Blood Orchid (A Mafia Story)

(TIANA REYES) Just hours before arriving in New York, I did something that I couldn’t say to anyone. I killed a man. BACK AT THE PARTY; 12 HOURS EARLIER; “F…uck…” I growled, trying to wipe the stain of the spilled drink off my dress. His hand running down my thigh; blame it on the slit dress I had worn that night. He was not helping; rather, it was for his own seductive advantage. I lifted my head, my gaze matching his; the flirtatious smirk on his face sent the message I could understand without thinking twice. The room was too crowded with dignitaries whose faces were hidden behind masks - I wouldn’t want to cause a scene. Discretely, I exited from the gathering into the restroom; standing before the mirror, the upper part of my face hidden behind a fairy mask with the pictures of the incident flashing in my mind. There was no doubt that Mr Anonymous, donning a well-tailored black three-piece suit, intentionally spilled the wine on me. Judging by his body shape in the tuxedo, his body was well-built enough to handle a mere glass of wine. I unmasked myself. I sighed and, out of frustration, could have sworn more than a billion times at his unconventional attitude as I scrubbed the dress with a napkin to get the stain off. However, there was no undoing it; the dress was already ruined. I called myself into order not to ruin my pretty face. I touched up my makeup and added extra gloss to my lips. Putting the mask back on, I walked out with the thought of exiting the building. For me, the party was over. Instead, I was met with a waiter waiting outside the door who handed me a key card; “What for?” I asked. “He said, to apologize for ruining your dress,” he reported, and left me on the spot to dazzle. It was a key card to one of the rooms in the famous exquisite hotel few blocks away, opposite the famous chocolate shop. It’s a place like no other; reserved for those who can afford the luxury. I arrived outside the massive intercontinental establishment; THE RIVERA’S HOTEL & HOSPITALITY. I was inundated by the sight of it; not like I hadn't seen it countless times, but with the reality of stepping into it for the first time that night. The cab drove off and I stepped up elegantly into the building; my stained dress hidden in my frock coat. Making my arrival known to the receptionist over the counter; I was led up the stairs by one of the staff; we stopped and he left. I used the key card, the door opened, stepping in, I was stunned; the suite was magnificent, it was a complete work of art and luxury; from the expensive arts that hung on the wall of the room, the antiques, the chandelier, the furniture, the floor, the expensive scents that filled my nose. I gently closed the door; the sound of footsteps descending the stairs caught my attention. “You can take off your mask,” he said. “You ruined my expensive dress.” I retorted while trying to maintain my composure. “Name your price.” expressing boastfully. “I get it…” Judging from his looks, I concluded, “You are one of those trust fund kids.” He smirked, “What gives you the impression?” I took off my mask, “You look young.” “Haven’t you heard? Don’t judge a book by its cover.” displeased by my comment as he approached. “I’m 26.” he said, tugging my face with his fingers to meet his gaze; “Should I call you aunt?” I feigned a smile, “I can be your older sister…” “Maybe not… I don’t lust after my sister.” “I don’t care either. Manpower…” I squint at his lower part “…and money is all it takes.” Wearing another smirk on his face, he retreated, and out of nowhere, my right cheek was met with a sudden slap. It caught me off guard that I could almost stagger off my feet. His expression darkened, his eyes flashing with a beastly intensity. “Get on your f*****g knees b***h and make me come on your stupid face… you slut…” he growled, unfastening his trouser. My self-esteem was tampered with. I had never felt this level of humiliation. I had done some nasty s**t with a lot of men behind or outside closed doors if warranted to mention a few; nevertheless, none of them had treated me like trash or made me do anything without my consent. I could do anything for money but when it comes to a little boy puncturing my pride because he’s loaded, I wouldn’t take it. He yelled the second time, grabbing my face like I was some cheap slut. I forced his hand off me and he kicked me to my knees. I stared furiously at that very thing that gave him so much pride which was sticking out in front of me, almost forcing my face on it. Resisting with all my strength, I inadvertently pushed him off and the next thing was the sharp shard from the broken table he crashed on piercing out through his neck. I was overwhelmed by horror. His blood, seeping from the open cut and slowly filling up the area, was watching him turn cold. The dread - the horror staring me in the face; it was not like I had not killed a man once; it was a different case. However, in this case it wasn’t.