The splashes of red stained the roughness of the left cheek, slowly dripping into fading shades of crimson red.
Was it supposed to be an emblem of purity, a trace of a lingering blush?
A smudge of red paint tainting the empty white canvas from the tip of a painter's love, his brush?
Or maybe a strike of a steady hand emptying the shaky earthquakes surfacing inside of this said painter?
But one thing was sure which is that this rough cheek belonged to a traditore, and the striking hand belonged to an artist indeed though a different kind of artist.
Dante held his throbbing cheek with his frail hand, wiping the blood slithering from the corner of his caked lip into the roughness of the ground with his bruised knuckles.
"You see painting is not an easy job especially if your canvas is not so steady." Two black loafers came across his eye level as he was lying on all fours or technically on all three.
Looking up, Dante glided his eyes from the feet in front of him into the searing gaze of an intimidating man.
"You are no Picasso." He gulped.
The man in front of him chuckled loudly as he bore his eye's into Dante's trembling figure.
"You are right I'll give you that, I am no Picasso." He smiled.
His cup of coffee seemed to be the sole center of his undivided attention as he twirled it in his veiny hands slowly approaching Dante without a flick of attention. Sliding his finger into the hot cup, he stood still as his men looked around with slight worry and a tad bit of curiosity. Scratch that, a whole bunch of it.
In the spur of the moment, he poured the boiling hot liquid all over the bending man at his mercy almost moaning at the pleasuring sounds of his ear-piercing screams.
"I am far more creative with my art." He whispered into his ear pulling one of his bangs tightly to the right, slowing pouring kerosene above the trembling man.
"Far less patient with my mistakes." Dante was pleading for his mercy by now, and his whimpers seemed to entertain the amused audience making them shiver with slow agonizing terror.
"Very rewarding towards my loyal men."
"Too proud of my masterpieces." The man kicked Dante way from him, ushering for one of his men to take the honor of adding the last detail to this portrait.
As Dante's skin was melting against the heat, his screams were causing shivers to reside on the skins of the men observing the new masterpiece being created by the one and only. The mafia boss, Alessio Candreva.
"Welcome to the Honoured Society Exhibition were the finest masterpieces are created with utmost delicacy and care. All traitors and ungrateful brats are free to visit anytime." He smiled, but it wasn't any regular smile. It was rather a smile coated with sinister and venom.
It was just like a sweet dessert to his bitter soul.
Mila stood there stock still with no words in her grasp, for she just watched a man get burnt in front of her very own eyes.
And what made it worse was that she watched him throw the dice that determined the very own block of his doom.
It was what these sick people called "monopolio".
Traditore: traitor
Monopolio: monopoly
Coming Soon..
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Vendetta
Romance(Inspired by some true events.) Creating a masterpiece is quite an easy job. All you need is an artist, an assassin, a con-artist, a bomb expert, a hacker, and a spy. And Voila you can take over the world, or you can just create your own world inste...
