Chapter IV (Edited)

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The night was thick with the scent of expensive perfume and despair.

After a whirlwind shopping spree with Alayah, I went back to my penthouse.

As soon as I entered my room I immediately took my laptop to look at the details of my next victim.

Fabio Ramirez, 31 years old, has dark brown hair and light brown eyes, a regular customer in the city's elite clubs. His crimes, child trafficking, drug dealing, and.......rape. Then a picture of women and children naked can be seen. My eyes darkened as I looked further into the details.

I don't need to be told twice just to kill this animal. I hate people like them, and I want to average those innocent people they victimized. I wasn't a hero, not exactly.  But I dealt in a different kind of justice, a swift and brutal retribution for those who escaped the law.

The details didn't add where his current location is. But that won't be too hard.

Hours melted into a relentless search, a digital shadow dance across surveillance feeds and social media.

Then, a breakthrough. So his at one of those Santori Clubs. A perfect hunting ground for a predator like Ramirez.

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I prepared swiftly, the familiar weight of my blades and pistol settling against my back. 

The drive was short, the city lights blurring into streaks of color.   

As I arrived inside the club, the air hung heavy with the scent of alcohol and sweat.  The music was loud. Urghh, this makes my head hurt. I don't really like clubbing. I hate loud music.

Just as when I was about to turn around, I spotted him instantly. A predatory smile playing on his lips as he danced with a girl far too young to be there.  My blood ran cold. "This fucker is really disgusting".

Before confronting him, I wanted a moment of calm, I ordered a whiskey at a nearby bar.  The bartender, a man whose eyes held the weariness of countless nights, offered a knowing smile.  The shot burned going down, a momentary distraction before the task at hand. As I drink I secretly observe his movements.

Ramirez disappeared into a private room, whispering instructions to a bodyguard. Perfect, my opportunity.  I followed, my footsteps silent as a feather. Then the bodyguard, a mountain of muscle, blocked my path. 

"Non sei ammessa qui, Signora," he growled, his words a low rumble. (You're not allowed in here, lady.)

I met his gaze with a cold smile. "Peccato che tu non possa fermarmi," I replied, the barrel of my pistol pressing against his temple. He crumpled, unconscious.  The club's cacophony shielded the sound of the impact.  (It's a pity you can't stop me.)

Inside the room, another guard stood watch. But he didn't have time to react when I gave him a swift blow to the neck silencing him.  These men, Ramirez's hired muscle, really need more training. Feels like I'm playing with my punching bag. I quickly secured his body, my movements fluid and efficient.

Another guard, bolder than the others, stepped from the shadows.  "Ehi, come sei entrato?" he demanded. (Hey, how did you get in?)  Before he could finish, I rendered him unconscious.

A final guard emerged, his voice laced with arrogance. Goddamn it, how many fuckers does this animal have!!

"Sei una delle sgualdrine del mio capo?" he sneered. (Are you one of my boss's sluts?). Hey what the fuck? Did this bitch just insult me??!!

"Sì," I replied, my voice dangerously low. (Yes.)

He turned to relay my presence to Ramirez. "Capo, la tua ragazza è qui, devo farla entrare?" (Boss, your girl is here, should I let her in?)

"Certo, certo, Fatela entrare," Ramirez's voice boomed from within. (Of course, of course, let her in.)

The guard opened the door, revealing Ramirez, surrounded by the stench of stale cigarettes and cheap cologne. "Vieni qui, cara," he purred, extending a hand. (Come here, darling.)

I complied, my movements deceptively casual.  As I settled onto his lap, the cold steel of my pistol pressed against his temple.  The smile I wore was a mask, concealing the storm brewing within.

"Di cosa si tratta?" he stammered, fear finally etching itself onto his face. (What is this about?)

My reply was a chilling whisper.  "Tell the devil that."  The night was young, and his suffering had only just begun. 

The screams that followed were a symphony of pain, a fitting tribute to the victims he had so carelessly abused. When I was satisfied, I let him be, as he slowly went unconscious.

My signature, etched in blood on the bathroom mirror, was a final, chilling message.  Fear, I knew, was a powerful weapon.  And I wielded it with deadly precision.

The fear they feel is a testament to the meticulous clues I left behind........a breadcrumb trail leading directly to me.  Ironically, despite the precision of my handiwork, my true identity remains unknown. They suspect, they investigate, but the image remains blank, I'm a mystery in their minds.

Some may question my earlier statement about "I do my business quietly and cleanly."  This doesn't imply a bloodless, spotless crime scene. Rather, it speaks to the efficacy of my methods.......the killer's identity remains unknown, a ghost in the machine.  My own involvement, however, is a different matter entirely.  I know what I did.

When I was done, I went directly to the bathroom to clean my hands. I then look at myself in the mirror, a smirk creeping it's way on my lips. How can I be so gorgeous even with blood? I said to myself.

After a moment of admiring my beauty, I dried my hands, and went immediately to the window. I jumped out and landed perfectly on my feet.

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The shower felt amazing.  The water, scorching hot at first, felt like a million tiny needles pricking my skin, but then gradually cooled down, matching the way my racing heart finally started to slow. 

I just let the water flow down my body.  My shoulders relax, whenever the hot water flows down. I let out a long sigh.

Steam filled the little bathroom, all foggy and hazy, blocking out the city noise. I closed my eyes, the heat melting away the tension in my back and neck. 

My favorite strawberry scent, sweet and fruity, fought with the faint, metallic smell of…well, you know. Blood. Even after all that scrubbing, it was still there, that man's smell is still clinging to me. 

My phone played some sad melodic music, a perfect soundtrack to my shower-induced meltdown.  Every drop of water felt like a tiny forgiveness, washing away the night, even though I knew deep down, some things just don't wash away that easily.

After my shower, I changed into my nightgown and quickly went to bed, and as soon as I lay, I immediately fell asleep.....

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