Vicious Saints [18+]

001: Castles

|Alysanne Valentine|

I should have taken aback my decision to return home but that would start a trail of of lies of my wake. Seemingly after a week away, I knew it would only be a matter of time before I go back. It wasn't a blackmail or hostage situation. There wasn't just anywhere else to go. None of them back home would expect me and all those pleasantries you would usually receive came in a coded message with me.

Once the plane touched the Irish soil, I knew I was home. Ireland had this essence you couldn't quite find in other countries. The rain pounded hard against the tar, initiating a beat. A mixture added with nature that held a certain richness in the air, calming the storm that brewed within me. It brought back the familiarity, everyday consumed with rain and thunder that were engaged in a fierce battle daily. Something as trivial as the weather brought back memories that you couldn't replace; good and bad.

The ride to my destination gave me ample time to reflect on what has become of my life, most importantly the people within it. Many years ago when I left this country. made a vow that I would never become involved in the mafia again. However, all those years apart taught me one thing, you can't escape your fate. One way or another the only way to truly be free is through a bullet in your skull, I never regretted becoming friends with Isadora because she brought a certain amount of spice into my life that I lacked ever since I left.

Transforming this dull, emotionless person into someone who valued her humanity for the first time. My gratitude would never be enough, staring at the amethyst ring she placed onto my finger.

A small smile caved onto my lips, all those memories involving her came flooding back Even with this end, I was entirely thankful for the memories we shared.

Honestly, I never thought I would grow attached to more than one person. I figured that spot had already been filled when I met Isadora. Boy was I wrong, a certain raven haired baby girl and her dashing daddy changed that. Placing a label on how I would describe them is rather difficult, words couldn't express what I felt about them. Corvina and Azarov represented purity and holy water, even with his line of work. I continued to find him fascinating and compassionate, precious moments of when he was absorbed with Corvina.

Seemingly catching glimpses of the deepest kind of love you could ever imagine. I don't believe in god but I believe that in those moments there was one because I was entirely blessed to witness such strong, everlasting love. It shook me to my core and made me crave it for once in my life.

All good things come to an end unfortunately, staying there would further taint them and drag everyone else into the hell that I am drowning in. As much as I wanted to stay and watch a blooming love grow, I had to make a sacrifice for the people I consider my family, which required me to disappear.

Once the tyres on the limo slowed down, I peaked through the tinted glass and caught the sight of the gigantic ebony patterned gate. The men guarding it were famillar, dressed head to toe in their signature suits and matching tinted glasses. One of them stood out of his post, scanning the vehlele with each step before plastering himself onto my window. Rolling it down, recognition flashed in his eyes with a swirl of astonishment. He circled his hand in a gesture and the other men quickly opened the gates. Our path was clear and the driver continued onto the spiral driveway, rounding the statue waterfall of the grim reaper he had custom made when he first moved in. The limo halted at the entrance, a vast hill of steps to march before you could enter.

"Thank you," paying the man my respects before swiftly making my way out of the limo.

My boots crunched under the tiny pebbles he had imported and insisted on having to cover the ground of his home. It brought back memories of the tragic accidents of broken heels that occurred or when we threw them at our so called babysitters which consisted of guards, quite the troublemakers.