Chapter 3

Donatello’s POV

I cracked my knuckles hard, scars and silver rings lined on them, watching her trembling body stand, a mocking grin to her face as she made her grim toast to the bar. What had happened?

I wanted to relax after what I had just done tonight. The job wasn't always easy and sometimes, I had to go out myself to neutralize threats made to me. I quickly disposed of the body, before stopping in the random bar, my five thousand dollar suit already making me look out of place, but when the men looked up in my face, they knew I was able to afford it with blood as my major currency.

Isabella Martinez feathers from her stool, almost collapsing. She was  wasted, maybe even more and I understood her heartbreak. However, she was still asleep pathetic as I knew women to be.

While her husband would probably be buried inside the pussy of the other woman, she was here, moaning and bitching about them to anyone she could.

I shook my head, wondering if I should message him. I knew she didn't know who I was, that her estranged husband was any nephew I practically raised. I thought I raised him better than that though, to be so foolish.

She slobbers over her words, repeating the same tale to another man, her dark hair hanging over her shoulders. “So, I just had the miscarriage yesterday,” her voice travels to where I am sitted, nursing my whiskey. “I decided to go home. Meet my husband. Guess what? He's with my best friend.”

The man reached out, pushing her hair away from her shoulder. I studied his movement, and watched how she reacted to him.

Her eyes dropped low, to the hand making contact with her skin.

Then she does the first smart thing since she's entered the bar.

She stands up, her legs barely able to carry her when she signals for the bartender. “Check please.”

“It's already been paid for.”

“Everything?” She asked in surprise.

“Yes. A kind gentleman paid for it.”

I snorted into my drink. Maybe the bartender's definition of kind and mine are different. I am certainly not a kind man, and I couldn't understand why I paid for her tab.

She takes her phone off the counter. “Well, tell him I said thanks,” she mockingly bows, causing her to stumble as her dress stretched against her ass. What was she facing me?

“Au revoir,” she greeted, waking out of the door. Smart girl. She should go home, where she would be safe.

I counted to ten.

Three men stood up suddenly, walking towards the same direction she had gone. I followed them with my eyes, watching how they lived quickly.

Count, Donatello.

I sucked in a breath. “Waiter,” I raised my hands in the air. The waiter came towards me and I paid my bill quickly, needing to leave the bar.

It was just as I suspected.

Isabella is drunk out of her mind, her speech slow and her body movements languid. She still pushed one man off her and I heard her shout to be left alone.

I am grateful tonight, for the rain that falls down. It masks the heavy sound of my boots on the tar as I approach them.

“Tha lady said she wants to be alone.”

All three men turned to face me immediately. The one wearing a red baseball cap, had his hand on her forearm and she was struggling against it, her teeth gritting in annoyance.

“Just leave her alone, guys,” I repeated again. I usually don't give warnings.

“Fuck off old man.” One said, making his companions laugh.

“I might be old, which is why I am telling you to let her go. She's clearly drunk.”

“Yeah,” their ring leader said, lust biting in his eyes. “She's going to be pliable as fuck. I can just imagine how tight her—”

That did it.

I punched his nose, feeling the bones break underneath my fist.

“What the fuck, dude?”

I stood still. He had let go of her hand at least, and she fell to the ground, rubbing her hands in pain.

For now, all their attention was on me.

The one to my left brought out a knife. “You're going to regret that old man.”

I grinned.

I loved murder. I loved the smell of human blood, staining my boots and I watched life drained from people's eyes, begging me to spare them. I loved playing God, their last final prayers to me.

They wouldn't get a chance to beg.

I attacked again, punching the rib of the one on the right. He aimed for my eyes, lifting the knife above my head but I grabbed his hand with my left hand,  squeezing it tight enough for him to let go, allowing me to catch the knife in my right hand.

I turned around, stabbing the guy that tried to attack me from behind. The knife was sharp, going straight into his throat. His eyes widened and I grinned, feeling the artery explode and blood start falling through the hole I made.

I barely pissed, turning back to the other guy I still held and driving the knife through one of his eyes, enjoying how deep it went through the ball. The squelching sound was stifled by the rain and I tossed the second dead man away from me.

Their ring leader stood back, watching everything with fear.

“I'm, I'm sorry,” he cried, shifting backward. His eyes darted from his friends' dead bodies back to me, back to them and I ran, catching him off guard.

My hand wrapped around his neck. “You put your hands on her,” I murmured, my fingers getting closer. His face was red, his lips open, struggling to breath and slobber ran down, dropping on my hand.

I stared at him, watching the light finally escape from his eyes, then I dropped him, making a splash on the road. Fools. They should have left when I asked them to.

Isabella was on the ground, her body not moving. Only her chest rose, with steady breaths and as I stood over her, I realized something.

She had fallen asleep.

While I was killing men that wanted to take her, this woman had actually fallen asleep.

I bent down and carried her into my hands, staining her gown with the blood from the men. My men would come clean up soon.

I moved towards my car, looking at the small woman I held, that I had killed three people for.