alessandra bellucci wasn't religious by any means. if it were up to her, she'd reject and spit on the church, but she finds herself standing in a confession booth this sunday morning, soaked in crimson. her hazel eyes are blank, dulled by shock—she struggles to keep her strawberry-stained mouth from forming a gaping o every time she goes to speak. a harsh whine comes from the back of her throat.
"bless me, father, for i have sinned," she rasps once a pregnant pause has passed, "it has been a month since my last confession, and i fear my vices are too great to absolve."
the priest coughs. his silhouette tenses in preparation for the confessional to come. "tell me what happened."
the woman bites the inside of her cheek until blood fills her mouth, but she refuses to retch or spit it out. rather, she swallows it. her shaky fingers run through her auburn curls, and her breathing grows unsteady.
"the devil," alessandra says, "he has won."
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YOU ARE READING
BLOODBATHS IN MADRID.
Short Storythe bellucci clan is to be feared. based in milan, italy, they are bred from old money and wicked vices that are better left unsaid than exposed. no government would dare touch them, for the entire world falls at their feet. the alejandre family ha...
