The dark side of a person would always be revealed when they faced a cruel and unscrupulous truth. Who else could present her with that, if not me? The assassin.
A sad, bitter truth that could no longer be avoided. I couldn't keep hiding it and let Lavínia live without knowing how and why I came into her life.
I'm not being a wretch for telling her that I was paid by her own father to kill her. I don't feel better seeing her in tears, curled up in that library armchair, frightened and terrified.
I, who truly wanted and desired to kill her without questioning the reasons, don't find joy in her misery dancing tango before my eyes. In fact, I feel distressed, with sharp stabs in the left side of my chest, in the heart that usually only makes itself known in that hospital room where my son lies in a coma, the heart that now seems to yearn to beat alongside hers.
I feel bad with every tear that falls from her angelic face onto the cover of that damn book she picked up from the floor and rested on her legs, bare from mid-thigh down. I feel something strange in my chest seeing myself standing there at the door, smoking my cigarette and watching, close to the burning fireplace, something that wasn't the suffering felt by the little owl with beautiful eyes. At this moment, I feel more hatred for that son of a bitch, her father, than anything in this world, just for seeing her crumble.
But I could no longer spare her this suffering, the discovery of realizing that all this time she was in the presence of a lurking enemy, her tormentor turning her life upside down, her sole and merciless executioner. Me, her killer…
"Why?" She looked at me, distressed, her eyes deader and darker than the night outside. "Why kill me?"
I clear my throat and exhale the smoke into the air.
"The laws of that country condemned you. Your father, due to gambling debts, promised you as a bargaining chip to an important man. And because you 'ran away,' you left them a laughingstock. At one point, I thought your father would give up on your death, but no, he came back to me, and your sentence was issued. There was no forgiveness for a lost girl, without virginity, and a fugitive. The punishment was death. So they put up posters at the borders, airports, cities, and every neighborhood: 'Lavínia—Predestined to Death,' and I found out today they're offering a reward for whoever brings your head." I revealed it all at once and cautiously took small steps toward the sofa in front of the armchair where she was breaking down, observing her, searching within myself for the empathy that wasn't part of me but was necessary for her.
"Don't cry, Lavínia," Hitman 27 crouched down and took her hands, kissing them and drawing her tear-filled eyes.
"I'm… dead," her voice came out low and trembling, painful and consumed by lament.
"No! No one will get near you. You're our protected girl," he tried to comfort her, and as much as it was eating me up to see him touch her, I let it go because he could indeed be gentler than me. "We tried to handle things when Ângelo was captured and tortured. Ângelo wanted to deal with your case exclusively and gave us orders not to touch you. Since he didn't show up and your father was demanding the job, we sent a body in your place to your father, but I'm seeing now that the old man was clever," the hitman confessed and looked at me, showing the coldness we used for killing.
I nod to him, understanding his look, and push my body to put out my cigarette in the ashtray and toss the butt in.
Suddenly, the other two hitmen entered the library. One closed the door, and the other came to stand behind Lavínia's armchair.
"What happened?" Hitman 2, standing behind her, stared at me in disarray.
"Ângelo told her the truth," Hitman 27, crouched and holding her hands, answered him.
"Son of a bitch!" Hitman 1 cursed and came closer to her too, sitting on the arm of the armchair beside her and hugging her. "That bastard will pay for everything he did to you. I know he will, little Lavínia."
"Sorry, but I need air," Lavínia stood up abruptly and ran to the library curtains, where we saw her desperately searching for an exit.
She was destroyed…
Standing, I walk to the glass door and open it, watching her rush outside frantically.
"Ângelo, are you crazy? The back of the house leads to the forest," Hitman 2 said nervously and tried to go through the door, but I immediately pressed a hand on his chest, stopping him from going after her and closing the glass door.
"Let her breathe," I glare at him, unyielding to any questioning.
"She might run away," Hitman 27 said.
I turn to him.
"She won't run. Her brother is here, and we have security everywhere. She'll come back," I say, unconcerned about that, and walk to the liquor shelf, serving myself a glass of straight whiskey.
"Why did you tell her? Is your anger toward Lavínia so great that you can't even spare her this suffering?" Hitman 27 exploded.
With a furrowed brow, I turn.
"You don't know what you're talking about," I warn and sip my drink under his killer gaze.
"What I know is that you're a bastard. You're not respecting her or even considering what she's been through in life. You brought Lavínia to the mansion to make her your exclusive whore."
Furious and with my blood boiling, I threw the glass on the floor and lunged, but I didn't get the pleasure of breaking the jerk's nose because the other two hitmen stepped in front, protecting him from my fury.
"I'll kill you," I threaten loudly.
"Scoundrel," he shouted and turned his back, heading to the glass door. "She's a girl; she needs care."
I'm not surprised to hear the way he talks about her. I suspected he liked her; you can tell by how much he cares and defends her.
"Don't talk like she's going to break at any moment. Lavínia is stronger than she seems," I say with all the conviction in the world. All three of them looked at me. "If need be, I'll protect her from everyone, including you."
"You're saying that to me?" Hitman 27 was hurt, the idiot.
"Lavínia and Faruk are mine; they're my family now and my responsibility. You, as my trusted men, protect us and don't question my decisions. We've been together long enough for all three of you to know I never break promises, and I'm making a promise now. Lavínia and Faruk are no longer alone; they're my family and protected by me, by you, and by all our clans."
***
I was the only one who stayed in the library waiting for her. While all three went upstairs to check on Faruk and sleep, I stayed there for hours waiting, absolutely certain she would come back through the same door she left through, even though the three doubted it and thought she'd run away. I knew she wouldn't, no matter how great the pain she was feeling.
And it happened. Lavínia came in through the open glass door, pushed it, and walked toward where I was leaning against the table with my legs crossed, swirling my fifth glass of whiskey waiting for her.
I looked at the library ceiling and breathed a sigh of relief when she took the glass from my hand and surprised me with a tight hug, while I was bracing myself for a lashing from her.
"You shouldn't have slept with me, Ângelo," she cried on my shoulder, wrapping her arms tightly around my neck.
"I know, Lavínia," I touched her waist cautiously and closed my eyes, breathing in her floral lily scent.
"If you were going to kill me, there was no reason to do those things with me. It wasn't fair to me. Now my head is a torment of confusion. I don't know if I can trust you after everything."
I caress her nape.
"You have all the time in the world to process this confusion."
"Why did you give up on killing me and save me instead?" Slowly, she pulled back and looked down. With two fingers, I lift her face to observe her beautiful, sad amber eyes. "Did you give up because, in your mind, you raped me in that brothel?"
"I believe so. That was the start of me wanting to know everything about you," I tuck her hair behind her ear with a small hoop earring. "You weren't a prostitute. You didn't even know what to do in bed."
"You were so awful that day," she squinted, seeming to use effort.
"And I'll never forgive myself for that."
"It's clear to me that you were going to kill me afterward, but when you found out I was a prostitute, you wanted to take advantage of me first," she cried.
I closed my eyes, and with my heart aching, wounded, and hurt, I pressed my lips to her forehead.
"That's it… that's exactly what happened. I'm not a good man, Lavínia. I'm not."
"Do you still want to kill me?"
"No," I admit. I have no intention of killing her, only protecting her.
"And now, how will it be?" She grew anxious.
"I need to know what you decided in these hours."
Lavínia took a deep breath.
"I want to kill him," she looked at me with fierce anger. "I want to become as strong as you. I want to be one of your men."
"It won't be an easy task," I hold her face. "We'll go hard on you in training. We'll push you to your limits and beyond, and even that won't be enough to make you like us."
"I'll stay in the mansion with you. I want to be trained. I want to lose this fear I still have."
I nod, seeing in her eyes that it's her deepest desire.
"You'll be the only woman in our clan."
Her eyes narrowed.
"Is that bad?"
I shake my head.
"We need a female among us."
She laughed unintentionally and wiped her eyes.
"When I'm trained and working for you, can I hire teachers for Faruk?" I noticed the anguish in her voice.
"Don't worry about that. The boy will finish his studies and have a good education."
Lavínia nodded, pulling away from me, leaving me with longing, and I noticed it was against her will to step back too. She took a deep breath, and I saw her walk to the armchair and pick up the book that bastard sent me years ago with the sole intention of screwing me up psychologically. She looked at me and came back to me, extending her small hand and looking into my eyes. I didn't hesitate; it was clear it was a request, and there was no sign in her gaze that she would sleep anytime soon.
Immediately, I grabbed my glass that she had set on the library table to hug me and gave her my free hand. She led me to the sofa, waited for me to sit with my legs slightly apart, and I saw her slip off her red-soled Royalz patent leather heels, toss her silky light-colored hair back, and come sit on the sofa beside me, folding her legs onto the sofa so she was almost lying down, using my chest as a support for her head.
I pass my hand behind her head and start caressing her bare arm, as she was wearing only a tight black dress with thin gold chain straps. Then I noticed her open the damn book, flip through a few pages, and be drawn to a new handwritten text, because that bastard, my father, had written his hateful thoughts every five pages in that 700-page book. Knowing she would read it aloud, I sipped the whiskey, and my body tensed when she began.
"Children with psychopathic disorders always show signs, and I completely ignored your shitty behavior. I never forget that day, Ângelo, you son of a bitch, you disgusting paranoid. You're rotten, you're a pig. You killed her, you deplorable wretch, and as long as I live, I'll bathe your body in blood…"
It was hearing Lavínia's sweet voice narrate each cruel word from that man that I was wretchedly transported to a flashback of that cursed day, the day that reaped, annihilated, and destroyed my mental sanity.
I close my eyes, and I'm there.
**Ângelo (7 Years Old)**
The fear was so great that I ran to hide in the closet. I was in such a hurry that I lost the shoe I wore from school somewhere in the hallway of my house.
Inside the closet, quiet, I curled up, crying without making a sound. I begged for my father to come home at that moment, as I always begged.
I couldn't take it anymore. My body trembled, already sentenced; it was clear that it would happen to me again.
I was terrified.
"Ângelo?" It was her voice, my mother's, calling me as if she were singing, but I felt it like I was trapped, cornered, caught.
Crying intensely, the tears burning hot and my eyes aflame, I covered my ears with my hands tightly and refused, not wanting to hear her at all.
I shook my head countless times, closed my eyes so everything would go dark, and I wouldn't see or hear it anymore.
It was terrible.
It was bad.
It was strange.
I hated it.
"I found you, kid," suddenly, she opened the closet and pulled me out so violently I thought she'd dislocate my arm. "Open your eyes," she shouted.
I trembled, refusing.
"Stop, Mommy… stop…"
I couldn't open my eyes because I knew how I'd find her.
"It'll be worse for you, Ângelo," she warned, and in my silence, she hit me, slapping my face hard, and I screamed. Her hands grabbed my face, and her long, thin fingers forced my eyes open; it hurt so much.
I was small. I was in first grade. I hadn't made any friends yet.
How could I have the strength to fight my own mother?
Weak and with my eyes burning, I opened them and saw her. Her nose was red, and there were traces of the powder I saw her snorting when I got home from school. But the worst wasn't that.
The worst was seeing her completely naked, taking my clothes off too.
"Mommy, please! I don't want to do this anymore… I don't want to do this with you."
"You need to be a man," she pushed me onto the bed. Her strange, red eyes observed my body, so small compared to hers. "You're growing," she laughed and climbed onto the bed too.
I already knew what would come next. It was like this every time. She put her mouth on my private parts and hit me to make me do the same to her. Then she forced me to press my body against hers… she forced me… she did all this to me, yes… everything.
And that day, my father came home, earlier than usual, right at the moment I was on top of my mother's body. She was making strange sounds, and I was crying for doing it… I didn't want to… I never wanted to.
I never wanted it!
When I thought my father would help me, no… he pulled me off her, and that was the day I discovered I was surrounded by demons.
My father cut my skin. He condemned and blamed me for everything…
Including for him killing my mother.
And I, a seven-year-old child, was a psychopath? How?
"Ângelo?" Small, delicate hands pull me back to reality.
With a start, I jump from the nightmare to reality and open my eyes; the act hurts immediately because I had squeezed my eyes shut as if I were still there, trapped.
Out of breath, I touch my chest and stare at the ceiling, my vision blurred, and air not entering through my open mouth or my nostrils.
"Lavínia…" I look at her, tormented, and cry, a silent plea for help, even without shouting it aloud.
"Breathe… Calm down, Ângelo. For God's sake…" She worried and threw the damn book that triggered me onto the wooden table. Lavínia quickly stood up and came to sit on my right leg, pressing her hand firmly on my chest, massaging it.
"You… You have to help me… kill him."
"That filthy scum will die," she held my face and looked into my eyes. She was crying too. "We'll kill him. Not just him, but my father too. You have me, an ally, and I refuse to leave without destroying them first," Lavínia carefully kissed my forehead and ran her warm lips to dry the trail of tears on my face, returning to massage my chest, making air flow back into my nasal cavity. "No one will hurt us anymore. We won't allow it," she whispered in my mouth, her warm breath heating the tip of my nose. I close my eyes, breathing deeply, feeling the pain of near death. "Together, we'll bathe those sons of bitches in blood. I promise you, I won't let go of your hand from now on," she murmured decisively and pressed our foreheads together.
"Is that a promise?" I don't open my eyes.
"It's a promise," and she sealed the promise by kissing my lips.
So now our game of carnage will finally begin.
Because now I have company for the bloodshed.
And we're going to make a massacre of our demons.