Chapter Eighteen

My mind started setting on a time when no cruelty was visible to me in this world. A world where Winter was the only season when I felt the need to go out in the garden, roll in the season as a great need to feel happy started filling the void in my chest.

I was ten years old and Dante was eight. He was sent to a boarding school and I was left with my grandfather to mourn the loss of my father and mother. Instead of mourning, I devastated my mercy and harbored a passion for knives.

“Young Master, you’ll hurt yourself.” The maids used to warn me.

Blood used to ooze out of my hand as I held the knife tighter wishing it was the throat of someone whose death will please me.

My life has a colorless start, unlike every kid. I knew my fate was tight to the mafia. I didn’t despise that I just wanted something more out of it that didn’t only include guns and blood. I wanted legacy out of it. I wanted people to throw themselves in the fire to want me back when I died.

I bled until my bl