𝐁𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐭 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐌𝐞

4|| Honeymoon Bliss

Celeste / January 11
•••
I'm not having a good time.

The wedding was okay. I'd only been called a gold digger three times before Charles couldn't keep it in his pants any longer and got us out of the venue to an above fancy hotel room.

He'd been sweating from the anticipation and the pit stains in his dress shirt were getting bigger by the minute. I'd told Charles I was a virgin waiting until marriage – I'd found out a while ago that those words worked better than a 'no'.

It didn't keep him from trying, though I'm pretty sure my constant refusal to 'give up my innocence' had only intrigued him more.

So there we were. Freshly married, a diamond around my finger and a bulge in his pants. My needles were ready in the drawer of my nightstand, the poison was brewing in a tiny flask underneath my pillow and his bank account was ready to be emptied.

And that's when those idiots decided to barge in.

Four months. Four entire months went into this plan and those Italian imbeciles decided to ruin it the very last second.

I was currently on my stomach underneath the king size bed I'd been peacefully laying on ten minutes ago. As still and silent as the two dead bodies bleeding on the very same floor.

I hold the gun of one of those men steadily in my hand and for a moment – a very, very beautiful moment – I wonder what it would be like if I'd fire a bullet straight through the Achilles heels before me.

Wonder what it would be like if I'd fire a bullet through Dante Alessi.

I shake the thoughts away.

Lester would not be happy with the chaos that would erupt out of such a reckless decision, so I had to calm myself.

He opens my drawer and my hand clenches around the gun. He better not get his dirty hands on my stuff.

"When did Charles first meet this Mrs. Richardson?"

I frown at the first sound of his voice. How anyone could sound so dominating yet calm was beyond me and also slightly irritating.

Who did he think he was barging into my honeymoon and ruining the night I'd been looking forward to for months? What business did he even have with Charles that was so pressing he had to come here in the middle of the night?

It's a good thing I at least still have my ring. God knows that I would go ballistic if-

My muscles freeze when Dante squats down to pick something up near the curtains I'd tied to the window frame as a misdirect.

I can see enough to notice that the thing he's holding in his hand twinkles and that's when I realize my wedding ring isn't around my finger.

"No," his deep voice speaks again. "I know she's here."

I watch as he puts my ring in his pocket and it is then that I decide that Dante Alessi is going to burn.

My money. My kill. My ring.

It was all stolen from me – and by a man nonetheless.

For seven years this man had been the reason I was stuck in Chicago, eliminating Italians like shooting birds out of the sky for Lester. And in those seven years he hadn't ones had the decency to learn.

He never backed off, he never gave Lester what he wanted. He always had to be an obstacle, a bump in the road, a fucking problem.

And now he'd intervened with my personal business, he'd finally crossed a line.

It was time to put Dante Alessi where he belonged: a grave.

•••

I'm sitting on a park bench in my short white dress and fluffy hotel slippers while I'm trying to eat a cheeseburger in the cool winter air. Like always, there were no stars in the sky and I couldn't even find it in me to be disappointed by that anymore.

Sometimes this city feels suffocating. Which is weird, because I'm free.

I can make my own choices, can go where I want to go and say what I want to say.

Lester has called and texted me many times, but I didn't respond.

I feel sick with myself and not just because of the grease dripping down my chin. I failed, badly.

And yes, maybe my ego took a little hit tonight, but I wasn't the one that suffered the most because of my mistake.

Because the ones suffering the most are the children who would've been saved from abusive living situations, the animals who would've been rescued, the hungry that would've been fed and the sick that would've been cured – all with Charles Richardson's money.

Money that he didn't have, money that I didn't have and now money that my charities didn't have.

Suddenly the pitch black night sky feels like an iron blanket falling all over me. I'm sick to my stomach because of the heavy burger and the thought of my wedding ring, my precious little property being in the pocket of that.. that.. imbecile.

I stand up from the park bench and throw the rest of my meal in the trash along with the red wig, green lenses and rubber face disguises I'd been wearing before I make my way to the cheapest motel near, ready to fixate on getting back what's mine.

•••
This was the last update for now,, tysm for reading this far!! I'm planning on updating 2-3 times a week but I don't know on which days yet

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