The Crimson Dona (story form)

Parental advisory, mature content ahead.  

Synopsis:  Inheriting the ‘Life’ from her papa Don Giuseppe Angelo Scarletta, young Angela makes a name for herself and shoots down barriers while doing so. 

          ‘Ours is not to reason why.  Ours is but to do or die.’—Anonymous 

          ‘This is the law of the jungle, as old as the law of the sky.  The wolf that keeps it will prosper, the one that does not will die.’—Jungle Book 

          ‘True perfection is all in letting yourself go.’—Director to Nina, Black Swan

Chapter 1—Born into Greatness

            It was only yesterday I could hear my father’s dying words not long after mama had passed.   Like papa, she had an ongoing battle with pancreatic cancer, which meant I had inherited this dreaded disease as well.  I wouldn’t be dying from cancer anytime soon, though, I was still young.   I had no clue what my papa was inducting me into.  I had always believed, obliviously so, that the world into which I had been born was one of affluence and privilege.   Most of that was true, but dad let me know just how grave and serious my life was about to be at the tender age of 12. 

            I didn’t know my brothers.  All I have are distant memories.   I know I had 3 elder brothers.  One was named Feliciano, or Felix, one Gabriello, and the youngest was Marco.  I know I loved them and I know they loved me, but it’s all I can recall.   I do know, however, that I was named after my father and he was taking me under his wing after mama’s untimely death.    My brothers died when I was 5 all due to circumstances I could not fathom, but I learned later they all got caught in the crossfires of a trade gone horribly wrong with a rival gang I didn’t know personally until I turned 21.    I’ll never forget my papa’s last words to me on his death bed;

            ‘Angela, you’re about to step into my shoes.  It is not always a beautiful business.  You will have to get your hands dirty.  Don’t forget what I’ve taught you on our hunting trips and in the shooting range.   You may be a woman, but I think you are more capable of this title than anyone else I know.  After all, my boys were all murdered before my very own eyes and I’d love to slaughter the pricks responsible for it !’, he said, with one final death rattle in his lungs.   The morphine had given him peace before his untimely passing.   Like mother’s funeral, it was a closed casket, and I was surrounded by my father’s faithful bodyguards.  They were all very intelligent and loyal.   They would protect me from anyone who wanted to challenge the Scarletta authority.   I was still young and there weren’t any competitors, yet but I had been prepared prior in advance beyond my understanding.    I wouldn’t know just how capable I was, but I continually adapted the more I learned and experienced. 

Chapter 2—Memories

            I received my first tattoo at 7 years of age.   Papa always said ‘permanent ink needs to have meaning behind it’.  After all, I would be living with this reminder of who I was in my skin until the day I met my Maker.   I already knew what I wanted.  I desired a rose smack dab to a skull with my favorite gun as the centerpiece on my left shoulder.   It was all brazen, beautiful, stunning and stark.   Each item represented what I stood for and our family’s reputation.   I would soon come to earn the nickname ‘Crimson’ as well as ‘Thorn’, amongst ‘Beretta’ and ‘Widowmaker’ amongst many notorious monikers.   All of them suited me and my feral desire for revenge.    If my goons didn’t make my enemies pay for grievances we had, I often dipped my hands deeply into rivers of never-ending blood.   Once you see that shit, though, it fucks you up for life.   Despite that, I can still say, I’m pretty well-rounded and sane.

            The first tattoo would be one of many that would set me apart from the common wheel.   After papa’s demise, I received yet another tat of our family’s crest atop my chest.   Due to our maritime and fisherman’s past, it was a strong, willful, powerful marlin coming out of a tempestuous wave.  It wasn’t nearly so painful as dad’s death had been.   Thanks to it though, I never forgot my daddy’s words to me.  He and mom would be forever etched in my skin, in my heart and always on my mind.   Like those deep ink stains, fierce blood flowed in my veins and would keep my head level no matter what obstacles and obstructions lay ahead.  

            On rainy days when I am not about business in the underworld (usually my heavy’s take care of things but I balance the budget and keep the books alphabetically filed), I ponder all my mother’s and father’s lessons to me.   I also think about the brothers I only knew as blurry visions of the past.  I remember playing with them, but I don’t really recall spending any time with them.  I was only an infant, so my recollection is fuzzy.   I also wasn’t there when they were murdered, but I have many leads on who could be responsible.   I’m inches closers to finding the bastards responsible and I’m about to set a honey trap they cannot possibly avoid. 

Chapter 3—Death by Chocolate

            My father had a brothel and strip club created named Velveteen Fox.  All of his patrons, his most loyal and trustworthy clients, were given cart blanche and VIP status, especially in whatever sin they wanted to indulge in.   I used the Velveteen to lure my brothers’ assailants out of hiding.   They had been gone for years, thinking that they would never be found and that they would be safe from any retaliation or vendetta.   They had forgotten that I was still alive and kicking and I wanted revenge.  I didn’t know if my brothers’ souls were still rattling around purgatory due to this, but I didn’t care.   These bastards, one way or another, were going to die by the hand of my best prostitutes. 

            These women were especially trained if a man ever wanted to rape them.   They knew pressure points and vulnerable spots in human anatomy, but most importantly, they were aware how to implement various forms of deadly, fatal poisons.   In this case, these women weren’t going to be raped but they were meting justice to murderous men who were about to be visited by karma. 

            One night, a particularly dreary, drizzly April, 14 men came into the Velveteen, ardent to be seen in the VIP room.  Research had concluded these 14 were part of the Marzano crime ring, a family that had been in contention with the Scarlettas for years.  I hadn’t really heard mama or papa mention them, but I knew that the data I poured over for this many years was finally culminating in the ultimate revenge.   These pricks didn’t know that I had been under the protection of my father’s guards and I had been waiting for the right moment for them all to arrive just to watch them suffer.  From my viewpoint in the Velveteen, I had an eagle’s eye view above on the catwalk.  I wasn’t familiar with these men, but my father’s descriptions of them had been deadly accurate. 

            They were mostly in their early to late 30’s, and all of the men seemed well off.   Yet, there was a stinking arrogance about them, a conceit that hung around them like a musk.   I sneered in disgust and thought,

            ‘Pretty soon, you nasty fuckers are going to get your just desserts.’   They had no idea that I had laid the perfect deceitful trap for them.   

            It wasn’t too long into the night that all 14 of the men had died, thanks to cyanide laced desserts or an injection of bad heroin.   One had a bad reaction to coke that was mixed with a potent opiate and the chemical side-effects were devastating.   I had come to supervise clean up and the rooms were bleached, wiped clean of any evidence.   My hands bore no stain of blood but there was a surge of relief and adrenaline that tingled my veins, hot like lava and satisfactory.  Filling, just like dark chocolate and just as sinful.   I had become addicted to this sensation and wanted more.   Oh, yes, it was my first of many killings and certainly would not become my last. 

Chapter 4—Marking the Occasion

            The date became forever engraved upon my body in tattoo form.  On my right arm, my beloved tattoo artist, Guiro, used my latest design.   It was a king cobra standing proudly, hood displayed vehemently, warning anyone, ‘don’t fuck with me’, or ‘get bitten and die a horrendous death of your worst nightmares’.    It was fucking beautiful and it really strikes intimidation deep into the hearts of my adversaries.   I didn’t wish to become a ‘painted lady’, but I had rather taken to liking these everlasting trophies on my skin.   Much like those in the Yakuza as well as the Russian mafia, each of my tats tells its tale.   Yet, I think this one will be the last I get.   The rest of my skin is plenty beautiful the way it is.   Besides, if I ever have children (God forbid.  Who would want a baby raised in an environment as screwed up as this one ?), I can tell the story behind Guiro’s artwork.   

Chapter 5—Complexities of Romance

            Love can be extremely multi-faceted.   I have seen relationships come and go in my lifetime but have never felt the pull of romance so strongly as when I met my now permanent business partner, Enzo Fabrizzio, whom I met at (of all the locales in the globe) a gun show in a particularly shady neighborhood.    Enzo owns his own bar and nightclub named Breese’s, man cave and bowling alley.   Not only that but he can crunch numbers faster than anyone I ever met.   What drew me was how precise he was in his sniping ability and his sharp, chocolate eyes.   His curly raven hair flowed across his forehead and nearly touched his aquiline nose.  His broad shoulders and muscular back flexed and tightened as he obliterated every target he came across.   He caught my eye and I felt a flush come to my cheeks.  I had never felt so much electricity in one space as when I did around Enzo.   He was sensual, sexy and charismatic.   His words were chosen with care and tact and I knew his intellect could match my own as soon as I approached him.   He told me I was a rare beauty with an eye for form and function, which of course, was true.   I knew both aesthetics as well as logistics.   The two had to have balance and I could only conclude that this businessman had to become my partner and bodyguard.  

            Enzo is always willing to do whatever task I set in front of him.  Willingly, he has become my human shield.  I never intended him to do so, but he respects me and adulates me so highly that he wants no harm to come to myself or my other bodyguards.   The Scaletta empire is much stronger due to the fact I have a sniper in my crew.   No one would know by looking at him that he has this uncanny ability to be inconspicuous.   Enzo is gregarious, loquacious and immensely friendly.   He is the extrovert to my introvert and we equal out rather pleasantly, I think. 

            Never would I have thought that I would love someone so deeply as I do Enzo.  We keep things very breezy between us.  Our relationship is exclusive, as is our romantic life.  What happens under our covers is distinctly private.   I have no ‘goomba’ on the side.  Enzo is my one and only but we’re careful.  I want no children brought into this despicable cesspool mascaraing as ‘life’.  It is an existence at best, one of survival of the fittest.   I may not live so long as Enzo does, but when I die, Enzo will rise up in my stead.  When he dies, another member of the ‘family’ will proudly man the helm, whether man or woman.  I doubt they will be as revered or feared as I, but none can replace The Scarlet Dona. 

Chapter 6—Bloodstained Legacy

            There’s no doubt that the name Scarletta evokes fear, terror and unrest in many souls, and I’ll have to say, none of that reputation is hyperbole or untrue.   Cross me on grounds where I exact a payment.  That payment is due when I say, no extensions or exceptions, unless you are part of the ‘Circle’.   I have had to brutally murder loyal partners that forgot to offer me payment in full.   I did the deed myself and had to mail pieces of their bodies back to their significant others, only with a warning note attached (in the victim’s blood) not to fuck around.   Usually this is enough to get one’s attention, but there are still some morons still thick-headed enough not to take a hint.   This Angel of Death will make a trip to their home and strike them down when they least expect it.    Disposal has become a thing of beauty as well.   Enzo, however, doesn’t enjoy getting his hands sullied with viscera of any kind.   For me, the thrill of the hunt and the satisfaction of the kill are one and the same.   One less enemy for me to fight, forever reinstating me as the ‘Queen-pin’.   I do realize that this all sounds rather braggadocio, but hey, when you got it, baby, flaunt it. 

Chapter 7—Learning from the Film Industry

            I don’t deal directly with addictive substances.   Enzo mixes them in his bar, but he never imbibes.   I’ve seen a great many films but the most lasting one was Scarface.   He was warned by one of his major suppliers not to involve himself in angel dust, but sad to say, he did indeed become high off his own supply.   He was addicted to the rush of the drug and the sensation it offered, so much it impeded everything else.   My only vices are chocolate, wine and sex, both of which Enzo provides in droves effortlessly and without compunction.  

            It’s humorous to say that Hollywood sometimes offers us the best recruits money can buy.  We think of it as advertising.   Our latest addition is a lanky but svelte young woman I think of as a surrogate daughter.   She is originally Dutch, but she also says she has Polish and Italian roots.   Heredity doesn’t matter when it comes to loyalty.  We’re all in the game for the capital it provides us, and as dirty and filthy as this life can be, the payoff is more than worth it.  

            Young Bella Wozniak is my apprentice.   She’s succeed me long after I am gone.  Fortunately, she and Enzo are on my side because only recently I learned of one of my associates, Rico Carbone, was vying for my position.   I had heard whispers in the wings about this and hated what was about to come next.   This particular individual I felt was one of my most trusted, next to my darling Enzo and my markswoman, Bella.   He wanted everything I had and had waited for the right moment to distract me.    So, in order to save my own skin, I brought him along with me to the shooting gallery.  Only Bella and Enzo were beside me. 

            I loathed to see Rico go this way.   I had counted on him so much in matters that I couldn’t possibly accomplish on my own, but it didn’t worry me.  There were plenty of others that would rush to take his place, but my selection had to be keen, precise and knowledgeable.   

            It was a brilliant day at the gallery and I had Rico make a last request.   He suggested a Cuban cigar, a bottle of Chianti and one last chance to flip me off and curse me before I shot him between his fucking bug eyes.   I held no remorse when I cocked my Beretta, aimed, and fired.   The shot was taken with me giving him an immense lead over the lengthy field where papa had taught me to shoot numerous times.   It was the perfect kill shot.   One moment he was fleeing, the next, he was dead on the ground.   Bella and Enzo dealt with clean up and I stood there, mirthfully, rejoicing over the fact that Rico was no longer a thorn in my side.   His family, sadly, would have to be informed and I knew the consequences.   They were all too frightened to face me, but honestly, I knew they were being smart.   They would probably just wait until I was older and unable to fight, but that’s a long grudge to bear and I plan on living until I’m at least 100.   All I know is that my empire will still be around long after I am deceased.   If you see my favorite pinstripe style and throwback spats coming back into the forefront, you’ll know I’ve succeeded.   Besides, we all know that black never goes out of style and bloodstains blend in perfectly with the fabric.   It all comes out in the wash, sooner or later.   

Chapter 8—Punching My Ticket  

            I’m finally in my hundreds but I have never slowed down.   I suppose it is my Mediterranean diet and occasional glasses of wine that keep me ‘preserved’.   Enzo chalks it up to foresight and intuition.   Plus, my legions have kept a tight rein on the city and surrounding suburbs.   Once tribute comes due, the Scarletta ring is paid very handsomely and the proverbial wolves are kept away from the door, so to speak.   I’m aging and getting ready to punch my ticket, though.   Unlike my dad, cancer is not the final word and fortunately, I didn’t inherit that infernal devastation from either he nor my mother (forgive me, mama and papa, nothing against our noble bloodline).  

            It was like any other day.   I was tending my vast rose garden, making certain all the black, purple, blue and red roses were trimmed and healthy, which they were.   I didn’t hear any shots, but I heard a horrible ‘thud’ outside my labyrinth.    Enzo had been shot through the heart.  The light in his chocolate eyes had faded.   I hadn’t cried at either of my parents’ deaths.  One because I was too young when mama shuffled off this mortal coil, and two, my papa was suffering too much.   Death had been a release.  However, seeing Enzo lying in a pool of his own blood nearly overcame me.   I went into incensed tears, wondering what bastard had done this.   It was the Carbone family, come for a vendetta, revenge and restitution.   My prediction, again, came true. 

            I was terribly outnumbered, but I had my trusty semi by my side.   It never left and I took it everywhere for such situations as this one.   It was epic, like a showdown from the era of the wild west.   No words were exchanged, just steely-eyed glares.  

Epilogue

            In the end, I suppose it doesn’t matter which side fired first.   It was a losing battle from the get go.   All I saw was a hail of bullets even though I thought I defended myself valiantly.  I felt no pain as I became Swiss cheese, but no sooner had that happened that the cavalry arrived.   It was too late and I began to see light all around me.   Enzo’s smiling glorious form greeted me on the other side. 

            ‘I’m guessing we’re going to have to bide some time in purgatory.  We weren’t exactly good souls on the other side of the veil.’, he said with a smirk.  We kissed as we often did and held each other’s hands as we ascended.   I saw the Carbone family executed in gory fashion due to Bella but I never looked back.  This was my home now and anything I did, anyone I killed, anyone I wronged, all of that would be purged here.  I had plenty of ‘time’ and I had the best travelling companion, cohort, accomplice and lover anyone could ask for.

            ~*~ From the Dona, the Tail of the Scorpion