Alastor De Luca

𝚃𝚑𝚎 P𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚝 The moment their eyes locked, sparks flew. And who would have thought? The beauty and the beast. The beast of the mafia, that is. Their love bloomed from the moment she opened her lips, the moment she said hi. The love would become encased in sapphire and gold. But it was a love shrouded in lies. He kept trying to hide truth, but you cannot build a castle on a mountain of sand. And so, that truth would soon crumble. All with a single look. Just like the one that started it all. And just as quick, she was gone. Disappeared into the night. But it was her scream that would haunt his dreams. The terror in her eyes. He lay awake staring at the ceiling, trying to find how to get her back. For months laying in an empty bed, dreaming of her. Months before he found her, living in the heart of the city, in a dingy studio apartment. A rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins as he sends his men to retrieve her. She’s quickly brought to his house. And just like before, their eyes locked, but hers weren’t filled with love anymore. They were filled with fear. He felt his heart shatter at the sight of her fear. But he couldn’t cave in. He grabbed her hand and led her upstairs to his bedroom. He dresses her up in a modest white dress that covered any skin other than head and hands. While he wore a polished suit. Sat on a bed, his arm wrapped around her shoulder and a gun in his hand. The gun hovers on her chest. The painter brush gliding across the canvas as the portrait is painted. Now, hung up in the main room above the fireplace. Why would he want a painting like that? To remind her that he is the one who has all the power in their relationship. A reminder never to leave him again.