Chapter One
CRUE
The moon hangs limply in the sky like a sickle. It’s held in place by a deity of the stars, at one with the vast cosmos of empty nothingness.
She wields it as a threat, tormenting and torturing.
She wields it as a weapon, to cut me down to the core.
She wields it as a reminder. A reminder of the monster I am.
The darkness inside must feed — on life, on death, on everything in between. It’s an all-consuming shadow, devoid of form or emotion. Normally, it’s a black spot in the back of my mind that cries out for merciless vengeance on a world that has forgotten me. That wants nothing to do with me.
Today it does not cry, or wail, or shout. It praises me in joyous harmonious tones. It whispers the same words it has so many times before; soothing and calm, as we near the end.
Finish it. Make yourself whole.
I am so close now that I can almost trick myself into believing it’s over. That my Little Flame has fizzled out. She won’t have to suffer at the hands of the tyrants who placed her on my path anymore.
But it's not done. She still draws silent breaths that make her bare chest rise and fall. She is naked, except for a blanket that has come undone, when I set her down. Her thighs still drip a mix of her liquids and my seed. A narrow streak of dried blood runs down her neck where my needle punctured her skin.
Soon she’ll have another perforation. Bigger, and with an exit wound. That’s why I must shoot her from the front. To preserve her delicate beauty as best I can.
I’ve watched her for weeks. I have lost myself and let myself dream of a world where I wasn’t me, and she wasn’t Fiametta Napoli. I played, pretended, and gave it my best.
In the end, we can’t change who we are.
I am a monster.
And she is a victim.
Sometimes, life isn’t fair.
Tonight is the night. It has to be. The black spot is right. I have to finish it, to make myself whole again. I have to finish it, before the spot has time to grow and change into an endless hole of torment and torture. It’s holding a sickle above my head, my neck. It’s waiting impatiently for me to strike, to kill, so it can claimmeas itself.
So, now I must commit her soul to eternal peace. No more suffering, heartache or pain for her. No more wondering whether tomorrow is the day her father, my enemy, will meet thecold sting of my blade. No more fearing for her own safety, after falling head over heels in love with a psychopath.
I tell myself this and any other bullshit I can come up with while I hover over her. I will give her mercy, an easy escape from the suffering of this world. I will give her—
Shit! Shut up and do it already! You almost had me fooled into believing you actually have a heart.
My darkness speaks without my mind commanding it. It is a vicious entity, shrouded in black, craving only violence and death. It is a person inside a person, born of death and silenced by it, too.
Killing her will calm that voice. Not for good, but for long enough for me to plan its return, as I have done so many times before.
But.
“I can’t. Not yet.” I stare down at Fiametta. The gentle ebb and flow of her breathing disturbs the blanket further. I sink to a bended knee and cover her breasts, pussy, and thighs to the knee.
Cover her face while you’re at it.
It’s right. Covering Fiametta’s facewillmake it easier. Then, I don’t have to think about how it’s her. I can pretend it’s another deadbeat mobster, even one of Lorenzo Napoli’s dogs. Someone who actually deserves this.
But I don’t. I will not be a coward and betray Fiametta this way. Her face remains visible, for it’s the last time I’ll gaze upon it.
I stand again, raising the snub-nosed .38 Special I brought to finish the job. Guns aren’t my usual style. They are obnoxious and loud and, worse still, they’re a coward’s weapon. Someone, who is too afraid to get up close and personal and to feel the strength of control, uses a gun.
My weapon of choice is a blade. Particularly a six-inch dagger, sharpened on both sides, with no serrated edges to get in the way of a clean slice. Blades bring a thrill to the hunt. One risks everything to get the satisfaction of a kill. One mistake is the difference between life and death.