Winona [18+]

chapter two

MAY 30, 1985

SALVATORE RINALDI

Few things motivated Salvatore Rinaldi.

"You know what your problem is? Your inflated ego. You think you're the good guy but you're not. You think you can save people but you destroy them." She paused, her eyes filled with resentment. "You chew them up and you spit them out."

"Catarina. Listen to yourself."

"You had no right to humiliate me like that in front of all my family! My friends!"

"I did it for you!"

"For me?" She laughed incredulously and hurled a ceramic plate into the kitchen sink, where it shattered into pieces. "You punched my brother for me? God, you are so full of yourself!"

"Did you even hear what he said about me? About you? About us?"

"It doesn't matter! He doesn't know any better."

"He's twenty-eight. A year older than me." Salvatore's lips curled into a sardonic smirk. It felt satisfying to knock some sense into that poor excuse of a-

"Look at you! You feel no remorse!"

"Give me one good reason why I should."

Catarina fell silent.

The young man who ended the night with a bloody nose knew what he was doing when he called Salvatore a leech. A penniless, low-life artist. He knew what he was saying when he shamed his sister for marrying a man with debts and bills to pay.

Happy fucking anniversary.

Catarina buried her face into her hands, and he tried to console her. Salvatore, her husband of two years, tried to embrace her, but she shoved him away. In the heat of the moment, her cruel words were thrown carelessly and she uttered words that should never have been said.

"That's enough!" Salvatore snapped. He met her vacant eyes, filled with a dark void that he could hardly bear. Hatred. Burning hate festered in her. He couldn't even recognize her anymore.

"Maybe they were right."

"You don't mean that Catarina. Sono tutti pezzi di merda [They're all pieces of shit]! All of them! And, just you wait, I'll prove them wrong-"

She slapped him.

The stinging sensation dispersed across his face as Salvatore grazed his throbbing cheek with his fingertips.

"Get out, Salvatore. Get out!"

Salvatore stood isolated in his studio, holding a glossy portrait of the young woman with a firm grip. It had just come out of development. Under normal circumstances, he'd clip her photo to dry with a clothespin and focus on the others.

However, today, he removed his black gloves, and traced the contours of her face with his bare fingers. First, he outlined her high cheekbones, gliding down her smooth jawline, up to the bridge of her nose, and across her full lips.

"Why did you throw your brushes?"

A curious little lamb.

Winona D'Alia.