Marina and The Diamonds - How To Be A Heartbreaker
A few days later, with no progress, she knew that she needed to step in. At dinner one night, Ciano excused himself, probably for the bathroom, and she followed down a side hall. "Mr. Galeazzo, a word?"
He looked around, surprised, but then nodded. "Of course, Mrs. Morstan. Anything."
"Let us speak frankly, Galeazzo. I'm certainly about to," she said, folding her hands in front of her. "Excuse me for what I'm about to say, but my husband is not good with words."
He frowned, looking concerned. "Please, speak your piece. I hope I have not given any cause for offense.." It was clear he was nervous.
She smiled, shaking her head, her hand reaching out towards him a little in reassurance. "No, no, please, relax, it's alright. There's been no offense. I just wanted to speak to you on behalf of my husband. He's... a shy man. Not good at displaying his interest."
The concern ebbed, only to be replaced by uncertainty a moment later. "I'm not certain I follow you, signora..."
"Look, Galeazzo. I mentioned my husband and I... have a unique arrangement, did I not? He is free to pursue who he desires. He is just... bad at it."
He laughed a bit, shaking his head. "I have seen relationships of this sort, but never quite to this extent, with one courting for the other. Who is it who has caught his eye, dear signora? I will do my best to assist."
She folded her hands together in front of her, and gave a slight shrug, slightly sheepish. "It's you, signore. Anyone else, perhaps it would be easier for him. I think he views you as unapproachable, though."
He was surprised, that was clear, and reached up to fidget with his tie slightly, habitually. "I... I see." He took a breath. "I'm... flattered. Certainly. Your husband is..." He trailed off, face flushing slightly.
Lorna smiled sympathetically. "Yes, he's a very handsome man. Overwhelmingly so, sometimes," she admitted, looking mildly flustered herself. "Of course, it is up to you whether or not you decide to act with this information, but I was tired of seeing him in inaction."
He nods just a little, adjusting his tie once more. "Thank you. I..." He laughed nervously. "I'm not accustomed to pursuing this... openly. This isn't very open, of course, but..." He shook his head. "I'm sure you understand. This isn't to say no... I'm interested. It's merely... new."
"We're used to it, but we've both been there," she smiled. "We're both quite lucky to have married the other, believe me. It's removed the lies from one part of our lives."
He nodded just a little. "I can see that. Thank you, Mrs. Morstan. Do you think it would be better to speak with your husband on the matter, or just to..." he trailed off, gesturing in vague helplessness.
She shook her head a little, chuckling. "No, I wouldn't talk to him about it. He's not fantastic with words. I mean, don't jump him, but I imagine you'll only make him uncomfortable if you try to speak to him about it."
He nodded just slightly. "Perhaps I could invite him over for drinks tomorrow. Would that be sufficient, do you think?"
"I think that should work," she smiled, then tilted her head back the way she had came. "I better return to him. He's probably wondering where I've gotten to."
Lorna had considered all night how best to send him on his way, and that morning, she'd ordered a groundskeeper. She let him do the normal gardening work before she called him in at dusk, offering a cold glass of lemonade, which she'd conveniently drugged. "Moran," she called, leaning against the kitchen counter, appraising the man passed out on the floor. "Come down, will you? I've gotten you a present."
He came down the stairs a few moments later, eyebrows furrowed. Then they lit on the body on the floor and he was immediately tense, until he saw that the man was breathing. Still, he looked around for any other breaches of security. "What happened?"
"Relax, Colonel, I'm the one who brought him here," she snorted, picking up the lemonade glass for a second and giving it a light shake to bring his attention to it. "I thought you could use a little blood to make your day a little easier. If I was wrong I can just send him home when he awakes..."
He relaxed at that, and then smiled a little. "You weren't wrong. Thank you. I should probably take this away from the prying eyes of the window..." He stooped to shift the prone man into his arms. "Care to join me?"
"Of course," she smirked, pushing off the counter. "Upstairs, in the bathroom, perhaps?"
"Excellent choice," he agreed, heading for the stairs. The gardener was a slight man, luckily, and he had little trouble maneuvering upstairs.
"What does Jim think of all this?" he asked as he set the man down in the bath. "The killing, I mean."
She shrugged a little, perching on the bathroom counter. "He tolerates it as a little eccentricity of mine. Sometimes it amuses him. Sometimes he uses it to scare an enemy of ours. Other times, when someone has really fucked with him, he enjoys laying into them a little. But otherwise, he generally likes me to be clean when he fucks me. Unless it's my blood."
He nods just a little, smiling. "Still, good to have a boss that encourages one's interests," he said, smiling and pulling a knife out from where it was tucked into his boot. He offered it to her out of courtesy.
"Oh, no, please, it's a gift," she waved off, scoffing. "If it will wind you up a little, I'll partake, but please, by all means, have the first cut to yourself."
He smiled, and flicked the knife through his fingers absently as he looked for a good place to make his first cut. They were isolated enough that if the man woke and screamed it wouldn't be an issue, but still... "Pass me a washrag?"
He gagged the man with the rag and some string he found in the cabinet, and used strips of rag to bind his hands to the faucet. He then returned to his contemplation. It only took him a moment to decide, then, and he cut away the man's shirt, before shoving the knife under the skin at the top of his chest and running a neat autopsy line down the center of his chest, skin parting like clay.
It was a testament to the quality of the drugs she'd used that he didn't wake. Lorna didn't need him screaming. She only needed the blood. And while it was primarily for Sebastian, her eyes darkened too as the crimson welled to the surface, staining the man's sun-tanned skin.
His eyes darkened, and he smiled, pressing his fingers into the wound and drawing them away coated thick with crimson warmth.
His next two cuts reflected the autopsy procedure, creating an inverted 'y' on his torso. He didn't waste time, peeling the skin away from the muscle and watching it ripple in his wake.
"Why, Moran, it's almost like you've done this before," she smirked, biting her lip as bare muscle was revealed, the thick slab of skin dripping blood into the tub, spreading the red further.
"Once or twice," he retorted with a smile, cutting into the muscle as well. The man shifted slightly under the knife, a moan muffled by the gag, but he remained under, and Moran ignored him.
He left the bowels covered for the most part. He wasn't very interested in those particular aromas. Instead he headed up toward the rib cage, stripping away flesh to reveal white stripes of bone and cartilage. The blood was flowing freely now, and he had it up to his elbows. The smell of it overwhelmed him, and he paused to bask in it for a moment. His pulse was racing, and he put a hand on the man's ribcage, feeling the heart pulsing underneath. He breathed deeply until his own pulse matched that of his victim. He felt alive .
He extended the knife toward Harrison, eyes not leaving the man in front of him. "Have a go, love," he said softly.
She took the knife, her fingers slipping a little in the blood that lathered the hilt, and shifted off the counter, moving to sit on the edge of tub. Her grey eyes appraised the man within for a moment until she leaned forward, the blade slicing a precise, curved line along the orbital ridge of the man's face. She wanted to see his whole eye.
He looked up when she put knife to skin, watching as she removed the man's eyelid with surgical precision. "We'd make good surgeons if we had any interest in putting people back together," he said absently, eyes trained on the way the bright blood flecked across her skin.
"I know some basics, courtesy of my father," she hummed, flicking the extraneous flesh off the knife blade and then carving a little deeper, slicing into the tissue keeping the eye secure in its socket. "He was a hit man. Got banged up sometimes."
He nodded just a little. "We tend to do that. What the hell did you give him?" he asked, nodding to the unconscious man currently being carved up like a choice roast.
"A cocktail of things that'd he be unlikely to survive even if we weren't cutting him up," she said, tilting her head as she looked down at the now nearly-freestanding eye. "Fentanyl, thiopental, a couple of other things. Without breathing aid, he'll probably die soon."
He whistled lowly, admiring, as he smoothed his hand over the shivering muscle he'd excavated. "Some day if we have time, I'd love to learn a thing or two. I know enough. Had to, playing with the girls like I did. But not like that."
"How steady are your hands?" She chuckled, happy with her work and offering the knife to him. "You'll need to be steady, if you want to learn."
"I meant about the drugs," he returned with a smirk, taking the knife again and starting to slit through the skin on the man's hand, peeling it back and manipulating the joints and muscles, vaguely interested. Red dripped onto white porcelain. He smiled.
She laughed at the display of skill, shrugging a bit. "I have a book at home I write in whenever I learn something new. New things cross Jim's desk all the time."
He smiled. "That has to be an interesting book," he said with a sigh, before setting the hand down. He looked over at her, stooped over the body, flecked with red, and gave a toothy smile. "I suppose standing Ciano up is a bad choice."
"You may want to shower before you go," she said, smirking at him. "I'll call the cleaners. Should be taken care of by the time you're back."
He sighed, sliding his hand over the man's chest again. His pulse was gone. "Shame... But thank you."
"Any time. There's plenty of people in the world to kill," she smiled, standing and moving to the sink, bending and using her elbow to turn to faucet on to wash her hands.
"Very true," he said, standing and considering for a moment before just reaching out to turn the shower on and stepping in next to the body, fully clothed. He was covered in blood from the waist up, this was the easiest way to deal with the situation. "Would you mind terribly putting a towel in my reach?" he asked, unbuttoning his ruined shirt, red running down his body and getting lost in the sea of blood and flesh around his ankles.
"Of course," she said, voice unaffected, but eyes locked onto him. She reached and got a towel without looking away, and put it on the closed toilet, where he could grab it once he got out.
He thanked her, glancing over at her and raising an eyebrow as he shrugged out of his soaked shirt, raising an eyebrow and hiding a smirk. "Alright there?"
"You're not the only one affected by this sort of thing," she said simply, giving him an appreciative look up and down and then pushing off the counter. "I suppose I'll give you some privacy. Do you need assistance picking out clothes for this evening?"
He sighed, then shrugged. "Do you think I need assistance? If so then I probably do." He reached grabbed the soap and started scrubbing his arms down.
She waved her hand a little. "As long as you wear something tight, it should do. Dress like you're going hunting. Same principles apply."
"Got it boss. Will do."
After he had washed, he stepped out of the tub and dried off, getting the last of the blood off of his feet before heading for his room.
Ten minutes later he headed downstairs, dressed in his best crimson shirt, one which hugged his figure slightly. Black trousers and suspenders and a wide black tie kept things formal. He grabbed his jacket and hat, nodding a goodbye to Harrison. "Any last minute advice?"
"Ditch the tie once you've had a few drinks, or at least pretend to, and unbutton a couple of buttons on your shirt," she suggested, looking at him over a cup of tea.
He nodded a little. "Thanks," he said with a nod. "Will do. See you later, I guess." He headed for the door.
She watched him go and sipped at her tea again with a mild sigh. She wished him luck, but telling him aloud would only keep him for another moment, another moment in which self-doubt could start to cloud his head. She would have scotch waiting out for him on his return.
He arrived at Ciano's twenty minutes later, after spending the car ride mulling over the kill, savoring the details, trying to keep his mind off of his impending mission.
Now, he knocked on the door, before reaching up to straighten his tie.
The door opened a moment later, revealing a only slightly nervous-looking Ciano, who gave Sebastian a big grin. "Alezandair! Please, come in, come in! What would you like to drink?"
"Anything," he said with a small smile, stepping inside. "Whatever you're having's fine..." he took a look around, though he had seen the room a dozen times before. "Thanks for inviting me..."
"Thank you for coming," he rebutted, leading the way into the lounge and then making a beeline for the liquor cart. He needed alcohol to smooth this whole thing over just as much as the man behind him needed it. He was nervous about this whole affair, but excited at the same time. How could he not be, with a man like that? "A martini alright?"
He nodded. "Dry, if you don't mind." He took the drink gratefully, taking a long sip. "So my wife spoke with you, I take it."
"She didn't tell you? I thought she would," he said, a little embarrassed, and took an equally long drink from his glass.
"Oh, she did, just not verbally. She was quite smug," he said with a smirk. "I as good as guessed. She's a mover, my wife."
He chuckled. "That she is. Had I those inclinations, perhaps I'd be jealous of you. As it is, I'm jealous of her."
He smirked, taking another sip of his drink and trying to relax. "You wouldn't be the first. Lucky for the both of us, she's a generous woman."
"Lucky indeed," he agreed, raising his glass a little in toast. His eyes were having difficulty looking at anything but the man in front of him. It had been a long time since he had run across another man, a new man, who shared his predilections.
The way the other man was staring at him was oddly appealing. He stared right back, answering the toast with his own glass and drinking. The man was not handsom e , per say, but there was a rugged charm to him.
He was starting to relax, partly due to the alcohol, but mostly due to the fact that he was becoming more able to forget the specifics of this encounter and just enjoy it for what it was. "You know, I find myself intrigued," he said with a smile. "You're an incredibly powerful man. Surely even with modern... stigmas... being what they are, you could have almost anything you wanted?"
"Under this government? I wish," he said, shrugging lightly. "Should Mussolini get wind of it, it wouldn't be ignored. Not like it might have been, ten years ago. I would be removed from my position at the very least, if not imprisoned. Adolf Hitler is partially to blame for the rigidity in the current administration, but," he sighed, sipping at his martini. "At this very moment, I must bide my time."
He nodded in understanding. "Well. Hitler and your father-in-law aren't here at the moment. I am. So if you had your liberties... What might you do with them?"
He smirked a little. "I would do the same thing I would do now. Pursue you."
He smiled back, walking over to the liquor cart. He poured himself a bit more vodka and returned to his host, loosening his tie. "My kind of game," he retorted with a smirk.
"I'm glad you're of the same mind," Galeazzo said, taking a step closer to him. "Otherwise, this might have been uncomfortable."
He nodded, leaning against a divider and setting his drink aside, reaching up to undo his tie, leaving it hanging around his neck and undoing the top button. He retrieved his drink, taking a sip and watching the other man with a small smirk. There was the feel of the hunt now- letting the other man approach him, reeling him in...
His eyes flickered to the movement at the other man's collar, and then lingered there on exposed skin, at the dip in the center of his clavicles, the hint of muscular definition just beginning... He swallowed, forced himself to meet 'Alexander's' eyes again, and finished off his drink.
He watched the other man, saw the nervousness, but suddenly his was gone. This was hunting. He had hit his stride. "Come here, Galeazzo," he said, his voice soft and deep.
Galeazzo froze for a second, surprised, and then set down his glass, and did as he asked.
He smiled, reaching out and grabbing the man by the collar, pulling him into a kiss.
He got home a little before four in the morning, closing the door behind him quietly and heading for his room.