PIETRO GIACOMETTI
I was leaned back on the couch, my gaze on the sleeping woman in my bed while my hand held a glass of alcohol.
I took another small gulp and dropped the glass on the stool by the couch before throwing my head back. I could not kick her words out of my head.
'You kill one more person and I would no longer be yours, Pietro Giacometti.'
A hand raked through my hair while my other hand reached for stab wound. I felt around it for a second before shutting my eyes, jaws clenched hard.
Behind my closed eyes, images flashed. Images of the several bloodied bodies I have killed. Voices raised. Voices of pain and torture that I had enjoyed listening to. And then another image flashed...
The image of Peaches smiling at me. Directing those pretty smiles at me and me only.
