Love Me Red ✔️

My Dark Melancholy (Kieran)

2

With honour, I rise

With peace, I fall

The Blood Of My Sins

The Silence Of My Soul

Shall It All Be Sold For The Greater Good

Here I Present My Existence To Serve My Race

The Darkest Of Kind, The Deadliest Among All

My Pledge, My Word

Only Death Do Me Rest

He recited the oath of omerta in his mind as he dropped the knife and pulled to his height. The pool of blood kept growing thick beneath his feet. He didn't feel an ounce of remorse for what he just did, only averted his gaze and walked out of the cellar. And just as he stood in the corridor, a wave of silence engulfed him from all sides.

The one that we called the silence of death.

The one scarier than death itself. The one that could take a human's sanity if he stayed here for long. The wind, the tales of despair and the coldness of terror; all blended together to form an eerie fog down here. The thick odour of flesh and metal lingering in the air. Silent screams heavily hanging against the soundproof walls that contained red substances one would rather not think of. The same walls that must have concealed many dark secrets, ones those could kill a person if he ever witnessed it. Among this all thudded some heavy footsteps against the floor.

The door creaked gristly as he kicked it lazily, letting cool white light fall on his figure, casting a long silhouette behind him. He flexed his soaked fingers and stepped inside the bathroom. Blood dripped down his hands, leaving traces behind. He halted before the sink. His greyish eyes quietly blinking at the droplet leaking out of the faucet before he glanced up at his face through the mirror. His features carved in oblivion. He stone-faced as ever as if feeling nothing after taking five lives.

Sucking a breath in, he brought his hand beneath the faucet, water automatically drizzling on his hands. Glancing down, he watched the dark liquid wiping from his hands. A small pool gathered in the sink and still, his conscience didn't skip a dead beat. He thoroughly cleaned himself to the arms and dried them with the towel. His fingers unbuttoned his shirt, he shedded the stained piece of cloth and grabbed his all-black tuxedo hanging on the hook. He draped the crisp-black shirt over his taut muscles and watched himself doing the buttons. Wearing the vest, jacket and pants, he walked out of the corridor with his stained clothes. His eye flicked inside the cellar as he walked past. Dead bodies were lying scattered in the room. Some had their mouths opened, some had eyes. But all of them had lost the ability to beg or scream.

He averted his gaze and climbed up the stairs. He knocked on the metal door and within a second, a peephole slid apart. Cold brown eyes scanned him before a loud slam echoed in the air.

Just as the door opened, his eyes squinted for a moment as they adjusted to the bright sunlight. He walked out and extended his right hand that had the clothes, someone behind him grabbed it and he walked ahead, his men followed him without a word. Nobody questioned why there was blood on them, nobody questioned what sins he committed down there. Nobody did anything because they knew he was a made man, an underboss. And those who laid dead there paid a price for crossing him.

The bald man in a black suit opened the backdoor of the car as their boss reached closer. Without sparing him any glance, he settled inside. His right-in-command settled beside him and the car began rolling without any words exchanged.

The journey was quiet for half an hour. Kieran only made a movement when someone opened the door as they reached the estate. Alighting from the car, he trod toward the entrance. His eyes caught his father's consigliere conversing with a few men in the garden. The consigliere's eyes met his and he nodded his head. Kieran imitated the action and walked inside the mansion.