"Your eyes are so beautiful, mia cara. I'd like you to keep them open as I take what's mine."- Zaviero De Santis, The Sinner.
***
Zaviero
They call me The Sinner. And for sinister reasons. You see, corruption and depravity lives in my soul, an unend...
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|Zaviero|
"WELCOME TO DE Santis Island, ladies and gentlemen," the pilot announces proudly when we land. "Italy's finest island owned by our royal. . ."
I tune him out and glimpse Kaira staring outside the jet's window, still wearing that Godforsaken gown, her arm bandaged. The bruise on her jaw is a dark brown now, her hair left in an unseemingly afro, curls rioting.
All through the 14 hour flight, I have been ignored. She didn't talk to me after our heated conversation, and ate only when I forced her to. Naturally, Kaira is talkative and being the recipient of her silent treatment is an indication of how badly I have messed up. Merda!
Not that I care but as I glower at her tense frame, I can't help but wonder what annoys her the most? The liberty I took with her body in the car ride to New York? The unwanted marriage I forced on her or the threatening I made on her mother's life?
I will never forgive you.
The gash on my palm throbs, her lethal words resonating again in my mind, stiffening my resolve. She'd betrayed our love, trampled upon my heart like I meant nothing. And I would show her. Because this is just the dawn of my vengeance and the beginning of her penance.
My phone pings again, usurping my attention away from Kaira. It's another damned text from my personal assistant and Mamma. I refuse to open both messages. They're probably calling about Elena.
The air hostess ushers us out of the jet when Grasso has the car ready. Kaira and I slide into the backseat and Grasso starts to drive towards our destination: The De Santis Villa.
As we navigate across the huge expanse of land, the view is a familiar spectacle: a dazzling sun illuminating the cerulean ocean beyond, its raging waves hemmed in by white sands, rolling green hills, all encompassed by nature's finest trees and flowers.
My family had been bequeathed this island back in the 1500s by the reigning king back then and ordained as royals: Counte De Santis, protettore dei re after our ancestors had saved the king from assassination. At the moment, Italy was a democratic country, no longer ruled by the royal family but we still pulled our weight regarding government decisions. Our power was so immeasurable, different countries sought to have connections with us.
I flick my gaze away from the captivating scene and study Kaira. She's quiet, a tiny frown knitted between her brows, eyes fixed downwards, hands clasped between her lap. The guileless picture she evokes is a reminder that, like me, my family are a bunch of ravenous wolves. Poisonous. Deadly. One whiff of her innocence and they would rip her to shreds immediately.
Twenty minutes later, we arrive at the De Santis villa: a grand, towering stone mansion that has witnessed many terrors since its establishment. I don't pay too much attention to the fleet of expensive cars in the car park, the green ivy crawling along the massive walls, or the mermaid fountain that sprouts water in the middle of the yard. I have seen it all since childhood.
