Crimson Kiss
1111 Words
I sat curled up on the bed, hugging my knees to my chest as if it might somehow hold me together, might stop the ache threatening to tear me apart. Tears burned hot trails down my cheeks, their endless flow blurring my vision.
My face was raw, my throat tight, my chest heaving from hours of sobbing. But the pain—the hollow, gaping void inside me—refused to relent. It clung to me, gnawed at me, and filled every corner of my soul with unbearable anguish.
Every time I closed my eyes, the memories came back. The blood. The screams. Ethan’s lifeless eyes stared up at me. My mother’s outstretched hand, limp and smeared with crimson. My father collapsed to his knees, clutching his chest as though he could stop the inevitable.
They were gone.
All of them.
My family. My fiancé. My world.
The ghost of a memory surfaced.
“You know, Mom,” I’d said, twirling my fork through my pasta, “Sophie’s getting a sixth cat. Her poor boyfriend’s allergic; he might break up with her.”
Mom chuckled. “Six? She’ll need a bigger apartment.”
Dad, seated at the head of the table, had smirked. “At least you haven’t brought one home yet.”
“Don’t tempt me,” I’d quipped, grinning as Ethan reached for the breadbasket beside me.
The warmth of the moment dimmed as Dad set his glass down with a deliberate clink. “There’s something I need to tell you,” he’d said, his tone abruptly serious.
Even now, I could hear his words. “We’re going to Los Angeles.”
A sob caught in my throat as I curled in tighter, the sharp edge of the bedframe pressing into my back. I hadn’t known then how that trip would unravel my world. I hadn’t known how deep my father’s secrets ran.
The soft creak of the door snapped me back to the present. My heart lurched, my body flinching as my head snapped up. The panic was instant, primal, my chest tightening so much it felt like I couldn’t breathe.
Rafael.
His towering frame filled the doorway, his dark eyes locking onto mine as he stepped inside. The quiet click of the lock sliding into place behind him sent a sharp spike of terror coursing through me.
My instincts screamed at me to run, to fight, to do anything but sit there frozen. But my body refused to move.
I pressed myself back against the headboard, curling tighter into myself as if I could disappear. My breath hitched, my chest rising and falling in short, shallow gasps.
He stood there for a moment, his broad shoulders blocking the dim light filtering in from the hallway. His expression was unreadable, his eyes shadowed. Was that guilt I saw flicker there? Regret? Whatever it was, it vanished quickly, replaced by the cold, calculated mask I’d come to know too well.
“You don’t need to be afraid of me, Azalea,” he said, his voice calm but firm.
“I could never harm you.”
My gaze darted to the table as he unholstered a gun from his side and set it down with deliberate precision.
Thud.
The sound echoed through the room.
Another gun followed, then another.
Each movement was slow, deliberate like he wanted me to see. He wanted me to know how easily he could end this if he wanted to.
Finally, he moved to sit on the edge of the bed. He kept some distance between us, his movements slow, almost careful. Like he was trying not to spook me.
“When I saw you for the first time,” he began, his tone softer now, “at the casino… I knew I had to have you. You were unlike anyone I’d ever seen. You were… radiant.”
My stomach churned, revulsion bubbling up inside me.
“I asked your father for you,” he continued, his voice dipping lower.
“I wanted to do this the right way. But Maximilian… he thought he could defy me.”
My breath caught, the blood draining from my face.
“You killed them.” The words slipped from my lips, trembling with disbelief and fury.
“You killed them because you… liked me?”
His eyes darkened, his gaze steady and unyielding.
“Your father made his choices, Azalea. He crossed the De Luca family. He ran from his responsibilities. He knew what that would mean.”
I thought of the night in Los Angeles. Of Carlos De Luca, his cold smile as he greeted my father. Of Rafael, the way he’d stared at me in the casino as if I were some prize he’d already claimed.
The dinner.
The whispered threats. “Marry Azalea to my son.”
“What kind of love is this?” I whispered now, my voice trembling with rage.
“You destroyed my life. My family. How dare you call this love?”
His expression flickered—something almost human. But it was gone before I could place it, replaced by the same cold certainty that made my skin crawl.
“You’re here now,” he said simply as if that was all that mattered.
“That’s what’s important.”
His hands planted themselves on either side of me, his presence looming, suffocating.
“I’ll win you,” he murmured, his breath warm against my skin.
And then, to my utter shock, he lowered his head onto my lap.
I froze.
Every muscle in my body locked as if I’d been turned to stone. I couldn’t even breathe as I stared down at him, this man who had taken everything from me, now resting his head like he had some right to.
“You’ve won my body,” I said, my voice cracking under the weight of my grief and fury.
“But you will never have my heart. My soul.”
He tilted his head, his dark eyes meeting mine. A faint, smug smile tugged at his lips.
“I’ll win those too,” he said like it was a simple fact.
Something inside me snapped. I shoved at his shoulders, desperate to get him off me. But he rose too quickly, his hands catching my wrists in a grip that was firm but not painful. His control was absolute.
“You’re mine,” he said, his voice low and full of fierce determination.
“No,” I spat, twisting against his hold.
Before I could say more, his hand moved to the back of my neck. His lips crashed against mine. It wasn’t a kiss—it was a claim.
- Writer
