Blood and Roses

35 | One Will Die Tonight

~Angelo

I distanced myself from the pair, leaving Camila and Luca lingering in the background. My path led me toward Felix, who patiently awaited my approach a mere few steps away. A faint but self-assured grin curved his lips, and within his grasp rested a firearm, poised yet unobtrusive.

Drawing nearer, Felix took measured strides to bridge the gap between us. His mirthful chuckle resounded, etching his unyielding smirk in place. The firearm, an extension of his will, was primed with rounds without the slightest hesitation—a testament to his unwavering resolve to bring an end to my existence once and for all.

Felix’s initial attempt may have faltered, but now, his determination was unshakable. He was resolute in his intent, prepared to stake everything, including his freedom or even his very life, to ensure my demise. The specter of imprisonment or the prospect of his own mortality paled in comparison to the satisfaction of witnessing my demise. As long as I ceased to be, his contentment was assured.

His once smug expression dissolved into an expression of turmoil. A frown etched itself across his face, accompanied by a perceptible quiver in his hand. It wasn’t fear that animated him—I could discern that much. Rather, a tempestuous blend of anger and a thirst for retribution surged within him. He folded his upper lip over the lower one, a single eyebrow ascending in a gesture of seething fury. The rigidity of his body, his teeth tightly clenched, all bore witness to the intensity of his wrath.

Such was the magnitude of his fury that it overshadowed any inkling of other emotions lurking beneath the surface—whether it be sorrow, trepidation, or even his all-consuming compulsion to exact my demise. I had never before studied Felix so intently. My perception had been clouded by my own resentment toward him. But gazing into his eyes, amidst the raging fire of his anger, a glimpse of desolation, of sorrow, flickered like a distant ember. It was reminiscent of his brother, Marco.

Felix’s likeness to his late brother was uncanny—diamond-blue eyes that seemed to bear unshed tears, dark brown hair sleeked back in an undercut, the profound dimples that accompanied his smile, and a ruddy countenance when he found something genuinely amusing. Astonishingly, Felix held an undeniable charm, a touch of endearing innocence. It struck me that I had snuffed out the light in a similar kind-hearted soul—Marco. So then, the question taunted me: Why did I end Marco’s life? And why had I harbored such unrelenting enmity toward Felix all this while?

His fingers coiled around the weapon’s grip, exerting a firm pressure as he willed his trembling to subside. A fleeting wave of sorrow briefly flickered within his gaze, only to be swiftly replaced by the return of his seething anger and thirst for vengeance directed squarely at me. The firearm’s barrel found its alignment, its purpose clear, and his finger found its poised position upon the trigger. The prospect of pain seemed insignificant, even with his fractured index fingers—a direct result of our violent clash.

Felix’s anguish over his injured fingers, however, was a nonentity now. It was eclipsed by his single-minded determination—to terminate me. Any semblance of remorse or empathy had evaporated, consumed by his unrelenting intent. His narrowed focus was razor-sharp, fixed solely on the culmination of his one goal: my death.

Releasing a weighty exhalation, he discreetly secured his firearm within its holster and gestured for me to follow him, his movements guided by an enigmatic intent. Befuddled by his sudden shift, I complied, trailing in his wake. Casting a fleeting glance over my shoulder, my eyes met Camila’s perplexed expression and Luca’s nonchalant shrug.

Stepping into the dimly lit alleyway, I found myself walking in his wake, a sense of uncertainty lingering. I watched the exchange of glances between Camila and Luca before they faded from view. With a casual scratch to the back of my head, I settled against the alley wall, finding a semblance of ease within the tension of the moment. Positioned across from me, Felix assumed a stance that emanated both power and restraint—his leg braced against the wall while the other supported him. To forestall any potential for sudden action, he draped his shirt over his firearm, allowing his arms to fold across his chest.