Blood and Roses

2 | Assassination Vetoed

~Camila

I dedicated hours upon hours scrutinizing Angelo Russo, analyzing everything about him, from his skin to his bones, from the crown on his head to the soles of his feet. As the sun dipped below the horizon and the clock struck one in the morning, my mind churned, conjuring the perfect method to kill him. However, I must admit, Mr. Ryuu wasn’t spitting empty words. Angelo had a firm grip on a hundred men, while I stood alone, relying on myself. It was a realization that despite being two years my senior, he seemed to possess less strength. He relied on his army, while I remained self-sufficient. He had 276 victims under his control, but my count soared to 823, counting yesterday’s victims. Undeniably, he had earned respect, power, and a notorious name in New York, though he had yet to earn superiority over me.

I’m not going to deny that Russo had earned genuine respect from the men he effortlessly manipulates. It’s no small feat to earn the admiration of those around you, let alone maintain it. Through strength and determination, he has achieved both, ensuring his men remain obedient until their last breath. As much as I belittle him, I must acknowledge that. Russo and I diverge in this aspect. While he seeks and attains power, my desires lie elsewhere. I find satisfaction in instilling fear.

Just as I bear the title of the Scarlet Serpent, Russo can easily be dubbed the Shadow King. His position grants him authority. He reigns supreme over his men, holding dominion not only over their lives but also over the countless victims he has claimed. In essence, he embodies the image of a king, adorned with a golden crown atop his head, commanding attention and proclaiming, “I am your leader.” The moment he graces the scene, it’s akin to a drill sergeant orchestrating his troops, expertly guiding them through each intricate step as if they were nothing more than marionettes. He can perch on a single ledge, swinging his legs like a child, observing his dolls dutifully executing his every command. And when he fixes his gaze upon them, a deathly stare pierces their souls, freezing them in their tracks.

At the age of 28, Russo stands two years older than me. Prior to his ascendancy, his father, Giovanni, held dominion over the men who now bow to Russo’s command. Tragically, Giovanni fell gravely ill, prompting the passing of the mantle to his son on Angelo’s 20th birthday. Little did Russo know, had he been aware that his father would recover, he would never have accepted the position he occupies today. However, a cruel twist of fate unfolded when, mere months later, it was revealed that Giovanni’s unknown illness had been cured. Angelo, pissed, found his emotions boiling over until the life abruptly departed from his father’s body, a bullet piercing his forehead right before his eyes. Once again, control and authority shifted into Angelo’s hands. Here’s an unsettling fact: It was my own father who killed Giovanni. Yet, within a year, my father met his own demise.

Within Russo’s bedroom, a tense exchange unfolded between him and his father, the reasons for their heated discourse evident. Meanwhile, one of my father’s henchmen lurked in another room, eliminating Angelo’s mother, Isabella. It was a calculated move, as my father had long set his sights on eradicating the entire Russo family; Giovanni, Isabella, and, of course, Angelo himself. However, on that fateful day, when my father came face-to-face with Angelo, standing there, trembling, having just witnessed his father’s life taken by a bullet to the head, my father held back from seizing the opportunity to eliminate him as well. The details of that day remain hazy in my memory, as my father returned home late at night, sharing with me only one vivid recollection: the haunting look on Angelo’s face. His eyes widened with tears welling up, his body shaking uncontrollably, yet he stood frozen in place, staring transfixed at his father’s lifeless body sprawled upon his own feet.

The Docks hold an infamous reputation in New York, serving as a haven for criminals seeking privacy, a place where even the police dare not tread. It’s a hotbed for all sorts of illicit activities, where criminals engage in shooting each other in sensitive areas just for their own twisted amusement. The Docks essentially function as a gathering spot for lawbreakers, a bustling hub of criminal activity. It’s not exactly my preferred environment, as I tend to gravitate towards quieter locales. However, despite the constant chaos and cacophony that engulfs the area, there is an eerie sense of tranquility to be found. That is, if you find peace in the symphony of gunfire, agonized screams, and the sickening impact of fists meeting flesh. It’s a place where people frequently fall victim to bullets and blades, which is why you must remain vigilant against the criminal faction we commonly refer to as the “Junkies.” Now, you might be wondering, what relevance does The Docks hold?