She was dressed to kill.
Literally.
She was going to literally kill Tristan in this outfit.
A low growl escaped through dark red lips as her nails tore into the wood, the wine still sitting in her glass from earlier, an unopened bottle of Merlot taunting her. She looked down at her watch, her eyes narrowing into a dangerous glare as she took another snarling breath.
9:00 pm.
Nine Fucking PM.
She tore through the wood against her nails before she curled her hand into a fist, "FUCK!" She lifted her hand and brought it down, the impact resounding throughout the full restaurant. The dense wood slowly shattered at its sturdy legs, losing the battle against her all-consuming anger. It was the first victim, the table toppling down, the legs destroyed. The bottle fell with it, cracking open and spilling dark red liquid along the wood floor. She ignored the gasps of those around her, looking down at the table, at the wine seeping out.
She imagined it as something else...as someone else.
A beautiful someone would try to crawl away from her, his legs shattered, blood gushing out of his mouth.
His whimpers and cries in her ears, a song of horror and agony just before she would grip his hair, long strands of his silky hair in her hand. She would lift his head up, only to slam that angelic face into the ground.
Over, and over, and over, and over...!!!
She gritted her teeth, shaking her head, taking another deep breath. She imagined the smell of his blood on her hand, on her newly purchased shirt, adding lovely patterns of dark browns and burgundy to its bright red shade.
She was going to consume him until there was nothing left.
"Hey, what the hell, lady?!"
She gave a grunt, looking over to Luka, his professional charm all gone as he stared at the broken table, before glaring at Ira. He pointed at her, growling, "Just because you got stood up doesn't mean you get to destroy our property!" His accent vanished, and what was all weak scolding and impotent anger replaced smiles and flirtations.
Pathetic little mouse.
Until she found her main course, perhaps this mouse would make a decent appetizer.
She stood up, her hand moving back into a fist, ready for the kill before Francesco stepped between her and his server, "Lady Dante, please! Luka, his new, okay? He's my nephew, my sister kept hounding me to give him a job, and he doesn't know about the hierarchy-"
The large man was pleading, his brown eyes watering up with tears as he pressed his hands together in prayer to Ira, "So just leave him be. I'll give you anything! I-I don't even care about the table, so please, please don't..." He bowed his head, as low as he can, his bumbling voice weakening into shuddering whispers as he begged.
Ira looked down at the shaken restaurant owner, her eyes shifting to take in the shocked and now fearful Luka. Perhaps he has never seen his uncle beg before. Maybe he didn't understand how tiny his voice compared to her roar. She tilted her head, looking down at them, "... I want an order of each of your chef specials, two orders of your famous bruschetta and pasta carbonara with lobster. Then four orders of tiramisu, ten cannolis, and two more bottles of your Merlot." She didn't even blink, those orders calming in simmering monotone, the inferno barely being held at bay.
Luka opened his mouth to protest, but his uncles held up his hand, silencing him, "Right away, Lady Dante!" He immediately turned to his nephew, growling, "You heard her idiot! Now get the order to the kitchen!"
Luka looked back at Ira, unable to comprehend what was happening, how much power she seemed to yield before nodding, running to the kitchen. Francesco turned back to Ira, smiling nervously, sweat pouring down his forehead, "Now just wait only a moment. We have that out right away."
Ira didn't even nod. She sat down, her purse on her lap. She stared forward, ignore the glares of those who didn't know better, perhaps whispering derisively about her to their companions, about how rude she was, causing a scene. Those glares were almost as irritating as the fearful glances. Nearly as annoying as hushed whispers about her rage. Perhaps taking bets on the likelihood of this place being around tomorrow.
Whispering, gossiping squeaks from mice.
Mice surrounded her.
She glanced back at the destroyed table, her brow furrowing with scalding embarrassment. It was burning her skin with its heat. She could feel the rage of humiliation dancing a passionate embrace with the intense sadness of loneliness. The two emotions mingled with each other in her mind and in her heart.
It hurt.
She had been feeling many pains; lately, her shoulder acting up, her memories nearly ruining every night, and now this. This...
This hurt.
She opened the purse on her lap, struggling to dig through it, trying to fight back that unwanted pain. She pulled out a rolled-up bundle of green, looking down at it and nodding to herself. It wasn't right to take out her rage on Francesco, his weak nephew, nor on the table.
She needs to save it, save all of this hatred for the right person.
When Francesco returned with several bags of food, she stood up again, nodding silently to him. Before he could say a word, she pressed her hand against his chest, stopping him, "Take this."
The older man swallowed deeply, shaking, "Lady Dan-"
"Stop your fucking shaking and take this." She snarled that out, her voice low and rasping; she sounded less human and more like a demon.
Francesco nodded, setting down the bags before very, carefully taking the rolled-up bundle from her hand. He bit his lips, swallowing slowly again before his eyes widened, looking down at the bills she gave him.
There must've been at least a couple thousand rolled up in that bundle; all of it looked like nothing but hundred-dollar bills. Francesco looked back at Ira, surprised at her generosity, "Lady Dante you didn't have to-"
"Enough." She hissed out, putting her purse on her shoulder by the long strap, before picking up the bags of wine and food with her hand, "I'm leaving." She turned back to him, giving a tight-lipped smile. The smile of someone forcing their blazing rage into a bottomless and dark pit, "Enjoy your evening."
Before anyone could say anything else, she left, down the stairs, ignoring the host opening the door for her as she walked into the warm night.
A warm night where the stars were shining, and the moon was bright.
One of those romantic nights, her brother would swoon over. Each star was a shining diamond against a deep purple and blue satin sheet glimmering with its beauty.
She should enjoy this night.
She will be.
She will enjoy this night when she orders the bounty of her so-called boyfriend and has him delivered to her.
She will enjoy him when she is watching her men burying pieces of him on her island, before tossing some useless remains into the coast.
She will not waste this night once Tristan is-
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