Angelo Giovanni had several obsessions, one of which was a petite, dark-haired nymph of a woman named Ariel LaRusso. A Ballerina with a talent for acrobatics. He couldn't get enough of her; she was the most addictive drug his tongue had ever tasted...
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I stained my hands with blood for the very first time when I was seventeen. I still remember that night vividly. It was a moonless night and the first option was a gun with a suppressor fastened to the mouth. Easy, quick and disposable.
I don't remember what made me change the plans at the very first place but I do remember Roman, my brother, pulling me away from the motionless body that just laid on the floor. Blood smeared on the carpet, on the floor, on my white tennis shoes. My hands. A number of stab wounds and two big lifeless eyes staring back at me.
The butter knife heavy in my teenage hands.
We fled the scene before we caused any more damage than we already had. My father was disappointed.
That was a handful of times I managed to disappoint him so gravely that he refused to talk about or acknowledge the situation in general. The second time was when I decided I wanted to change my engineering degree to a business one.
The third and last time was when I forced a girl to miscarry.
I remember that evening more clearly than I remember the evening I murdered Vittorino Ferrara for passing information of the family to the enemy line despite being one of the closest advisors of my uncle. I remember the eyes of the girl I ever wanted more than air itself more clearly than the men I killed in cold blood.
I remember her brimming tears, her flushed face and her broken heart. I remember her almost losing her consciousness on the floor of my office. But what I remember most was how she whispered that she hated me with all her being.
I could never forget even if I wanted to.
She is what my dreams and nightmares are made up of. Ariel LaRusso. A pretty dancer from my club. The woman who sets my insides a flame and makes my heart beat twice as fast.
Whenever she called my name, it sounded like a prayer. When she came with me inside her, it was as if she was worshipping me, cleansing me. She was a little ray of salvation that I found in this world. She was a paragon of sanctitude dripping in sin. And everytime I close my eyes, she was there.
Her whispers, her sweet nothings, her laughter, her smile, her singsong voice, her lust- and then her screams and her tears. All the heartbreak that pooled in her warm eyes and erupted through the pores of her skin. I had them all memorised by what little heart I had left in me.
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