Angioletto's Pov
Darkness is still paramount, and yet, I am awake—wide eyed awake.The calendar says Wednesday, the time reads 5am, the birds sing a beautiful morning song, and my heart sings a bloody song.
Torture is my forte.
I say I have no heart, and yet, when I’m tasked with the duty to torture offenders, I feel that dead organ of mine palpitating ridiculously.
I love the thrill, and the mess.
And in this moment, when I walk into the holding cell and my eyes land on the soldier who’s restrained to an iron chair, I feel a rush of blood in my veins.
I am finally breathing.
Walking to the end of the large room, I pull another iron chair with me, the legs scraping across the roughly plastered floor. And when I’m in front of the restrained soldier, I finally stop, throwing myself on the seat with a sigh.
We stay silent—the soldier and I. It’s in
Angioletto's PovReluctantly walking into my penthouse, my roaming eyes land on Oceane, standing at the foot of the stairs, a smile etched at the corners of her lips, her eyes filled with so much unexplained happiness.What has got her so happy? The demon in my head whispers. The demon who has done nothing but whisper and awake evil in me, blaming Oceane for the recent disrespect and betrayal I’ve had to face from my most trusted man.The demon who hates to see Oceane happy.The demon which controls my life’s actions.“Good morning, Gio.” Oceane beams. I hum a response while throwing my key on the kitchen island.She clears her throat and begins motioning toward me in slow, sultry steps. “Have you had something to eat? I joined the cook to make breakfast this morning and I’m certain you’ll like it.”Amusement. My heart flutters in amusement, yet, I conceal it with a stoic expression. I look down at her, and our eyes connect for a brief second before I’m scanning her head to toe.Tha
Angioletto's PovForty eight hours later.The calendar says Friday, the time reads 9:30 post meridiem. The birds and beasts of the night are at their loudest tonight, but the loudness of the organ in my chest is incomparable.I know tonight will be a long night.Whistling, I walk into the cell, a huge grin stretched across my lips when my eyes land on my newest victim. A friend. A brother. Rodrigo.I tsk. “Look who’s wide awake. Have you been anticipating my visit, my dear brother?”“Why’re you doing this to me, Angel?” Rodrigo sneers, “why aren’t you torturing me? Kill me already! Hit me if that’s what it’ll take! Do something!”“And what fun will that be?”A furrow pulls his brows, his lips sliding apart slightly. “Angel. . .”“Do you recall when you and I were so obsessed with the art of reading cards?” I ask, smiling a downturned smile. “Well, I pulled two cards today. The fool, and the wheel. Now Rodrigo, I wouldn’t want to call it the wheel of fortune just yet. Because whether i
Angioletto's PovWhen I return to the penthouse a little after noon, the soft laughter of my Oceane is the first sound that graces my ears.I stand by the door, watching her in awe while she plays around with her kitten.“Angel, you’re so hyperactive.” She coos, scooping the purring kitten into her arms.How can anyone accuse this innocent girl of a crime as grave as murder?How can anyone look at that angelic face and think evil of it?It’s all but a wonder in my mind.A smile pulling at the corners of my lips, I make a move to approach her. Two steps into the room and my feet force me to a stop when Oceane’s head cranes backwards, her eyes meeting mine.My brows pull into a furrow, my eyes moving around her delicate, yet, dented features. Regret pulls at the strings of my heart. My marks—the effects of my fist are still visible against her skin, leaving a part of her face swollen and her neck reddened.My lips pull apart, a sharp exhale escaping through the space as I give my head a
Oceane's PovI jolt awake at the feel of something cold dripping down my body. The realization that I’m bound to a chair hit me when I attempt moving my limbs.I wince, attempting to pull at the well knotted ropes, but I still fail at something so simple.Heaving out long and calming breaths, I try recollecting the memories of the past week. A week ago, I was in my home country. A week ago, I was in my province. A week ago, I was living amongst people whose faces were familiar. A week ago, I was having a fight with my father. A week ago, I ran away from home but was captured hours later.That day when I was captured by my father’s men was the day my entire life changed.Now I’m here, in a new country, with new people, suffering like a slave. Living a baseless and useless life.Laughter ripples out of me so loud that my voice bounces off each corner of the room.It’s laughable how I cried about how shitty my life had been just a week ago. It’s laughable how I prayed to the universe to
Oceane's PovHeaving in short and fast breaths, I lean against a wall, my fingers digging into my chest. It hurts so bad. My head, my chest, my legs–every part of me is in dire pain. I think I lost him. Finally.I’ve been running for so long– too long that I feel like I’m about to pass out. I’ve been running for so long that even the night has caught up with me.“Just a little bit longer.” I encourage myself. Shutting my eyes tightly, I drag in a long breath, exhaling shakily. I spin on my heels to begin walking when I bump into something rigid. Something hard. Something with a heartbeat. Something with a pulse.Realization hit me. It’s not a something, but a someone.“Did you have a swell time?” He questions, his cold eyes trained intently on me, his lips stretched into a grin.My bones wobble.I almost scream out a series of curse words but force myself to silently take whatever life throws at me. I know it in the back of my head how much I’ve tested this man’s patience, but here I
Oceane's Pov“She requires your presence.” I hear a sharp intake of breath behind me. I whip my head to the side so fast that my neck almost snaps in half.She’s covered in blood and sweat.I run. I run so fast and I don’t stop until I’m kneeling by my mother.“Did you make your father angry again?” She breathes out. I don’t answer. I’m too focused on how weak she looks to even provide her an answer.“Oceane.” She whispers.“Oceane.”“Oceane.”“Miss!”I jump awake, screaming, panting, clawing at my neck. I look to the side only to be met by a startled look thrown my way.It’s a young girl. Not as young as me, but young.Is she a maid?“It’s time for a bath, Miss.” Her voice slightly escapes a whisper. I shake my head in disagreement. “It’s an order from the boss. Plus, whatever activity you indulged in last night left you looking all filthy. Very unladylike if you ask me.”True.I shoot her a glare. The lady gulps thickly, as if afraid of what I might do to her. She shifts from one f
Angioletto's PovIt is considered a deformity to be fixated on a particular person or object. It is a deformity to be narrow minded. It is a deformity to only find psychological fulfillment from just one person.My therapist had so many words to describe my obsessive tendencies. But right now, all I want is to live with that deformity for the rest of my life.My new obsession. A beauty to behold. From the moment I set eyes on her, from dusk to dawn, every day since I’ve had her under my care, she has been imprinted in my DNA.A part of me and I have no complaints.She’s my obsession, constantly pouring through my soul like a soothing cold breeze that leaves me longing for more.“Oceane Augustin.” I test out the feel of her name on the tip of my tongue while I watch her through the cameras.Yes, my penthouse has security cameras placed in every corner, all of which are connected to the big screen in my room—for security reasons of course.Except now, it’s serving other purposes.It’s n
Angioletto's Pov“That means you wouldn’t come back to me for days?”She freezes.It’s like understanding finally dawns on her when my question escapes my lips. I see how her face changes, how her smile has become somewhat forced.Maybe she realizes that she has shared too much information.“I’ll be back like I never left, Gio.”I don’t utter a word. I stare at her silently, wondering what decision would be best. She’s my hostage but I’ve put ideas in her head. I’ve given her too much freedom.“Angiole–”“You’re not going to school.”That does it. Her bright, bubbly, and ambitious shine ceases. Her eyes, filled with dreams, suddenly dims so much that they look dead. She always appeared doll-like but she has suddenly become a completely different person in seconds. Like a plastic doll, distant, reserved.“W-h-at?” She fumbles with her words, as though fearful. As if doing so would lead to punishment.“I thought about it. . .”“You clearly didn’t give it a good thought.”“I can’t let y