy Clemenza Sartoria. At first, he was hesitant to let the driver assist him with his luggage knowing perfectly well what was inside of it, but he knew better than to draw attention to himself.

47 and his suitcase was dropped off safely to the address he had given. It started to rain even before he arrived but, despite the danger of getting drenched he hesitated to come into the store. He wasn't thinking straight. Tom is an agency contact, the ICA will eventually learn about this trip. But he's already here, it would be a waste to look for a new tailor.

The bell chimed as he entered, and the blind man in the middle of folding several neckties had turned towards the sound, perhaps waiting for a greeting of some sort. When he wasn't met with any he placed the last unfolded necktie next to the cash register, and took a shot in the dark, "47?"

47 looked away briefly to check the perimeter outside the Sartoria. He noticed movement, nothing too dangerous. But just in case, he locked the door behind him, and flipped the sign to CLOSED. "Tom, I need a favour."

Tom cocked his head to the side, it was an unusual request. 47 usually isn't so vague around him. Reaching in front of him, the tailor had begun to walk towards the direction where he last heard the sound of 47's voice. He found him, and the assassin welcomed his touch, "Albeit wet, your suit is in pristine condition, Mister 47. Not a stitch amiss. I'm assuming this favour is about something else?"

"That's correct." 47 confirmed before stepping back to open his suitcase. The fabric that sat on top of his clothes is a little wrinkled but still presentable. He gently pushed the cloth towards the back of Tom's hands, which the tailor accepted and grabbed onto.

"A fine cut. Smooth, soft, and yes, waxy." Tom scrunched up the fabric near his ear and heard a soft and delicate crunch. "Great choice, Mister 47. This is good quality silk. Excellent even. Where in India did you say you got it from?" he asked, looking towards the direction where he thought 47 was. He was slightly off, but 47 didn't mind.

"Mumbai."

With his hands still feeling the fabric, Tom nodded. He assumed perhaps a new suit? It would make an excellent inner lining. And an even better necktie. But this fabric is too long for a mere necktie. "And what do you want me to do with it?"

This is where 47 find it hard to say. "Do you make dresses?"

"I- I have some background, we do have some female agents after all. Is it…?"

"No, Tom. It's not for me."

Tom laughed that he even thought about it. From what he heard, 47 is a chameleon. It would seem there are physical limits to this intel. When the tailor was done having a laugh, he folded the fabric and asked 47 to lead him back to the counter which 47 obliged to do so.

"A woman," Tom sighed almost dreamily. He never thought he'd see the day. Well, technically he can't, but he can imagine. "I'm supposed to keep this a secret from ICA, yes?"

"Please."

"Of course, of course," Tom assured him, patting the arm that helped him get back. He knows what will happen if he doesn't keep his mouth shut. He bumped himself on one corner of the counter, when the idea struck him. "I would need measurements! I would need designs!" the tailor exclaimed almost too excitedly before ducking under the counter. There's a drawer there and he felt the sides of several ring binders until he reached the one he was looking for.

Tom handed the binder to 47 who began flipping through its plastic sleeves. The designs vary from simple day-to-day dresses to the ones that fit any formal occasion. Without a doubt the Carmine silk would make any of these patterns far more elegant than they are. However, none of these designs were speaking to him.

"Is there a way to combine different designs into one dress?"

The tailor was silent at the question, it wouldn't be the first he heard a request like this from one of his patrons. So of course it was possible. He signaled his hands "Which ones do you have in mind?"

Instead of talking 47 placed the binder back on the counter and guided Tom's fingers to the braille indents located at the side of the pages of the designs that piqued his interest. When he was done, and was sure that the blind tailor understood him he asked, almost nervously, "Is it too much?"

"Of course, not. Mister 47." Tom shook his head, assuring his patron that nothing is impossible here in the Sartoria. Before he forgot, he clapped his hands together. "Right! Measurements. Do you have her measurements?"

No, 47 doesn't know per se. But he knows that he has the ability to tell if other people's clothes fit him, and he is rarely wrong about that. He thinks about it, and the very few instances he had met with her in person. He makes a guess, and hopes it fits her perfectly. "How long would it take?"

"I hope you understand that there's a line in the Sartoria, and since you insist this project must be discrete, I will be forced to prioritize official ICA requests over yours." Tom contemplates, before reaching for the necktie he had left earlier by the cash register. He folded it before contining his monologue, "Of course, the design you've chosen isn't complicated but, we still have to do a fitting to make sure it fits, and make adjustments in case it doesn't-"

"It will fit." the assassin insists, before picking up his suitcase and walked towards the door. His business is done, time to locate the exit.

Tom didn't question such confidence. placed the folded necktie inside a box next to its siblings. "Very well. About four weeks. Maybe two if I ask my seeing assistant's help. Do you want it delivered?"

"No. I'll be back in two weeks to pick it up." 47 flipped the sign back to OPEN, unlocked the door, and left into the pouring rain with one final chime of the bell.

As promised, 47 returned to the shop on time. But the Sartoria isn't as empty as it was two weeks ago. The seeing assistant that Tommy Clemenza mentioned in their previous meeting is assisting a patron into one of the fitting rooms, while the tailor himself was on his usual spot, behind the counter. Only this time, he is folding handkerchiefs instead of neckties.

The bell chimed, and Tom looked up from what he was doing. Blindly staring at the direction where he heard the ringing. The customer didn't greet him, and only one customer is like that. "Right on time. Come in, come in. I have your package right here." he motioned 47 to the counter where two shopping bags sat waiting for him. Tom reached for it and shoved it towards the direction where he thought the assassin might be.

47 took what was given to him, but raised an eyebrow. "I only asked for one dress?"

The tailor smiled, "Of course, of course. There was extra fabric and it would be a shame to just throw away such high quality fabric. I just had to make something for you. It's nothing special. Consider it a gift."

"Thank you," 47 said, reaching the inside of his coat for an envelope of the exact amount of the payment they had talked about. Maybe a few bonuses more to ensure the tailor remains discrete, despite knowing that the bribe wouldn't be necessary. He gently touched the full envelope against Tom's hands before leaving.

The 250 feet salvage-tug-turned-yacht has arrived safely in the Pacific. Thanks to good weather, Diana Burnwood can enjoy her evening tea without the danger of it toppling over. She looked at her messy desk with several screens looming over it, as she took a sip of Valerian with a dollop of honey. The earpiece that connected her to her agent is on top of all the mess. She is merely waiting for it to turn on from his end. Right now, if there would be no delays, 47 will arrive at the ICA safehouse in Sapienza, Italy in two hours.

According to their client's intel, their targets will arrive in the jewel of Amalfi coast, two weeks from now for a secret getaway. Arriving early meant they would have more time to prepare. And it wouldn't hurt for 47 to familiarize himself with the small changes that occured in the coastal town over the years. After all, he hadn't been there in ages.

She took another sip of her tea and sat down to organize her files. Putting away unnecessary documents, and shredding those that contain sensitive information. Diana already knows the couple's vacation itinerary like the back of her hand but, it wouldn't hurt to go over it again. Being careful on her part as a Handler would mean that her agent will remain alive. It was her utmost priority to keep 47 alive. And besides, she has time to spare.

The Jean Danjou tossed slightly in the Ocean, and Diana instinctually grabbed onto her mug to avoid it spilling all over her work. She finished her cup, and retreated to the King-sized bed just a few steps from her desk. She was far from turning in for the night, but being able to lie down and relax is a welcomed change. She turned the page of her reading material when she heard a knock at her door.

The clang of metal was followed by a "Miss Burnwood, sorry to uh disturb you being it night and all. But, uh… the crew found a package in one of the armories. We only found it tonight, but we had reason to believe it's been there since our stop in uh Malaysia."

Diana raised an eyebrow. Curiosity got the best of her but she did it well-protected. She walked towards the door and opened it with an HWK21 gun resting behind her. "Has it undergone all the necessary precautions?" she asked the man that graciously disturbed her.

The man looked down once the door had opened for him. His boss is clad in a short black nightgown, paired with an open dark blue satin robe. "Uh yes, ma'am," he said shyly, red starting to appear on his cheeks, "We would've opened it but uh it wasn't addressed to us," he turned the heavily duct taped box around and showed Diana her name on it. "The x-rays were negative, there were no chemicals, and uh no electronics within the package. The weight also isn't uh heavy enough to be anything of concern."

"Hmm, I'll be the judge of that," Diana decides before taking the package from him. She didn't need to slam the door shut behind her since the Jean Danjou did that for her. She wobbled towards her desk where the package remained next to her gun until she found a cutter to slice open the duct tape.

The light on her earpiece blinked as she finally opened the package. She didn't look inside it yet, instead she looked at the clock on one of her many screens. 47 had landed in Italy safely. She placed her earpiece on, "Good morning, 47."

"..." he greeted back as he loaded himself, and his luggage into the rented car.

"Shall we go over our briefing once more or would you like to get settled-" Diana stopped talking when she saw what the box contained. It was a red dress. To be more specific, Carmine. It was a midi dress that had long sleeves, a Queen Anne neckline, and a slit on the side.

"Diana?" 47 voiced out as he drove, adjusting the earpiece to make sure it was working. The ICA had their own satellite. Their communication line wouldn't be cut off that easily unless there's outside interference.

She ignored him, and walked towards a mirror, hugging the dress in front of her to see what it might look like on her. Through her reflection, it seems like it would fit her like a glove. Even before she could get a chance to test out that theory, the dress' tag got snagged on her pinky. It read out the size: 47. Who knew her ruthless assassin had this kind of side to him?

Diana smiled over the earpiece, "It's lovely, 47. Thank you."

47 didn't reply. He didn't need to, he knew what she was referring to. It would seem like the package he had hidden in her yacht had finally found its way to the rightful recipient. He felt his blood rush over to the back of his neck and to the tips of his ears, but he didn't let that distract him from his driving. He adjusted the matching Carmine necktie that Tom had given him, and carried on.