Novel & Cerita The Black Rose

I opened the door just a few inches and saw a small cardboard box sitting on the carpet with no name and no return address, so I pulled it inside and opened the lid while the others crowded around me to see what was inside. Resting on a bed of white tissue paper was a single rose made of delicate glass and the stem was broken in half so it looked dead and jagged, and I knew immediately that it was a message from Elena Romano because that rose was the symbol of the investment firm we had burned down in Berlin.

The rain in Manhattan didn't wash away sins; it only made the blood slicker on the pavement. Sloane Volkov—known to the underworld as the "Black Rose"—stood in the shadows of an alleyway across from L'Eclat, a club so exclusive its entrance didn't even have a sign. She adjusted the hem of her gown. It was a masterpiece of deep, bruised purple silk that clung to her curves like a second skin. To the casual observer, she was a socialite waiting for a car. To the man she was hunting, she was death incarnate.

"I am allergic to rose oil! Dad knows about it! And Avril was the one who told the maids to smother my bed in rose oil! Dad was the one who found out about it…" Layla exclaimed, crying pitifully as she nursed her stinging cheek. "You're still trying to lie about it!" Eric roared, suddenly stepping forward and grabbing her by her collar. He tightened his hold on her, lifting her up. And since he was very tall, Layla was almost lifted off the ground.

I glanced over at Rodah. Her black silk robe was completely open at the top, her breathing so heavy that her pale breasts were heaving in the dim dashboard light. The raw, dripping scent of her arousal filled my lungs, mixing with the smell of gunpowder on my hands. She wasn't a mafia killer. She was terrified. But the lethal danger had turned her fear into pure, unfiltered lust. She looked at me, her lower lip trembling, her green eyes dark. "Martinez," she choked out, dropping the gun onto the floorboards. "I need you. Right now. I feel like I'm going to die."

I went over to the roses and lost myself in their magnificent beauty. I walked through the rose bushes until I reached the back and noticed the dark black roses. I walked over to the black roses and knelt to inhale their distinct sweet scent. I opened my eyes and marveled at their dark purity. Each flower had a small hint of scarlet red at the base of the buds, but it quickly faded to the darkening color at the petal's end. "AVAYY!!" Someone yelled from the other side of the garden. "I'm right over here." I screamed back, refusing to leave the black roses just yet.

I felt bad for the hunky who was to die. "Ro-" "Serena," she stopped me from calling her by her code name. She always went by her code name Rosa whenever she wanted to kill, and if she succeeded in her mission, she would drop a black rose on the victim's body. She wanted the black rose to stand as her signature; on the news, the reporters would call her by the name everyone else had chosen to call her - Black Rose. "Black Rose has struck again" is what they would say. The anonymous, skillful, and unfathomable agent of the grim reaper, Maria.

I sharply commanded the driver, who also had a black mask on. The car lurched forward roughly as the driver pumped the accelerator lever. I cocked my gun and fired two shots in the air from the window. Then with a satisfied grin, I leaned back into the cushion of the car. The smell of cigarette was thick in the car as everyone was nursing a stick. I glanced at the unconscious girl's face, she was an half caste. I could tell from her skin colour, which was copper colored, and her long curly hair. I positioned her well so that her head was on my laps. It gave me the opportunity to study her facial profile well.

A red rose is not selfish because it wants to be a red rose. ✾ “Your arm?” I blink reluctantly at the woman in front of me. Biting my bottom lip, I slowly raise my hand and show her my wrist. She grabs onto it, pulling it towards her. She smiles at me, or I think she does, the only part of her that I could see either way was her lips, the bottom part of her nose, and everything below her ankles. Then she pulls a small sharp pen from her pocket, stabs it on my wrist, making me flinch. The pen starts turning red, and just like that she had taken some of my blood.

As I blink a few times, I only feel his hand at the back of my body before pulling me closer towards him; letting my body fall onto his, once I've lost all control before meeting the darkness. Forget me, Rose. It'll ease the pain.

The only thing she actually admired about the display was the object hanging securely on the wall, proudly standing out amongst the pictures aligning the walls with fond memories, the simple center piece of the room that drew it all together. It was the beautiful rose painting that Chris had found stored away in the closet beside the stairs. Lifting up her hand, the brunette gently brushed away the dust that had collected on its oak frame, the specks of gray fluttering past her vision. Alina still didn't have a clue where it had come from, but she had to admit, upon closer inspection, that it definitely had a certain appeal to it. Floating in the middle of a black lake with realistic ripples