Ceifador X: The Knight’s Rose Prequel

by Vice, Demi

  As I made my way to the long white ottoman at the end of her bed, I stared. I noticed small details I never appreciated before. Her eyes were a little wide set and her ears, unpierced. I took a seat, staring into her sky while it caused a tornado to rip my insides apart.

  “You look nothing like your father.” My tone came out more aggressive than I’d hoped.

  “Papa said I look like a spitting image of my grandpapa, Nicolo. I used to call him Coco.” She giggled nervously.

  Bianca walked to her peach while I rested my hands back on her pink bed and widened my legs. She did that weird thing where she licked the fuzzy skin as she walked back to her easel. It was odd and cute, and if I didn’t feel like I needed a wall between us, I probably would’ve smiled like an idiot.

  “Camila was wearing black, too. A dress, tight. Really tight, actually.” She bit her peach and continued painting her new shirt.

  I found myself cringing from Camila’s name.

  Jonah lied to Bianca about Camila. I never cared to ask what she did in the Di Vaio mansion, let alone retain anything that came out of her Botoxed lips, but I asked anyway.

  Camila was one of the staff members, like the chef and a few maids, and Lorenzo and I, who lived in the mansion. Either on the first floor or above the garage. Apparently, she was the interior designer, the party planner, the I-already-wasted-too-many-brain-cells-to-listen-any-further.

  One thing was certain, she sure as hell wasn’t a fucking nanny.

  Camila got nosy afterward. She thought since I was interested in her life, that meant I wanted to get with her. I responded by pulling up a photo of a cow and telling her I’d rather fuck it than her. She clawed me again, I laughed, and we haven’t spoken since.

  I never told Bianca that her fake nanny was definitely fucking Jonah and half the men who worked for him. Or about her beloved Papa never mentioning her existence. It wasn't my place, and I didn’t want to be the one to make Bianca cry. So I shut my mouth and did my best to make her as happy as I could.

  “Why are you wearing black, Neo?”

  I haven’t decided whether or not I liked my unique nickname, but I let her use it.

  “Aside from the other colorful clothes I always wear?” I got mouthy.

  “I mean—” She swallowed, her cheeks rosy. “You-you look different. Good different. Really good. It’s—you—no paint—and the vest and jacket—” She shut herself up with a bite of her peach and vigorously painted the same spot repeatedly.

  Bianca always wore her emotions on her sleeves which is why I offered her silence. I knew better than to say anything when she was in a flustered state. But under my angry metal skull, I grinned. It was flattering and even sober me could appreciate her babbling.

  After she finished her peach and set the pit on the ledge of the easel, her eyes slowly found their way back to me.

  “Your ear is pierced.” She tugged her right earlobe, the ear I had pierced with a matte black flat stud earring. “I thought only women pierced their ears?”

  A chuckle escaped my lips. “Men do it, too.” I paused, but then opened up without control. “I had a phase in high school where I had everything pierced. But I only kept my favorites as I got older.”

  “You can pierce more than your ears?” She tilted her head. Setting her brush down, she walked over to me. “Like what?” she asked, taking a seat and crossing her legs as she stared intently at my earring.

  “Eyebrow, nose, tongue, lip, nip—” I stopped myself before I went more in-depth about a piercing Bianca was never going to find out I had.

  “Nip? As in nipple?”

  I deadpanned the door. At the corner of my eye, Bianca gave me that look she invented just for me. A look I didn’t need right now. I forced my eyes shut.

  “Won’t that hurt? Getting something like your nipple pierced?”

  “I have a high pain tolerance, and pain is temporary.”

  “Wait!” she exclaimed. “You have your nipples pierced?”

  And my cock. Wanna see?

  Meu Deus, Antonio. Cale-se.

  I bit the inside of my cheek to shut up.

  Bianca became quiet, but I heard her move away from me. Or closer to me, I should say. My eyes shot open when I felt her soft ass on my lap as she touched my chest around my nipple. Her touch was delicate and dainty, but it felt like someone had kicked my chest with a steel boot.

  I gripped her thin wrist and pulled it away before she felt my heartbeat. “You can’t just sit on a man’s lap,” I gritted through my teeth, but never pushed her off.

  “But I’ve done it before.” Her voice was almost nonexistent.

  Yeah, well, Drunk Antonio has a perfect record of never getting a boner cause he’s too busy bleeding from his face.

  I pushed Bianca off, placing her in between my legs.

  “What’s in your chest? It’s hard.”

  “A gun.” I patted my holster.

  She pursed her lips and swallowed. “Can I see?”

  “No.”

  “Please? I promise I'll ask for permission next time I sit on you.” I didn’t want that, it defeated what I liked about Bianca, her disobedience, but I agreed by pulling out my gun. “Ceifador X,” she read the barrel of the gun. “You really like the color black, don’t you?”

  “I do,” I said while pulling out the magazine full of hollow-point bullets. “My car’s all black and satin matte. Black interior, too.” I bit my lip thinking about my bebê.

  “You have a car?” she gasped, shocked.

  I nodded.

  I love my Lamborghini Aventador. It was the most expensive thing I owned aside from my custom ring. I even paid Jonah a monthly fee to park it in the garage, alongside his cars. Although, I think he would’ve let me park it for free since no man would want to see such a beauty out in the rain or snow.

  I made sure the gun was safe for Bianca before I handed it to her. “Go crazy, kiddo.”

  Kiddo? What the actual fuck?

  She giggled when she realized it was a lot heavier than she anticipated it would be. “Why do you have a gun, Neo?”

  “Safety precaution for when I go out.”

  “Out?”

  “Manhattan, mostly.”

  She smiled at the gun, thinking of the city she missed. “And the suit?”

  “I have a funeral to attend in…” I tossed my head back to look at the clock. “About two hours.”

  “We have two hours together?” She squealed and bit her whole bottom lip.

  I nodded.

  Smiling, she ran her finger down the side of the gun. She stopped at the engraving of a skull with no jaw and castle towers for a crown, after my name. Before she could ask what it meant, I demanded, “Shoot me.”

  “What?” Her eyes snapped to mine.

  “Shoot…” I adjusted her finger on the trigger and pushed the gun to my chest. “Me.” I smiled under my mask while Bianca looked at me in terror.

  “Why?” Her hands shook.

  “Do it, and you’ll see.”

  Bianca didn’t. She refused to hurt me, but I couldn’t promise her the same thing.

  “I don’t want to shoot you, Neo. Not even with empty bullets.”

  “Shame,” I sighed.

  I fell back on her bed, tucked my hands under my head, and deadpanned the stupid heavenly clouds. We both hated her ceiling mural. Bianca believed in stars and galaxies, not God and heavens, and I just didn’t believe. And if there was a heaven, my ticket had already been vetoed and ripped to shreds by the time I was five.

  “Who died?” she asked.

  “Some guy?”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Doesn’t matter. You didn’t know him.”

  And no one will know you, the dark voice filled my head.

  “No one should die without a name, Antonio.”

  Slowly, I found Bianca, still standing between my legs, holding my gun. What she said was exactly what Mamãe would’ve said.

  “Johnny. Jonatha
n Russo.”

  “And that’s where Camila is? At the funeral?”

  “That’s where everyone is. The whole mansion is a ghost town.”

  Bianca’s face fell, and so did mine when I realized what I had just said. But it was too late. Bianca chucked my gun at my chest—it hurt like a bitch—but before I could react fast enough, the door shut in front of my face.

  Click. My heart plummeted as I stared at the white door, trapped inside a white room.

  “Bianca.” My voice was so hot, I swore it could’ve melted my metal face.

  Click, click.

  I threw my fist at the door. “Bianca, open this fucking door. Right. Now.” I choked the door handle and tried to open it with all my strength. Or most of it. I could've busted down the door, but that would’ve defeated the whole purpose of coming here when no one was around.

  “If you don’t open this door right now, I swear I will hurt you in ways you never thought were imaginable, Bianca,” I gritted.

  “Sorry,” she said with sorrow. “But I’m going to leave you here, but only for a little while. I’ll be back, I promise.”

  The sound of my fist hitting the door echoed throughout the room once more.

  “Open. The. Door.” My teeth ground so tightly, they felt like they were fused together.

  She stayed silent. Or maybe she left. I was trapped like an animal. Like Bianca was forced to live because of her health. I dropped my distressed forehead on her door.

  “Say, please,” I heard her soft voice return to me. “Say, please and I’ll let you out, but you have to promise me you’ll give me a head start.”

  “Cinco segundos.”

  “What?”

  “Five seconds. Nothing more, nothing less, and definitely no, ‘please.’ I don’t fucking beg. Not to you. Not to anyone,” I growled.

  “You’re angry.”

  “No shit,” I spat.

  Bianca went silent, and after a minute, I asked, “You there?”

  “Ten seconds.”

  “Three.”

  “Fifteen.”

  “This isn’t a negotiation. You get five, take it or leave it.”

  “Or I could leave you.” I heard her smile. And crazy me that actually loved this little game of hers smiled along with her.

  “Five seconds, Bianca.” I licked my lips. “Cinco. Segundos.”

  “You promise?”

  “Sure.”

  Click.

  “Promise.”

  “Eu prometo.”

  I walked over to my gun, rammed the mag back inside, and locked the safety before I placed it back inside my holster.

  “In English,” the little brat demanded.

  “I promise,” I sang.

  “And cross your heart and hope to die?”

  “Cross my heart and hope to fucking die.” I played along and cracked my neck, side to side, getting ready.

  Click.

  “I’m scared,” she admitted.

  “Oh, you should be.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “You know why, Bianca,” I smirked.

  Click.

  She pushed the door, and it opened as if we were in slow motion. Her eyes were fearful but full of devilish desires. She held her clenched fists tight to her sides, keeping those eyes of skies on me.

  “What are you waiting for? Run.”

  I was thankful for the mask that hid my grin. It was vicious and immortal, and it hoped Bianca would put up a good fight. Bianca gasped when she saw I did lie. She sprinted toward the blue library door at the top of the long stairs.

  “Five,” I began. Hands in my pocket, I took the first step out of her room. “Four.” I stretched the word, giving her more time as I made my way to the top of the stairs. “Three.” I watched her flowy peach dress fly freely.

  Bianca made it to the first floor. She turned around and stared at me as I walked down the stairs at a leisurely pace. Her smile was more massive than mine.

  “Two, one,” she finished, running toward the direction of the kitchen and dining hall, and more importantly, the basement.

  Skipping two steps at a time, I ran downstairs at full speed. I stumbled a few times but got back up. Bianca didn't get far. I didn’t expect her to. I ran full speed and I was about to scoop her in my arms, but I quickly decided not to. It was best if the girl who just made me feel alive wasn't wrapped in my arms, trying to break free. So, instead, I grabbed her arm.

  “Five more seconds, please,” she said between breaths.

  “Five seconds, that’s it.”

  “No, no, no. Please, five more.” Bianca tried to uncurl my leather grip. “Please.”

  “No, that’s it. Let’s go.” I nudged my head to the stairs.

  “Please.” Getting more aggressive, she beat her fist on my chest and tried to push me away. “No one is around, please.”

  “Bianca,” I said firmly, gripping her arm tighter.

  “No one's around!” she snapped, her sky about to rain. “What the fuck are you so afraid of?”

  That was the first time she swore. My face crimsoned, and so did hers. I loved the word on her innocent lips, but I hated the context. She dropped her head, guilty, and began to pull me toward the stairs as an apology. I stood my ground, firmly holding her arm.

  “One hour.”

  Her mouth opened as she gasped all the air in the room and those devoted eyes came back to me, sparkling brighter than ever.

  I wish it were that easy to say no to Bianca, but she did to me what no woman had ever done. Fed my greed, drugged my happiness, but worst of all, left me weak and powerless.

  As Bianca and I walked side by side through the empty mansion, I caught her staring as she blushed.

  “And so, the girl dressed in peach walked through a ghost-like mansion with a man dressed in black wearing a metal skull for a face,” she narrated.

  A few steps later, Bianca slipped her hand through the leather cracks of my glove, and I pulled away. That wasn’t the crazy part. The crazy part was when I took off one glove, wanting, if not craving, to feed my addiction with a real touch.

  Our first touch.

  She stared at my rings and my mother's silver rose bracelet—once all hidden by my glove—then instantly stole my touch. Like Bianca, it felt out of the ordinary. Like it didn't belong in this world.

  Like it didn’t belong with me.

  Chapter Six

  “This is where you live!” Bianca squealed. She ran ahead but slowed down to roll over the couch. She bounced on the cushion, but then curiosity took over her.

  “Where’s your room?” She opened the first door she saw; the bathroom.

  “I don’t remember,” I shrugged. “Guess you’ll just have to open some more doors.” With my hands in my pockets, I followed a few feet behind her.

  Today was one of Bianca’s better days. Some days she was so weak all she could do was lie in bed and cry empty tears. And other days she threw up all of her nutrition. Back in January, I visited Bianca on one of her worse days. She hated me for that. And she hated me, even more, when I tried to help her. I could still hear her hiss poison through the locked bathroom door. “What are you going to do? Hold my hair?”

  I stood outside, using my silk handkerchief to dab my blood as I heard her vomit, brush her teeth, and cough out a lung behind the closed door. When she came back out, her eyes were darkened, full of rage and fear.

  Fear of being pitied?

  Fear of being seen as weak?

  Fear of dying?

  I never knew which one, and I didn’t let myself get lost. Not when they looked like they did. Dead.

  Bianca tossed her shoulder into my arm with all her strength and growled under her breath. She crawled under her covers, cocooned herself in a pink blanket, and silently cried. She begged me to leave. I couldn’t. That night was the longest I’d ever stayed in her room. I was practically begging to get caught, but it would’ve been worth it.

  I held her in my arms, our embrac
e protected by her thick blanket as I squeezed her gently. I spent three hours rubbing her back until her sniffs turn into snores. She fell asleep in my arms, and I should’ve left right away, but I stayed a little longer.

  “Whose room is this?” she asked, pulling me out of my drunken memories and stepping into Lorenzo’s room.

  “Os meus tios. Remember, I told you I live with him?” I propped my shoulder against the door frame.

  “Oh, right,” she said, looking around his traditional dark bedroom. “He keeps it really clean.”

  “The maids keep it clean, not him—” I choked on my words when I realized my room was a complete disaster.

  I rolled around the wall and speed-walked to my room. My iPod still played on my bed and my clothes were tossed across my floor, along with an empty pizza box and a few empty glass bottles of Coke. And if she turned on my TV, she’d get her first taste of porn.

  Merda.

  I ran around my room, first starting with the iPod I didn’t want her to see, then my clothes. I grabbed a handful from the floor and threw and kicked them in the closet before I shut the door. It was all I could do before Bianca poked her little head into the doorway with a huge smile.

  “It’s messy,” were the first words that came out of her mouth as they hit my face like a slap. It was worse hearing it from Bianca than Lorenzo. She picked up the pizza box and set it on my long dresser. “I like it. It’s different.”

  I scoffed and rolled my eyes.

  She went to my bathroom and silently rearranged my cologne, face paints, brushes, razors, gels, and everything else I threw on the granite counter.

  “Why is your mirror broken?” she asked when she came out.

  “Got angry. Never bothered to fix it. It’s a reminder.” I gave her the bullet points.

  “Reminder of what?” Bianca tilted her head.

  “What’s been done has been done. It doesn’t matter.”

  She nodded, respecting my answer. Maybe I was easy to read, but Bianca always knew when it was time to stop asking questions. I loved that about her.

  Bianca fell back into my bed and became surrounded by blood-red covers. She giggled and quickly crawled under the covers, making my bed her new home. Pulling the red over her nose and mouth, she inhaled deeply. I could see that syrupy smile in her eyes as she looked around my dark room.