Blood and Roses

9 | Grim Reaper Came Early

~Camila

My knife is in Angelo’s pocket. He trusts me enough to let me hold onto it sometimes, but today, it’s tucked away in his possession. I can’t execute my plan without that weapon. I need to find a way to distract him, to manipulate him so I can snatch it back. Deceiving Angelo won’t be a walk in the park; he’s cunning and always on guard.

The key lies in concocting a masterful scheme that plays with his mind, making him drop his guard just long enough for me to reclaim what’s rightfully mine. I have something in mind, but it requires patience. For now, I must bide my time and act normal, blending in with the rest of the charade. Sipping coffee, engaging in trivial games like darts or poker, all the while making them believe everything is hunky-dory. But that false sense of security will eventually shatter.

I took another sip of the coffee, barely registering its taste as I got up from the chair. The chair where I had moments ago contemplated my sinister plans with cold detachment. I approached the assortment of instruments, each one just a tool to serve my purpose. On my way there, I couldn’t resist fixing Angelo’s crown, which was precariously slipping off his head.

As he continued playing poker, his eyes flickered with an unexpected sense of appreciation. He was perhaps taken aback by the rare act of concern, but that flicker of emotion was quickly replaced by confusion, no doubt trying to decipher my motives.

Kneeling down beside the electric guitar, I plugged the cord into the speaker, moving with a purposeful efficiency. I then seated myself on the piano bench, finding the process of tuning the guitar more entertaining than the ongoing poker game. The attention of the entire casino was on me, their bewilderment evident as I plucked the first string.

“Camila, what the hell are you doing? I distinctively remember tuning that guitar myself. And let me make this crystal clear, do you even know how to play a guitar?”

“Honestly, Angelo, this guitar is a total mess; horribly tuned and beaten to the ground. You should really consider getting a new one. And by the way, I’ve been playing the guitar since I was a measly seven years old. So, let me do the math for you since it seems beyond your comprehension. That’s a solid 19 years of experience. Yes, I damn well know how to play the guitar.”

Angelo turned his attention back to the poker game, hardly giving me a second thought as I prepared to show off my guitar skills. My fingers confidently found their places on the strings, and I rose from the piano bench, slinging the guitar strap over my shoulder. I couldn’t care less about the instrument’s condition; I was merely using it as a tool to assert my dominance and make my presence known.

With a single resounding strum, I deliberately captured the attention of every soul in that room. Their eyes fixated on me, a mix of surprise and curiosity evident in their glances. Yet, I remained unfazed. The familiar intro to Metallica’s “Master of Puppets” reverberated through the air, filling the space with its commanding presence.

Each note I played was deliberate, and I relished in the way the room fell silent, all attention solely on me and the guitar. I let the music speak for itself, a reflection of the calculated puppeteer I was, pulling strings and manipulating the atmosphere at my whim.

With an unsettling sense of happiness, I leaped onto the ledge that separated the instruments from the cluster of tables, a rush of energy coursing through my veins. My knees acted as springs, bouncing me up and down with a newfound vigor, yet all the while, my powerful strums remained relentless. The people sitting at the table before me watched, oddly captivated by my antics, their heads bobbing in sync with my rhythmic motions.

And then, to my own surprise, a smile graced my face once more. It was a rare occurrence, as of late, having only happened three times in the past few days, this moment being counted as the third. What was this unexpected sense of joy? Was it somehow tied to Angelo and his manipulative ways, or had some semblance of my own desire for happiness resurfaced from the depths of my soul? I couldn’t pinpoint the cause, but I couldn’t deny the undeniable pleasure I felt in that moment. Interacting with the three men at the table, my face flushed an unnatural cherry shade, and I beamed with a radiance that seemed foreign to me, and dimples appeared on my cheeks.