Someone is about to die. Won’t be me, but certainly the loud, “ can’t keep hands to himself “ dude I’m out on a blind date with. I think I know why it’s called a blind date now, I only have to be blind to pick someone like him for a partner. I’m being watched again. He’s out there, making a perfect disguise in the shadows. He’s going to strike now. He’s so close, the hairs on my body can sense him. Lights out. I call out to Ken my blind date, no response. Not even the loud arrogant tales about how wealthy his maternal grandfather is. It’s eerie silence. I’m starting to panic as this lethargic stench of fresh blood fills the air. The lights are back and everyone is okay. Except for my date who’s missing an eye in the socket hole, the hands he couldn’t keep to himself and his body ripped into two such that his intestines are hanging out. There’s a note on his body. “ A gift to save you the trouble. Yours truly, your stalker.” ~~~ They say the devil wears a mask, but just how many masks devil's are there? Two? Three? Or maybe just one. Me.

My father was being haunted down by a demon! Demons were mere fictional creatures that were made up for bedtime stories as kids. At least I thought it was. Until I got married to one. I was promised to Matteo Guiseppe, the youngest son of the most powerful family in the Chicago Outfit but I was given away to Salvatore Berlusconi, the Capo dei Capi of the New York Famiglia. I was sold to him as an object marking the end of the Great War, or rather, it was me atoning for the sins of my father. A wedding solely about duty, honour and atonement.