Paint The Floor Red
1259 Words
Damian’s POV
“Jackie, don’t be greedy,” I muttered as I tossed him a thick strip of raw meat dripping with blood.
My rottweiler snapped it mid-air with a crunch, his eyes gleaming with approval and his tail wagging against the polished floor like a drumbeat. Across the room, Kanye barked, short and sharp, his own version of an eye-roll.
“You’re late,” his growl seemed to say.
“I know,” I muttered, tossing him a bone thick enough to break a wrist. “Take it easy.”
He caught it effortlessly, strutted off with that ridiculous sense of superiority only pit bulls seem to possess. Between Jackie and Kanye, I had more loyalty in my dogs than in half the people who walked into my life pretending to be soldiers.
Then a voice came from my side which was a voice that once chirped with confidence now trembled in desperation.
“Please… I didn’t take anything. I swear!” Dianne said with her voice trembling.
I turned slowly, letting my eyes settle on her trembling body. She stood cornered in the center of the room, her wrists tied behind her back, mascara streaking her cheeks, and her hair falling out of its tight bun. Her blouse was ripped along one side, and her heels were gone.
Everything polished about her was now gone. All that was left was fear. And betrayal.
My men stood near her, which were three of them. They didn’t need to do anything; their presence alone was pressure. Like shadows with teeth.
I walked toward her, slowly, letting my boots echo against the marble.
“Five years,” I said quietly.
Her head snapped up. “What?”
“You worked for me for five years, Dianne. Handled classified accounts. Carried my signature. Had access to files that could bury the entire eastern wing of this city in lawsuits and ashes.”
Tears spilled down her face. “I didn’t do anything, someone’s framing me. I swear it on…”
“You think that matters to me?” I cut in.with a very sharp voice that is enough to slit hope.
She gasped. “Damian, please, please i-m begging you”
“I trusted you,” I said. “And you used it to try and siphon funds through one of my offshore books like I wouldn’t notice?”
“I didn’t….”
“Shut up,” I snapped.
Her mouth closed instantly. My voice alone was not something you could play with.
I studied her face, searching for something, like remorse? Guilt? Truth? But all I saw was terror.
I lifted my hand. Two of my men grabbed her, forcing her to her knees.
“Boss, please!” she screamed. “I didn’t do it”
“Paint the floor,” I ordered.
They moved toward the rusted oil drum near the storage wall. They knew what that meant. She didn’t.
“Wait…wait, no! Please, don’t, Damian, you know me! I’ve never—!”
“Exactly,” I said coldly. “I knew you. Past tense.”
She screamed as they strapped her to the drum, her arms splayed, and her hair tangled over her eyes. The kind of scream that clung to your ears even after the air went still.
I pulled out my Glock and walked up to her. Her eyes locked on mine, wet and wide.
“I didn’t—” she started, but my finger was already on the trigger.
Crack.
And silence erupted.
Her head slumped forward. One clean shot. No second guesses. Blood trickled down the side of the drum, inching toward the cracks in the marble.
I stood still for a moment. My jaw locked. My heart silent. I don’t kill for pleasure. I kill for necessity.
“Clean it up,” I murmured, tucking the Glock away.
They moved like a well-oiled machine, hauling her body away, mopping the blood before it stained. It wouldn’t be the first time that corner had tasted betrayal.
I left them to it and walked upstairs to my office, every step feeling heavier than the last.
The silence greeted me first. Not the empty kind. The powerful kind. The kind that whispered safety behind soundproofed walls and bulletproof glass.
The city lights glittered below like coins tossed into a wishing well. I sank into my chair, leaned back, and exhaled. The bourbon bottle on my desk was already half empty. I poured a fresh glass, let the fire roll over my tongue.
Then I opened my laptop.
The day’s transactions glowed back at me. Clean. Efficient. Money in all the right places. I liked my empire the way I liked my suits, tailored, sharp, and deadly when needed.
A knock cut through the stillness.I didn’t look up.
“Yes, come in.” I said without bothering to know who was at the door.
There was only one man who knocked in this world. Only one who didn’t flinch when the floor ran red.
And it's Nikolas.
Nikolas was my confidante, second in command, the only person I trusted most in my empire.
He stepped in, casual as ever, dressed in a black turtleneck and a smirk.
“Damian,” he greeted.
“Nikolas.” A rare smile found its way to my face.
Nikolas was my opposite. Where I was silent, he was loud. Where I calculated, he leapt. But he was loyal and unshakably so. He was my chaos, wrapped in honor.
He dropped onto the couch like it belonged to him.
“You look like hell,” he said, kicking his feet up.
“I just painted the floor red,” I said, shutting my laptop.
He whistled. “Dianne?”
I nodded once.
“Damn. She played the role too well.”
“She was clever,” I said. “I mistook it for loyalty.”
He tilted his head, studying me. “No regrets?”
I looked him dead in the eye. “Regret is for the weak.”
He grinned. “And yet you still drink bourbon after every kill.”
I said nothing. He already knew what it meant.
Silence erupted again, but this time it was warmer. Familiar. Like slipping into an old suit with blood still in the seams.
Then he leaned forward.
“Ready to meet your new secretary?”
I raised a brow. “Already?”
“She’s waiting downstairs.”
Of course. My world didn’t allow emptiness for long.
“Bring her up,” I said.
He stood, nodding. “Let’s see if she’s brave or just desperate.”
“Maybe both,” I muttered.
“Name?” I am inquired.
“Valtieri.” He said.
As he walked out, I turned back toward the window.
A new day. A new pawn. A new risk.
Let’s play.
A few minutes passed, just long enough for me to refill my glass. Then the door creaked open behind me.
I heard soft footsteps. Uncertain pace. I turned to see who had entered and I froze.
An angel, sculpted and set on fire..She wore a red blazer that hugged her curves with tailored precision. Golden hair framed her face, catching the low light like polished silk.
“Miss Valtieri,” I said, my voice smoother than I expected. “You’re early.”
I didn’t usually speak first. But her presence knocked the air from my lungs. There was something about her, dangerous, maybe. Or divine.
No..
I clenched my jaw. There is no love in my world.
- Writer
