Page 10 of Roque

I really am my father’s son—a total monster. When she fainted, falling limp in my arms, I felt shame at how powerful it felt. I was her master. It was my decision if she lived or died by my hands. She made me feel like a fifteen-year-old god.

That little piece of obstinance was right about one thing—I was a virgin. A demi-god who was almost a man but never knew what it felt like to fuck. She called me out on it, too. When her eyes delved into mine; she tried to suck my soul straight from the center of my being.

Maybe she did.

How the hell else can I explain why I didn’t make the final kill that would even the balance? Her familigia killed my father, my baby sister, and all my aunt’s in a car bomb on Christmas Eve. They were on their way to church. It was supposed to be me and my brothers in that car. But we let them go instead. The engine was running longer, the interior warmer. My fate was to watch in horror four cars back as they burned.

I shook my head.

Her life was mine to take to make things right.

Shame crashes over me. I didn’t avenge them. They deserved vengeance.

I nod to the guards, waving them off as I take off on foot. With the Fiorelli’s gone there are no threats…except the one I left to his wine and cigarettes. It’s a brisk walk but it cools my heated blood. I’m back to being cold-hearted and calculated, I need to turn into a ruthless man to survive my lot in life. I never craved the crown since it was always mine to have. But now that it’s being threatened, I want it as bad as I want to snap the Fiorelli girl’s delicate neck.

Her house was a silent tomb.

No lights.

No flickering candles.

I stepped inside. It was filled with objects of the people turned ghosts who used to have a life within these walls.

She was too smart to have any light on. On silent feet, I moved from room to room. Her father’s study was unlocked. My fingers traced her baby-girlish face from the photo perched on his desk.

I lifted it high, smashed the glass and tore her photo from the frame. Like a lovesick fan, I held it tight, tucking it into my pocket.

Obsession. It consumed me. The need to make her pay for her father’s sins—that must be why. It was the only logical reason.

“Where are you little butterfly?” I called out softly into the darkness.

With a twisted grin, I climbed the stairs like the big, bad wolf knowing he had his target trapped.

My fingers pushed creaky doors open one by one until I found her room. I knew it was hers. The smell of honey and sunshine came from within.

Moonlight spilled across her pillow—cold and gray like the light of death itself. It shined down on a crumpled piece of paper, next to it lied a wilted flower.

You won’t find me. I’ll find you first. Someday when you aren’t looking, my face will be the last you see as your blood spills just as my Papa’s.

Until then, little-man Salvatore.

P.S. If our roles were reversed. I wouldn’t have hesitated. You showed weakness and mercy. Don’t expect me to give you any.

My cock stirred.

The little butterfly had claws. She’s smart too. But she’s wrong if she thinks I’ll let her soft mossy eyes and flame colored hair bewitch me twice.

I would get vengeance. Someday just like I promised. When she’s legal and her tits ripe. I’d laugh as I ram my steel dick in her and remember her taunt that I didn’t know my way around a woman’s body. My hands trailed over her cold sheets. Picked up objects around her room before dropping them back in their place. On her dresser, I found a hair ribbon. It was hunter green and still had strands of her hair tangled in it. I held it to my nose. Like the sick predator I was, I inhaled deeply.

My whole body quaked.

Trembled.

Need.

Desire.

Vengeance.

---