Her City of Death | ongoing

chapter four

Five years ago

    My eyes wander the ball room, I loved events like these when I was younger, getting to wear a sparkely dress and heels, have my makeup professionally done, wear a tiara. It was every little girls dream, to be at a princess.

    Of course, I already am a princess, a heirness. If you will. Now that I'm older than that twelve year old girl that would dance for hours on that floor, I despise these events. I didn't know the death and suffering that was echoing through these walls back then.

    Everyone here is a killer.

    Twelve-year-old Aurora didn't know that. She thought everyone here was royalty from far away kingdoms. Not drug lords, mob bosses, assassins. I know now that everyone here has shed blood one way or another. Including me.

    I pluck another champagne glass from a tray, my red lipgloss staining the glass as my lips touch it. My dress was red, a black and white masquarade ball and my father decides his heiress will wear red.

    I stood out like a rose in a bouquet of white tulips. My manicured finger taps distractedly againt the glass. My ears tuned out the loud chatter but when I see everyone partnering up for the ballroom dance, I pay attention. I'm required to do this, I begin looking for Jonas - my escort - to dance with me but I roll my eyes when I see him flaunting around with Vivian.

    "Aurora Berkeley, may I have this dance?" A raspy voice calls from behind me.

    I turn my head to face him, placing my hand gently in his awaiting one. "I have a mask on, you realize? I could be anyone."

    He pulls me flush against him, holding my waist with one of his rough hands, his captivating green eyes zeroeing in on my grey ones. "I could pick you out of millions."

    I flutter my eyes, "Could you?" I ask theoretically.

    "You look insecure in your dress, why?" He asks.

    "I am not suiting the theme," I tilt my head, even from where I stand at 5'7, he completely towers over my frame.

    His eyes sweep over me, "You suit your empire." His thick Italian accent was making my knees weak.

    I blink at him, "This is wrong, I'm not supposed to indulge in my enemies like this."

    "For one night, you must." He insists.

    "I don't even know your name." I laugh lightly.

    "Achille, Achille Salvatore." He fills in, a new gleam in his eyes when he watches me peice his identity together. Heir to the Italian Mafia.

    I falter, "Are you trying to kill me?"

    "A girl that wears a knife strapped to her thigh?" He asks in mock belief, "No."

    "Then why, pray tell, Achille, might you want a dance with me?" I scoff as he spins me around and back into his arms.

    "I'll kill you someday, Aurora, or perhaps you'll kill me. For now I would like to dance, what a shame it will be to lose such a pretty face so soon, hm?" He tuts, his brows creasing as he studies me.

    "Mine or yours?"

    He smirks, "I can't wait to find out. Can you?"

    "A dance cannot outlive destiny, I assume." I reply softly.

    "No, it cannot."

    The song ends and I pluck the blood red rose thats pinned to his suit and tuck it behind my ear, contrasting with my dark locks. I pat his chest, "You won't kill me, mon cheri, that's the thing with immortality."

    "Am I to believe you are supernatural now, Aurora?" He looks down at me.

    "No," I state, "You are to believe I am unbreakable."