American Bad Blood: City of the Dead

Purgatory

Greed.

One of the seven deadly sins known to man. One of the most powerful if you ask me.

It can create empires from the ground up, perhaps even from ashes.

However, it can also destroy.

I've seen greed do both in my life time-well, in my shared lifetime. I've seen greed make mortal men do horrid things to one another. I've seen it influence the most powerful in the city of Dallas, hell, if not, the world. Greed bled into my family. It became a staple in my world.

In case you haven't noticed, I'm a free pajarito now. No longer will I have to hide behind Little Miss Perfect's face. Well, metaphorically that is. Little Miss Perfect being Celena Lincoln. Dios, with her angelic ways of being even in a sin tainted world. Por favor, wake up, mujer. Open your eyes and see the truth. The truth being Death always wins at the end of the day.

But in this moment, standing across from Alejandro, it wasn't a great time being me.

Why? Why, after a heated love making session with my husband, did he have to show up?

Let's refresh, nosotros deberiamos?

I was tossed to the side from Matteo, who I still haven't collected unfortunately, both Mi Hermano and I. Alone, hurt and full of vengeful anger, Hermano and I felt like everything we had done for that culo was done in vain. Mi Hermano, Valiente, killed for him, stole for him, protected him from the eyes of the law-all for what?

I collected for that bastard-some who didn't even deserve to be in the first place. Granted, I wasn't the one ending their lives, but I was still the omen signaling it. Ending people's lives was and is Oti's job.

Mi Rey. Of course, back then he wasn't the love of my life. He was created shortly after Val and I got the boot. He was my replacement, and every moment he made sure to remind me about that.

That's where Mi Quierdo came in. Mi jinete blanco.

I never should have shared the deepest, most vulnerable side of me with him. Every God damn day I'm haunted of those intimate moments we had. We never made love, but it seems like we did every time we stared into each other's eyes. That one kiss we shared was enough to calm the camp fire flames in my sacred heart.

Now those all too familiar camp fire flames are dancing again after being put out for so long, shadowed by the wild fire flames I had for Oti.

"Muerte." Alejandro whispers breathlessly. Both him and his brother, Milo, have already grown used to Hermano and I's split personalities. They both can easily tell when it's Celena and Tomas talking versus Valiente and La Muerte.

"Quie-I mean, Alejandro...A-Alex, que...que estas haciendo aqui?" I stammer, still in shock to see him here, in Paris, at the hotel, while I'm on my God damn honeymoon.

Alejandro blinks at me, a flood of realization washing over me when I notice his blood shot red eyes and wavering stance. Dios Santo, el esta borracho.

"You're not Celena right now." Alejandro replies, taking notice I called him Alex, Celena's way of addressing him. "Y-you're her. The lovely Death herself."

I cling onto the gold glided door knob tightly, my knuckles turning chalky white. "Alejandro, por favor. You shouldn't be here. Why are you here first of all? Didn't Val tell you I was on my honeymoon?"