Chapter 2 #2
The walk to Luca's apartment had taken twelve minutes.
The campo had been quiet at 2:35am, just a few tourists stumbling back to their hotels, too drunk to notice me.
I'd entered the building the same way as before, the lock yielding in under a minute.
The stairwell was again dark and silent, the building all asleep, blissfully unaware of the beast circling apartment 3C.
At Luca's door, I'd paused and listened. No sound from inside and this time there was no music, no shower running. I'd checked the apartment across the hall, which was still dark and definitely vacant. The fire escape had been fifteen feet away, accessible if needed. Then I put on my ski mask.
I proceeded to pick the lock. It had taken the same ninety seconds as before. The mechanism was familiar to me now from practice, the pins aligning smoothly. The lock successfully turned and I'd opened the door slowly, carefully, listening for any sound that might indicate he was awake.
Nothing.
The apartment had been small, a combined living area and kitchen, a bedroom visible through an open door and a tiny bathroom to the left.
It smelled like cigarette smoke and cheap cologne.
The furniture had been minimal and mismatched.
A typical bachelor's apartment. I'd gently closed the door behind me and locked it. Then I'd moved toward the bedroom.
Luca had been asleep on his back, one arm thrown over his head, his breathing deep and even. The streetlight through the window had cast his face in orange and shadows. He'd looked peaceful and vulnerable, a total lie.
I'd crossed to the bed in three silent steps.
My hand had covered his mouth before he was fully awake.
His eyes had snapped open, wide with shock and confusion.
He'd tried to scream, but my palm had muffled the sound as he'd tried to fight, his hands coming up to claw at my arm, but I'm stronger, more controlled.
I'd leaned close, my voice perfectly measured. "You looked at something that belongs to me."
His eyes had widened further as recognition hit. Let this be a lesson, you never know who you are dealing with in the outside world, before you realize you invited the devil himself into your life.
"You touched him. Trying to fuck another man in front of his husband, thinking you can do what you want without consequences."
He'd been shaking his head frantically, trying to speak against my palm, but I hadn't cared what he had to say.
I'd pulled the knife from my pocket with my free hand and opened it with a practiced flick. The blade had caught the streetlight, four inches of carbon steel, honed to a razor edge.
"This is what happens when you threaten what's mine."
I'd driven the blade into his throat just below the jaw, angling upward into the soft tissue. The carotid artery had severed immediately and blood sprayed hot across my gloved hand, my arm, the pillow beneath his head.
His body had convulsed, his hands grasping weakly at my wrist. But the damage had been done. The blood loss had been catastrophic, and within fifteen seconds, his movements had slowed. In thirty, they'd stopped entirely.
I'd held my hand over his mouth for another minute, just to be certain, then I'd stepped back and assessed. The blood loss had been extensive but contained mostly to the bed. Some spatter on the wall behind the headboard, some on my clothes, but it was manageable.
Then I'd pulled out my camera phone. This is the part Chase doesn't know about and I’m actually surprised he has never found my collection as I don’t try to hide it.
I photograph all of my victims, not for sexual gratification as I don't experience arousal from death itself.
But for the aesthetic contentment of capturing the moment when a threat ceases to exist, the beauty of the empty carcass of the human form. That I was the one to dim their light.
I'd positioned Luca carefully on his back, his arms at his sides, eyes still open and reflecting the distant streetlight.
The blood pooling beneath him had created an interesting contrast against the white sheets.
I'd taken six photographs from different angles, adjusting exposure to capture the details from the slack expression, to the knife wound barely visible beneath the blood, and the way his fingers had curled inward in his final moments.
Stunning, in its way.
Then I'd cleaned the scene. The gloves had prevented fingerprints.
I'd retrieved the knife, wiped it clean, secured it back in place.
I'd checked every surface I might have touched like the doorknob, the light switch and the bedframe.
I'd checked the bathroom and kitchen for any trace of my presence.
Nothing.
I'd stripped the blood-soaked top sheet and pillowcase, rolled them tightly in the plastic sheeting I'd brought before placing them in a large trash bag and separating the linens into another bag, just in case any of my DNA had transferred.
I knew the body would be discovered eventually, probably when he didn't show up for his next shift, but by then Chase and I would be long gone from Venice.
I'd done a final sweep of the apartment, then exited at 3:28am, locking the door behind me, removing my ski mask and stuffing it under my shirt, and placing my gloves in my pockets.
The walk back to the hotel had been uneventful with nobody around.
I'd disposed of the bundled linens in a dumpster three blocks away, then the gloves in a separate location.
The knife had gone into a canal, the plastic sheeting into another dumpster.
By the time I'd reached our hotel suite, I had no items on me other than my backpack and clothing.
Chase was sitting at the desk writing in his journal, waiting for me. I watched as his gaze lingered over me, transfixed on my hands. I looked down and noticed the small speck of blood that must have gotten onto my skin when I removed my gloves. He knew. And that fucking thrilled me.
We then celebrated the night with epic blow jobs and orgasms. But nothing beat the feeling of knowing Chase was falling into the dark side where he belonged. By my side.
Now, lying in bed with morning light filtering through the curtains, I analyze my performance of last night with clinical assessment.
The kill itself was clean. No witnesses, no cameras in that particular building, no evidence linking me to Luca beyond being a customer at the restaurant, and hundreds of tourists eat there weekly.
The three nights of surveillance had been necessary.
Proper planning and understanding patterns, particularly in another country, minimizes risks.
But…I'd been slightly sloppy in the restaurant itself during our visits.
I'd let my reaction show with the cold stare when Luca touched Chase, the possessive hand at the small of Chase's back when we left, the way I'd monitored Luca's every movement with barely concealed hostility. I’m not an emotive guy that anyone can easily read, but it’s a risk as there is always the chance someone could notice.
Chase, of course, had noticed something was wrong.
Some staff were wary of me, but that may be down to my cold nature.
Chase has mentioned several times that I can come across as severe and unapproachable.
But that obviously didn’t work on Luca. Nevertheless, it was careless and something to work on.
I may need to learn how to smile and soften my face, although the very idea of being polite and engaging with other people makes me want to punch a wall.
I'll need to be more controlled in public going forward. The possessiveness must remain invisible to everyone except Chase. The bloodshed must stay in the shadows where it belongs.
I am brought back out of my thoughts when Chase stirs beside me, his hand moving across my chest, his breathing changing as he wakes.
"Morning," he murmurs, his voice rough with sleep.
"Morning."
He's quiet for a moment before speaking.
“It will be okay won’t it? Last night….nobody will take you away, will they?” he asks as his eyes are filled with what I have learned is concern.
"It's fine, baby. You worry too much.”
He scoffs before kissing my chest and continuing to run his hands across my abdomen.
“Arrogant much,” he mumbles.
“I know what I’m doing.” He turns his head and looks at me with more questions written across his face. Come on, Chase. Let that curiosity take over.
"Did he suffer?" he whispers.
“Briefly.”
“Did he know it was you?”
“Yes.”
Chase's pupils dilate as his hand unconsciously slides down my body, finding my cock already half-hard.
"You're aroused," he observes.
"So are you."
He doesn't deny it. Instead, he kisses me deeply, full of hunger. Yes…this is what I want. He is understanding what I am and what I'll always do to shield what's mine. And he wants it. More than that, he’s beginning to crave it.
He wants me.
He wants the darkness.
Completely.