Camila is a sight to behold, with beauty that pierces through even the darkest of souls. There are no words to capture her essence adequately, but "beautiful" comes close. The way she carries herself, the grace that emanates from her every movement, it's captivating, enthralling. I could repeat it endlessly because it's nothing but the undeniable truth.
But I must admit, I feel unworthy of her. None of us deserve someone like her; she's on a level of perfection that seems otherworldly. Yet, despite that, a part of me longs for her to choose me, to have her in my life, if only for a fleeting moment.
Since the day she embraced the path of an assassin, my eyes have been fixated on her. She embodies strength, speed, intelligence, the very essence of a lethal force. In New York's ruthless world, she stands tall, even towering over me, though I possess more experience. It's Kojima Ryuu, the most feared man in this city, who honed her into the terrifying weapon she is today.
They call her the harbinger of death or the Scarlet Serpent, with 823 victims left in her wake. Just the mention of her name sends shivers down spines. How can I, a mere mortal, dare to think that I could hold someone as extraordinary as her in my grasp, even if just for a while?
Allow me to paint you a vivid picture of this enigmatic creature, and perhaps you'll understand why I'm so captivated.
Her flowing, lustrous black hair cascades down her back, shimmering like the darkest night. But it's her eyes, oh, those emerald green eyes, that hold the power to pierce your very soul. Whether bathed in the light of the day or the haunting glow of the moon, they radiate an intensity that's impossible to ignore. The softness and compassion etched on her face are ever-present, though she seems oblivious to her own allure. But don't be deceived by her tender exterior, for her personality carries an aggressive edge that sets her apart; perfectly imperfect, a harmonious contradiction that enthralls me.
It's strange, I admit, but I find pleasure in her displays of defiance, even when it's aimed at me. The way she hurled a spoon in my direction, that raw, unbridled fury, it only adds to her allure. I've grown to cherish every aspect of her being. The passive aggressive tendencies, the physical assertiveness, and the tender heart that beats within her, much like a teddy bear seeking refuge in the storm.
Some may despise her for the aggression she exudes or for the trail of 823 lives she's claimed. Yet, my reality diverges from theirs, for I come from a world of individuals like her. I've walked in the shadows, understood the complexities of those who exist on the edge of darkness. In her, I found a person worth knowing, worth loving, and it's her acceptance I crave more than anything.
Yes, she's a force to be reckoned with, but I want her and only her. My desire burns with an intensity that matches her own fiery spirit. I yearn for her to see the truth, to grasp the depth of my affection without harboring any hatred. She's the one I seek, the one who has awakened something primal within me.
Camila is not the type of girl you'd expect to see in a dress, and that's precisely what adds to her allure. Sitting across from me, she exudes an aura that demands attention. The dress she wears, a bright green that complements her striking emerald eyes, seems like a contradiction to her usual demeanor. Yet, there's no denying that she looks absolutely phenomenal in it, drawing me in with every glance.
The top clings tightly to her form, accentuating her figure, while a golden corset cinches around her torso, adding an air of regal sophistication. Those off-the-shoulder sleeves, so fluffy and decadent, lend a touch of softness to her overall appearance. And the silky skirt, cascading gracefully below her knees, moves with every shift, an elegant extension of her enigmatic presence.
Camila's style extends to her footwear, as she dons matching flats that emphasize both comfort and finesse. Her hair, braided meticulously, bears a golden serpent pendant. She knows she looks stunning, and it's evident in the way she carries herself. The poise, the confidence. Yet, in her gaze, I find a mystery that remains unsolved. She remains a puzzle, her thoughts and emotions hidden behind those captivating eyes. Despite my attempts to connect, to draw a smile from her, she remains resolute in her stoicism.
"You know, it's quite interesting to discover that you enjoy coffee. I must admit, I initially perceived you as someone who might have a fondness for alcohol, but that was just one of my early impressions, and I hope you don't take offense to it. Given that I've seen you smoke, it led me to make certain assumptions, and I suppose I jumped to conclusions."
"Oh, Angelo, you're so clueless, as usual. I can't stand alcohol, it's utterly repulsive to me. And yes, I need my daily dose of coffee, but your pathetic apartment lacks a simple coffee machine, so I suffer in silence. As for your little observation about my smoking habits, you must have a lot of time on your hands to notice such insignificant details. Just so you know, I never light a joint around others. I prefer to keep my vices private, unlike you, who apparently spends way too much time obsessing over my every move. Seriously, get a life."
"Well, Camila, let me clarify a few things. Firstly, I indeed have a life. A life as a formidable mafia boss, and I take great pride in it. Secondly, being observant comes with the territory, so don't be surprised that I noticed you smoking on that beach chair at The Docks. Being aware of my surroundings is essential to me; it's not a difficult skill to master."
Camila's groan and eye-roll were nothing more than feeble attempts to rattle me. It's amusing how she thought such childish antics could deter my resolve. But I paid her antics no mind to press on with what needed to be said.
"Regarding the coffee situation, maybe I'll consider getting a coffee machine for my penthouse. After all, it could be a small gesture to accommodate your morning coffee fix. As for the correction, it's not just an apartment; it's a penthouse. Just thought I'd mention it, though you might not care about such details."
"Oh, spare me the lecture, Angelo. Your attempts to correct me are utterly pointless. It's just an apartment, and I couldn't care less about your fancy penthouse. As for your incessant watching, it only reinforces the fact that you're indeed quite peculiar. Watching my every move like some kind of creep, definitely weird. But fine, let's drop it before it turns into an unintentional argument. And about your so called 'mafia boss' life, it sounds far from glamorous to me, but hey, it's your sad reality, not mine."
Camila's actions oozed arrogance as she leisurely leaned back in her chair, savoring her coffee with a sense of entitlement. The audacious slurp that followed echoed through the room, attracting unwanted attention from those around us. The styrofoam cup's forceful impact on the table drew startled glances, but that was just the beginning of the problem.
People's smiles faded into expressions of dread as they recognized her. Fear washed over their faces, their eyes reflecting the terror that lurked within. Panic spread like wildfire, and some scrambled to pull out their phones, desperate to contact the authorities. Others hastily rose from their chairs, ready to report her and me to the oblivious souls at the front desk.
"Damn it, Camila, did you have to slam that cup down like it was a damn grenade? You're making the whole room jump!" As I leaned back in my chair, a laugh erupted from deep within me. Camila and I had been craving trouble all along, and now we had it. This was precisely what we wanted, a chance to revel in chaos and watch fear spread like wildfire among the crowd. Their terror was palpable, etched on their faces, but I couldn't care less.
"Well, well, now you've gone and done it. You've stirred up quite the commotion, haven't you? Looks like we'll have to prepare for an exhilarating chase. Ready to put those legs of yours to the test, Camila Vega? We've got some trouble to attend to."
"Ah, trouble, my dear Angelo Russo, it's a constant source of amusement for me. But let's not get ahead of ourselves. We still have a few precious minutes before the police come barging through that door. So, why don't we savor this moment and relish in the sight of those who tremble in our presences?"
"You're always on the same wavelength, aren't you, sweetheart? Look at that girl behind me, her expression is priceless! It's almost as good as the one Luca made when I startled him awake this morning. Now, let's get down to business. I have something in mind to discuss."
"Angelo, let's get one thing straight. I understand that we thrive on chaos and the thrill it brings. But if you persist in addressing me with that nauseating term of endearment, be warned. I won't hesitate to grab a filthy spoon from someone's plate and hurl it at you repeatedly until the metallic taste lingers on your tongue. Clear enough? Now, let's move on. You claim to have something of importance to discuss, something that apparently can't wait another moment. Enlighten me."
"Hold on, sweetheart, I need to deal with a little problem over here. See the person sitting across from me? They're on the phone with the police, trying to spoil our fun. Now, if you could be so kind as to tilt your head slightly to the right, that would be most appreciated. No, not my right, your right, as in your other side. I'm not particularly keen on shooting you, so let's get it right, shall we?"
"I'm well aware that you lack the intention to pull that trigger, but I find myself preoccupied with a personal predicament of utmost importance. And here it is!" Camila, that audacious minx, flung an ice cream drenched spoon that belonged to the fool behind her. "Cease referring to me as 'sweetheart', you insufferable imbecile!"
The icy metal found its mark on my nose, unleashing a cascade of ice cream across my face. Suppressing a groan, I clutched my nose, feeling the warmth of blood seeping through my fingers. I pressed on with my original objective, leveling my gun at the phone of the woman seated across from me.
"Listen, Camila. While I take care of this little phone situation to ensure our privacy, let's get back to what I was trying to convey." With a steely resolve, I swiftly squeezed the trigger of my gun, sending a bullet hurtling straight through the heart of the woman's phone seated opposite me. A horrifying scream erupted from her lips as she witnessed her device shatter into pieces, and she turned toward me, terror etched across her face. But my attention remained elsewhere, indifferent to her fear.
"From the moment I laid eyes on your face, on that very day when you first stepped into the world of assassination, I developed a profound interest in you. Your debut victim, Caroline Yang, etched in my memory. I observed you from afar, captivated by your strength. You were beyond impressive, and from that point on, I witnessed every single life you extinguished. I always thought to myself, 'She's extraordinary.' That's why I hold such a vested interest in you, Camila. It's why I desire your presence in my life. Since day one, I've regarded you as nothing short of perfection."
"Honestly, Angelo, your warped idea of affection, believing I'm perfect for ending the lives of 823 people, is utterly twisted. But strangely enough, I couldn't care less. Now, let's cut this conversation short. Those blaring police sirens are giving me a headache, and that girl you upset with your phone destroying antics seems to be itching for a confrontation."
"It seems that everyone is yearning for the privilege of engaging in a profound dialogue with me. However, this particular individual will have to wait for her turn. Frankly, I concur with your assessment. It would be wise for us to make a swift exit before we find ourselves on the receiving end of a well placed electric shock, convulsing and writhing on the floor. I've had the displeasure of experiencing it before, it was an uncomfortable sensation in all the wrong places."
"Firstly, let me express my utter disgust, dude. That was a piece of information I could have lived without. Spare me the details about your electric shock-induced sensations in your stomach, arms, or, God forbid, in your pants. Gross. Moving on swiftly, your massive posterior is bound to shatter that chair sooner or later, so get up and let's get a move on. I must admit, I'm sorry you had the pleasure of being tased, as there's no way that could have felt pleasant."
"Camila Vega apologizing to me, her sworn enemy, Angelo Russo? Unbelievable! I'd pay a fortune to witness that, but guess what? I don't have to, because you just did it right to my face. And don't you dare take that away from me. Oh, and thanks for the compliment on my ass, bigger than Kim Kardashian's, huh? Alright, fine, since you seem eager to throw a sucker punch my way, I'll humor you. Let's get up and get going, shall we? But remember, this moment is etched in history, and I'm savoring it!"
Camila leaped from her seat, a blur of motion, and dashed through the exit doors onto the chaotic streets. I followed close behind, snatching a cupcake from someone's plate as I went, devouring it with reckless haste, leaving the discarded wrapper behind on the sidewalk. Chewing, choking, and chewing again, I finished the cupcake, but the remnants of chocolate crumbs clung stubbornly to my teeth.
Amidst the frenzied chase, the blaring sirens drew nearer, and the relentless red and blue lights illuminated every surface, painting the scene in an eerie glow. Law enforcement swarmed the area, their vehicles roaring to life as they raced to apprehend us. They deployed sports cars, motorcycles, and even sprinted on foot, bellowing our names at the top of their lungs, issuing threats of shooting, tasering, or tackling us to the ground.
As I finally caught up to Camila, I found myself running shoulder to shoulder with her. When I turned to face her, a sight I had never seen before greeted me. A genuine, radiant smile. Her emerald eyes sparkled in the sunlight, her cheeks blushing with a hint of pink, and dimples forming on her cheeks. It was a smile that seemed foreign, one I had never witnessed before.
She used to smile, but not anymore, not until this very moment as we dashed side by side. The joy in her expression was unmistakable, deriving pleasure from the thrill of being pursued. The fact that she was a wanted murderer, hunted by the police, seemed to bring her an unparalleled sense of delight. And truth be told, I felt the same way. We were kindred spirits, finding excitement in this twisted dance of evasion. It was a perverse form exhilaration, but for us, it had become our version of normalcy.
Suddenly, a jolt of excruciating pain shot through my entire body, and I crumpled to the ground, writhing in agony. My body curled into a ball, desperate for the torment to subside, but it persisted, refusing to intensify or diminish. In that instant, I knew all too well what had happened: I had been struck by a taser, the electrifying shock penetrating my back with relentless force. The urge to scream overwhelmed me, but the pain was so intense that it felt impossible to vocalize it.
Memories of a past encounter flooded my mind. Years ago, during an assassination against Marco Reid, the older brother of my current rival, Felix Reid, I had experienced this same unbearable pain. But now, Felix was the least of my concerns; the taser was my immediate problem.
With every ounce of strength, I squirmed in agony until Camila found the courage to disconnect the taser's cord from my body. Without hesitation, she pulled me to my feet, and though I stumbled, she steadied me. After a brief moment to regain my composure, I forced myself to continue running.
"Fuck! Why is it always me who ends up on the receiving end of the worst situations!? Goddamn it, Camila, that was a searing pain straight from the depths of hell! How about next time, you take the goddamn taser, huh?"
"Hmph, I have no desire to be the one taking a taser hit, thank you very much. But I must admit, you're losing your edge, Angelo. Pick up the pace before you end up in cuffs!"
"Damn it, Camila, I'm doing my best here! What the hell do you mean by telling me to pick up the pace? I'm the one who just endured that damn taser, not you, so watch your goddamn words! You've never experienced that kind of pain, so don't you dare utter obnoxious remarks! And let me make it clear, I won't be ending up in handcuffs. These sorry excuses for cops are as sluggish as molasses in winter."
"Say that to their faces, not mine! I couldn't care less if they move like snails."
"Maybe I will say it to their damn faces!" With a cocky smirk plastered across my face, I turned on my heels and sprinted backward, my eyes fixed on the struggling officers chasing after me. I pointed and let out a taunting laugh, relishing their miserable failure to catch up. "You bunch are half-assing this operation, moving as slow as molasses in winter! You couldn't even manage to slap a pair of handcuffs on me after that taser shot! Pathetic. Even Camila here could probably knock me down and restrain me with some flimsy zip ties. Pull yourselves together, you sorry excuses for law enforcement, and come get me if you have the guts!"
"Oh, for fuck's sake, Angelo! Control your damn mouth before they decide to shoot you to shut you up next time! I specifically told you to say they were slow as molasses, not to call them pathetic and demand they extract their heads from their sorry asses. As much as it's true, you're risking landing yourself in a hospital with your wrists cuffed to the damn bed because they won't hesitate to shoot you if you keep up this reckless behavior."
"Hah, who cares about their petty arrests and chases? At least I came out on top, winning that damn argument. In my books, that's a resounding success."
"Perhaps you perceive that as an argument, but I don't. To me, it's merely your way of hurling insults for sheer amusement. All they did was ask you to kneel with your hands raised. Sure, you may have emerged victorious, but it hardly qualifies as a genuine argument. Apologies for deflating your self-righteous bubble."
"You always gotta be the buzzkill, don't you? Ruining all my damn fun! Can't you just back off and let me enjoy this for once? I won, fair and square. Those cops were a joke, slow and utterly boring. They couldn't even manage to handcuff me, let alone handle me properly. Guess they're just a bunch of incompetent fools who don't know jack about doing their job right."
"Oh, spare me your anger. I'm just stating the facts here. As I mentioned, it wasn't truly an argument, not by any technical definition. Face it, all you did was hurl insults at them."
With a disdainful shake of my head, my eyes locked onto Camila. Without hesitation, I pivoted towards the officers, a wicked smirk curling upon my lips. One by one, I flipped them off using the audacious jack-in-the-box method, savoring the moment before finally revealing my fully extended middle finger.
As Camila careened into the apartment building, I wasted no time and followed closely behind, a surge of adrenaline fueling my every step. My legs propelled me up the stairs, each stride quick and purposeful. I fumbled for my apartment keys in my pocket, the anticipation heightening my senses. Hastily, I inserted the key into the lock, twisting it with practiced ease, and pushed the door open. As I stepped inside, I slammed the door shut just in the nick of time, leaving the raucous mob of officers raging outside, their obnoxious voices clamoring and screaming our names in futile frustration.