𝑹𝒐𝒔𝒂

𝗲𝗹𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗻; 𝗿𝗼𝘀𝗮𝗹𝗶𝗲

"That is your plan? Really? That is possibly the stupidest shit I've ever heard Gray," I said in the attic of his house.

He had just told me his long winding tale about using me to extort millions out of Aiden.

"How is that the stupidest shit you've ever heard, you told me once that some guy tried to sell you a goldfish that could allegedly speak Latin," he shouted.

"EXACTLY! Aiden told me last week he would rather have married my fucking mother; he'll be glad to see the back of me you idiot."

"Is that seriously what you think?"

"I don't think, I know."

"I know for a fact what you think is true, is a load of shit," Grayson's head was now a mere few inches away from mine.

"Get away from me, and for God's sake put the gun down."

"Do you think you're the one giving the orders Rosalie because spoiler alert, I'm the one with the fucking gun."

"Do I generally look like I give a shit?" I rolled my eyes.

☾︎༒︎☽︎

The Valentina household was an old house, the identical replica of the house owned for centuries in Rome.

With 14 bedrooms, 7 bathrooms, 3 reception rooms, a massive kitchen and an array of tunnels laying beneath the house, the building could be described as nothing short of a labyrinth.

Built of solid stones, the inside was decorated head to toe in fine Italian marble.

I think about now is where I should explain a little bit about Grayson Valentina.

His father, Alessandro Valentina, was a rich businessman who dealt in death, drugs, and firearms, until his fortunate demise a few years ago.
He married a young 20 something that went by the name of Isabella Martina, Grayson's mother.

It wasn't much of a surprise for Alessandro's friends, I use that term loosely, and family, for he was renowned for knocking up girls old enough to be his granddaughters.
What was a surprise was the fact he seemingly fell completely and utterly in love with her.

Grayson was almost a carbon copy of his mother.
Dark blonde curls and tanned skin; yet his eyes were identical to those that had belonged to his father.
Maybe that's why he hated them so much.

Then again, apart from the occasional idiotic bastard, who in their right mind would want to be like Alessandro fucking Valentina.

Isabella on the other hand, never truly loved Alessandro, a well-much known fact between the women of the underworld.

She began having an affair with a man much closer to her age, his name still to this day is unknown, almost a decade later.

That is why, one can only presume, Alessandro shot Isabelle.
Or so we're thought to believe anyway.

The night of Grayson's 15th birthday,
the night she was going to leave,
he shot her in the heart.

Maybe that's why he loves irony.

☾︎༒︎☽︎

I wasn't being kept as a prisoner, well not if you're thinking of a dingy black basement with a spider infested mattress.

The room I was being held 'captive'  in was a large room at the rear side of the property.
With roses decorating the walls, maybe he thought it was some sort of irony.

The truth was I had always hated roses.
It was a bittersweet revelation that no one could seemingly understand.

Roses may be beautiful, but they also have thorns.
Thorns that can cut open skin, and harm the person who pulled them from the ground.

Because in the end roses have emotions, just like people.

The colour symbolises the emotion at the time of their unfortunate death.

Red.
Orange.
Yellow.
White.
Pink.
Lavender.

Every singly colour shows the pain, the guilt, the fear, the love, that each plant has been through.

Or maybe that's just my take on things.
Maybe roses are just objects.

Another materialistic wealth, another object us humans take for granted.

I mean, I have nothing to do, I may as well contemplate the feeling and thoughts of life.

Because if roses are just objects, then surely, I am nothing more.

𑁍❣︎𑁍

Welcome!
Not much longer to go now.

What are Grayson's intentions?
Is it just money?

Expect a probably very, very long chapter from yours truly, Aiden Mendoza, for your next update.

sending love,
m<3