Blood and Roses

3 | One Week of Love

~Camila

Something about the room sent shivers down my spine, an unfamiliarity that unsettled me. It was a stark departure from the familiar confines of my residence in the Diamond District, where Mr. Ryuu and I resided. The coldness gnawed at my skin, a chilling reminder of a different environment. And the scent, roses, a fragrance that assaulted my senses. I despised roses. Adding to the sensory assault as the overwhelming aroma of a middle school boy's excessive cologne, suffocating the air like a cloud. Instantly, a foreboding instinct took hold of me, hinting at my location, but I couldn't be entirely certain. The sedative's affects still lingered, making me nauseous, but I fought against the urge to vomit. The presence of Angelo was palpable, coursing through my bones, yet the room's darkness concealed even the faintest glimpse of my surroundings. Could it be so pitch black that I couldn't see my hand inches away from my face?

As the sedative's lingering effects persisted, my consciousness remained in a peculiar state. I was aware, but still immersed in a hazy slumber, my closed eyes obscuring my surroundings. Gradually, the weight of my eyelids lightened, allowing me to pry them open and take in the dimly lit room. The only sources of illumination were two lamps, casting an amber glow that barely illuminated the space. It became evident that I was in a bedroom, seated in a chair positioned at the foot of a neatly made king-sized bed. Flanking the bed were nightstands, each adorned with a lamp, providing the sole semblance of light. A dresser sat beneath a curtained window, showcasing a well-cared-for plant resting atop it. Another dresser stood before me, its surface occupied by a television. This was someone's house, and I knew all too well whose it was. Standing before me was his imposing figure, effortlessly hurling sharp darts over my head, each piercing the wall with precision.

The true problem lay not in the mere fact of being in Angelo's house but rather in the restraints that confined me. The leather bindings wrapped tightly around the back, arms, and legs of the chair, constricting my every limb, effectively rendering me immobile. Straining against the restraints, I fought, attempting to loosen their grip, but my efforts were in vain. The bindings held fast, their grip secure. Russo had undoubtedly mastered the art of restraint, leaving me seething with anger. Glaring at him, I continued my futile struggle, kicking and wriggling in a desperate bid for freedom, only to be met with his infuriating smile, a cruel mockery.

Undeterred by my presence, Russo brushed past me, forcefully extracting the darts from the wall. Rather than launching them once more, however, he curiously gathered them in his palm, holding them in an idle grip. To my astonishment, he opted not to resume his dart-throwing spree. Instead, he casually deposited the assortment of darts on the dresser, leaning against it with crossed arms. His towering figure loomed over me, a stark contrast to my restrained position in the diminutive chair, clearly intended for a child.

With an exasperated sigh, Russo's chest heaved as a mixture of frustration and, dare I say, a hint of pride washed over him. His once smirking lips contorted into a distinct frown, foreshadowing the forthcoming verbal onslaught. I could sense his annoyance seething beneath the surface, although the exact reason for his ire remained elusive. There were countless potential triggers for his anger, given my extensive list of transgressions. However, there was one specific offense that had landed me in this predicament; my audacious attempt on his life and that of his loyal bodyguard.

"Listen up, Camila. While it may not be a cause of celebration for you, I'm relieved that Luca managed to survive your attempt to drown him just a couple of hours ago. The man can't swim, and you thought you could dispose of him that easily? Back off, you reckless fool. But let's cut to the chase and address the real issue at hand. What the hell is wrong with you, Camila? I get it, you play the vigilante, killing to protect others. But that's not why we're here, and that's not why you're currently bound and helpless. Did your precious master put you up to this? Or are you blindly following his grudge against me, even though you know nothing about who I truly am? I demand answers, Camila. Tell me exactly why you attempted to end my life on that damn dock."