This is my first fan fiction in five years. I remember beginning to write it, but just never finished it. I believe it's an interesting idea, so I'd like to take a shot at it. Reviews are very much appreciated. Good or bad, constructive criticism, cool ideas, thoughts, opinions, your favorite color, anything. But please let me know if this story seems interesting enough to hold your attention. I've got the whole thing mapped out in my mind, and it's quite a ride. The beginning may be a wee bit slow, but trust me the action kicks in very soon. Thanks for reading.

SUMMARY: There is more than one masked man in Europe, and there is no doubt that their lives would intertwine. Bonaventure Lorenz (Lorenzo) DeMarco died in a fire along with the rest of his family when he was thirteen years old, at least that's what the Italian police reports claimed, but the people of Venice know better than to believe that. Bonaventure Lorenz (Lorenzo) DeMarco is far from dead, by Venetian locals he is known as The Mascherati Morte; The Masked Death. Prisoner to memory and an unquenchable thirst for revenge he is sworn to a life of murder; haunting the canals and alleys of Venice. Secretly he dreams of Paris and fulfilling his passion in music, granting his freedom. All of this becomes a possibility nearly ten years after the fire when he receives a life changing letter from the Paris Opera, inviting him a chance to live a new life through his musical talents. But on the night of his arrival he mistakenly makes his way to the stage during the finale of Don Juan Triumphant and is then hurled into a dark world full of music, passion, forbidden love, and the lives of the most well known people of the Opera. The more Lorenzo surrenders his himself to music the more he changes the lives of those who surround him, and undeniably morphing the infamous love triangle into a square. But how long can Lorenzo manage to keep his past a secret? Things get dangerous when The Phantom of the Opera learns of Lorenzo's talents and decides to use him for the ultimate vengeance, but things get beyond deadly when The Mascherati Morte becomes aware of the Phantom's plan.

CHAPTER ONE: The Beginning of the End

(Lorenzo's POV)

The Venetian moon was set high in the sky tonight, perhaps to shed some light on my crime for someone to see, someone to catch me. I laughed at myself; no one ever has or ever will catch me. Today was a Sunday; no one would be out in the streets or canals with the exception of drunken men settled outside of bars. I made haste to the dock where the gondola I had stolen earlier still waited. I was a bit disappointed; I expected my last crime in Venice to be more of a challenge. I had just stolen the most valuable artifact in all of Italy and there wasn't even a chase to emphasize it. I jumped into the gondola and grabbed the pole and made my way down the canal. As I rowed the gondola all I could think about the argument I had with Vincenzo a couple days ago.

Vincenzo was the only consistent thing in this cursed life of mine and had taken me in like a son. He was the only one who knew of my true identity, and that Bonaventure Lorenz DeMarco wasn't dead but was very much alive. He knew I survived the fire, for it was him who put out the flames on my flesh and tended to my wounds until I had healed. That was nine years ago. When my health had been completely restored I was not the same thirteen year old boy, the devil had raged inside of me, I sought out to destroy my stepfather, Cosentino Guidicelli, along with the rest of his despicable family for everything they've done; the murder of my mother and my sister was a sin I could never forgive or dare forget.

Gorged with hatred, I had fashioned the most unforgiving mask Venice would ever know and took out my adolescent revenge on Cosentino's family. Vincenzo never once spoke against my murderous behavior as the years went by, but now nine years later with my stepfather's family being nearly on the verge of extinction he finally spoke of the Mascherati Morte and asked why the mask continues to reign over Venice if its reason for existing had ceased. I was completely outraged and shocked. He never spoke of Mascherati Morte with me, and I had yelled at him for assuming he knew my life and that he knew nothing of Mascherati Morte. A sick feeling of guilt filled inside of my stomach. Mascherati Morte wouldn't even exist if it wasn't for Vincenzo; if the old man was smart he would've let me die in those flames.

The fight with Vincenzo had bothered me, but what bothered me more was that he was right. Here I was, almost a decade later, stealing because I was bored. I had had always stole as a boy but only for essential things like food or clothes. But now here I was; stealing because I had nothing to challenge me! The thought disgusted me so much. I swore this robbery to be the last unintelligent crime I would commit in Venice.

I finally made port to a small island; it was practically deserted with the exception of a few buildings which all belonged to one man. I grabbed the bag that was nestled in the corner of the gondola and made my way through the overgrown plants and ruins until I had finally reached a dingy looking shack. I knocked once, loud and firm.

"Salvatore." I spat with a cold and deep tone.

"Ahh, Illusione come in come in." he called through the door. Illusione was another name I was called, "Illusion" in Italian.

I opened the door to what appeared to be a rustic antique shop filled with piles of endless looking junk.

"Back here." He hissed. I followed his voice into another room. Salvatore was a man in his early sixties, but looked ten years older his age. He had long gray hair, a hooked nose, and yellowish teeth that gleamed when he grinned.

"Illusione, I hope the Gate of Eldorado isn't an illusion as well."

I reached into the sack and pulled out a crown, this crown was solid gold and encrusted with blood red rubies and sapphires, The Gate of Eldorado.

"Finally." Salvatore's eyes consumed the crown in its entire splendor, he reached for the crown.

"The lira." I pulled the crown away from him. His eyes left the crown and met my own.

"But of course." He muttered. He reached for a bag on a shelf located behind him and held it up in the air.

"Thirty-five thousand lira, as we agreed." He sneered.

"I said forty-five thousand lira." This man was going to try and trick me?

"I beg your pardon?"

"I said forty-five thousand." My patience was running thin.

"Illusione, forty-five thousand is out-"

"No, Signor Salvatore, what is outrageous is that you take me for a fool! What kind of imbecile do you think I am to not know there is only twenty thousand lira in that bag? You so much as dare to deceive Mascherati Morte!" my voice boomed with immense power. Salvatore's expression immediately changed to fear, but then grew dark.

"I shall give the amount you ask. Forgive me Sirena di Morte." He disappeared into another room.

Sirena di Morte, yet another name given to me, it was Italian for "Siren of Death" my vocal chords had the ability to mimic others and master octaves unlike anyone else's. He returned into the room with a briefcase and opened it for my own eyes to see, and surely enough was all the money.

"Forty-five thousand." He muttered, closing the briefcase and handing it to me.

"Well done." I shoved the crown into his feeble hands and began to leave.

"Illusione! I have another request for you if you would so kindly like to be of my services again next week."

I stopped in the doorway.

"I shall try and see if I have time for you." That would be the last thing I ever said to Salvatore, and I made my way out.

After twenty minutes of rowing I was finally at St. Marks Square. It had to be at least three in the morning. I walked through a collection of abandoned alleys. Vincenzo owned a small restaurant and lived on the second floor of the building. After he had saved me from the fire he offered the third floor to me. As much as I hated to accept anything from Vincenzo I did sleep there around three or four nights of the week, otherwise I would find refuge amongst some abandoned building. I had locations known only to me on each of the islands that made up Venice that I used for my benefit, but tonight I decided to go to Vincenzo's.

I reached the restaurant and quietly walked in locking the door behind me. I made my way up the two flights of stairs and into my room. Everything was exactly how I had left it, as usual. I opened the closet door then knelt down and carefully lifted two loose floorboards. I was able to slip the briefcase through the space in the floor and then finally I took off my mask and lowered it into the hole before closing it back up. I didn't realize how tired I was until I stood back up. After I had changed into my night clothes I collapsed on my bed, only to feel something crumble between my torso and the mattress. Confused I reached from under my chest and fished out what appeared to be a letter. Vincenzo must've left it on my bed.

I hardly ever got mail. In the nine years I lived with Vincenzo I had gotten two letters; this one included. The other letter was from a girl from when I was fifteen and she had come to the restaurant almost every day just to see me. I never spoke to her unless it was needed. Oblivious as I was to the fact that she liked me, she had sent me a letter professing her affections towards me. Of course I denied her, who could love a murderer? And how could I love when there was so much going on in my life? But this letter in my hands could only mean one thing. I hurriedly lit a candle to read my letter. It was definitely addressed to me; at least a public name Vincenzo had given me when I had come live with him to keep my identity safe behind. When I read the return address my lungs froze unable to breathe.

Vicomte Raoul DeChangey

Opera Populaire

Paris, France

Lorenzo Trentacosta

95-105 Vincenzo's Cucina

Venice, Italy

Short chapter, but only because I want to know what your thoughts are on the story and if it seems interesting enough to continue. The next chapter is in Christine's POV. And just a heads up for reviewers, please don't butcher me on my grammar, I know it's horrible. I'm not aspiring to be an author or writer of any kind, I just have an overpowering imagination and just need to write it out somehow. So do review and tell me what you think, but I already know my grammar = poop. Thank you!