Page 26 of A Beautiful Crime

I’ve heard my name whispered amongst the streets between lowly criminals, and I have even heard it feared from rival gangs, cartels and famiglias.

It’s as if I have formed myself into the very own Grim Reaper, claiming every soul I deem worthy enough to take.

And god, I have taken many.

The blood on my hands has never once stained my soul. You can’t stain what has been tainted since birth.

The car comes to a stop outside of Savio’s Grand Mansion off of Fifth Avenue. One worth a pretty price of thirty-eight million dollars.

One of my trusted soldiers, Pietro, opens the door for me before surveying the area. I step out onto the street and as I do I button up my suit jacket. My eyes scan the area subtly and before my presence causes too much of a commotion with the civilians I make my way to his front door.

God, even his front door is tacky. My eyes burn from having to look at it. A gold metallic with stained glass and intricate designs of leaves and vines woven throughout.

Saving myself from having to look at this door for a second longer I tilt back my head and stare directly at the camera blinking red.

Good, he knows I’m here.

Now let me the fuck in.

I raise a brow at the camera and Pietro behind me smothers back a chuckle.

Pietro always seems to find amusement even in the most mundane things. It makes him astronomically different from Rico. Them two having to work together is comedic gold.

The light in the camera blinks green and the atrocious door opens automatically.

Pietro steps inside first and nods his head at me to move in behind him.

As soon as I cross the threshold the door behind us automatically shuts and locks itself.

And if I thought the decor of the door was obnoxiously loud and unflattering the inside decor is shockingly worse.

It’s as if the man asked the interior designer if everything came in gold. I almost wonder if he’s surrounding himself with gold because he’s compensating for something else.

My papa had always told me it’s the loudest and most arrogant men who are compensating for their small egos and even smaller dicks.

And if my papa’s saying is true then Savio has the most fragile ego and the world’s most minuscule dick.

Pietro snickers beside me, “Think he likes a golden shower, too?” My lips twitch but I remain silent. However, Pietro takes my silence to crack another snide comment, “Just how fucking small is this guys dick?”

I’m about to reply how I am thinking the same when we hear the heavier thud of a man’s footsteps coming from the main area of the home.

It comes to no surprise when we see Luca Fiore stride towards us.

Luca Fiore.

I hold back the sneer that wants to break free on my lips as disgust mixes with a deep loathing flowing through my veins.

He walks as if he is God’s greatest creation with an arrogance that actually makes him believe he is so.

But my eyes examine him like he’s my very own test subject. Scrutinizing him to find any small detail left out of place.

Luca Fiore is a man who is perfection personified.

Not one hair will be out of place. Every article of clothing is pressed clean and wrinkle free. His face is also shaved to where even a five o’clock shadow will not appear.

And yet here he is, his slicked back hair slightly out of place and glazed with perspiration. A red stain that is reminiscent of blood splatter on the lower part of his white dress shirt.

His sharp blue eyes meet mine but there is apprehension there.