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I can't live like this anymore!
My fear of Luca Valsetti has consumed me to the point I can't bear it any longer. I want him to come for me. I want this to be over.
Seven
Luca
Click.
The lock on the door is so easy to pick it's almost laughable. You'd think that for someone who has so much to hide from would invest in a better security system. The apartment complex is old. It smells like stale piss and damp dirty socks. A long narrow hallway is dimly lit, giving it the illusion it's endless. The carpet is a mottled mix of browns, making it look dirtier than it smells.
I open the door slowly. It's two o'clock in the morning, so Scarlet should be asleep. Just in case, I move through the entrance cautiously and quietly close the door behind me. The light is still on in the living room, but she isn't in it. I take a moment to look around. Her laptop is sitting open on the coffee table, but the screen is off. Her furnishings are simple and modern, with a charcoal-colored couch and matching chaise decorated with fluffy white cushions. I frown at the wooden TV stand, finding it odd that there is actually no television on it. She has no photographs displayed, no silly chic ornaments or artwork; only a few unopened moving boxes sit by the far wall.
As I round the corner, I nearly trip over something on the floor. I feel along the wall for a switch and flick it on. I look to my feet where a black wig is tangled in my shoes. Picking it up, I toss it to the side. Next to a half-empty bottle of Vodka, a few feet away, is the woman I have been searching for passed out on the floor. She looks dead from the way she is lying, curled up in a fetal position. However, I can see the slight rise and fall of her shoulders, so I know she is just sleeping.
A small ginger cat is curled up next to her, purring away, not in the least fazed by my presence. The kitchen smells like fish, which is undoubtedly from the cat kibble scattered all over the floor. She should have got a dog! I mean, I would be doing her a favor by putting her out of her own misery. I crouch down to get a closer look at her.
She has the most stunning auburn-colored hair, and even though she has it tied into a messy bun at the top of her head, I can tell it's lengthy. Long delicate lashes fan under her closed eyes, which look swollen and blotchy. Did she cry herself to sleep?
Her jeans hug her hips and long slender legs. I imagine when she is standing, she'd be quite tall. Fair-skinned with a dusting of freckles across her nose and cheek, it's clear my memories of her from the wedding did not capture her pure beauty.
The ginger cat stands and stretches out before weaving his way through my legs, rubbing himself against my jeans. I pull out my gun and screw the silencer onto the end of the barrel. I'd have preferred to use my knife and slit her throat, but due to the other apartments' close proximity, I cannot allow her to make a lot of noise. It's a shame, really, because I have been trying to find this little snake for over a year. I'd like to hear her suffer, watch her squirm. God, it's making my dick hard just thinking about it. I would love nothing more than to see that auburn hair stained in her own blood. What a beautiful shade of red that would make.
As I point my gun at her forehead, the click-clack noise as I cock it wakes her. Brilliant but sad hazel eyes blink open and stare me straight in the eye. I'm not sure if she thinks she is dreaming or is still half asleep and has not processed the fact she has a gun aimed at her head? But her lack of reaction is definitely something I wasn't expecting.
"We meet again," I say with a smirk. There is not even a hint of her being frightened of me. In fact, it's like she has been expecting me and is welcoming this. Her eyes are not sullen nor scared. They are vacant and sad.
"Any last words?" I ask, pressing the gun into her skin.
Without any hesitation, any doubt, she replies softly, "Just do it already."
Tilting my head to the side, I frown at her, confused. I am used to people crying, begging, praying for me not to kill them, and some even go as far as trying to bargain with me before their inevitable death. Never have I had someone ask me to do it. Most people in her position would be scared shitless, piss their pants, shake uncontrollably. But not Scarlet.
Her calmness irritates me. It gets under my skin and crawls through me. Why does she want to die? Why isn't she scared? Why do I even care? Just fucking pull the trigger, Luca!
I let out a frustrated sigh. "You really are taking the fun out of this, Scarlet."
She frowns a little. "Oh, I'm sorry. How inconsiderate of me. Would you feel better if I were to scream? Or Beg?" She mocks a laugh. "I'd never give you the satisfaction."
I raise my brows. "You know, it was the brown contact lenses that gave you away."
"I don't care. Just get this done. I am sick of hearing you talk."
I laugh. She is a fiery redhead indeed. It's entertaining and new. Women don't typically argue with me or are gutsy enough to insult me. It's going to be a real pity to extinguish her flames.
"You're much prettier as a redhead too. I don't think you suited the blonde."
Pushing her head harder into the barrel of my gun, she gets up and onto her knees, her eyes never leaving mine. "Pull. The. Trigger. Butcher."
I freeze at what she called me. Butcher. That's my nickname amongst my men. Nobody else calls me that. How does she know?
"What did you just call me?" I ask, hoping I misheard her but knowing I didn't.
"I called you butcher. Isn't that what all your men call you?" She remarks, her tone full of hatred. "Come to think of it. I am actually disappointed in your choice of weapon tonight. I had anticipated being sliced open and left to bleed out slowly like what you're known for. Instead, I get a bullet to the brain, just like Juna Kastrati."
I stare at her for a long moment. My gun is still bruising into her forehead. How the hell is she being so calm? I don't think I've met a braver, nor stupider, soul such as her.
"Just as well, whatever secrets you think you know about me will go straight to the grave with your pretty little face."
