Sinners Creed: Child of Prophecy

Prologue

Hey guys I’m new here and I hope you like what you read J this is my first story on Wattpad so yeah! Please comment and vote and tell me what you think :] I want to know what I should continue doing, what I should improve on, and what I should add to my writing to make myself better J so, read, and I hope you enjoy!

Prologue

My name is Valentina Salvatore and I was born in Venice, Italy. My mother died a few weeks after giving birth to me and my father was tortured and murdered on my tenth birthday while I was tied down and forced to watch. I remember acutely that they kept telling my father to tell them the location of the assassino dei peccatori, which means the assassin of sinners. He either refused to tell them or was like me and had no idea what they were talking about.

So they killed him.

After that traumatic experience, I lived with my aunt Bianca and uncle Armando in Rome, Italy. Rome was much different than Venice and I was scared of living with them. I’ve never met them before. They were foreign to me, even though I knew that their blood coursed through my veins. Their house was huge, much larger than mine was, and was very elegant. I remember walking through the doors, clinging to my aunt Bianca’s fine, silken skirts and gazing around. Rich colors filled the house. Gold’s and reds and white colors. The thick, plush carpet was a vibrant shade of crimson and the walls seemed to be made of huge gold panels. They showed me to my room, and even though they said it was a guest room, it was fit for a queen. A huge platform bed lay in the center of the room and the frame seemed to be carved out of oak with delicate patterns laced into the sides. The carpet was a creamy white color and two double glass doors opened onto a balcony that overlooked the city. I walked in and gazed around and spotted a door and opened it, finding a huge closet that could easily fit the belongings of at least three people.

“Do you like it?” I heard the soft voice that was my aunts. I turned to her, nodded, and smiled.

 My aunt and uncle almost immediately began teaching me how to fight. I never asked them why because I was thankful for the distraction so I could keep my mind off my father’s brutal demise.

The first night was the worst. I was put on my back more times then I could count and when I woke up the next morning, I was so sore from the night before that I was bedridden. A week later, I continued with my training. When I turned fifteen, after going through five years of learning to defend myself, they stopped teaching me self-defense and started to teach me to kill. It was then that I questioned.

“Uncle Armando, why must you teach me to kill? Would learning to defend myself not suffice?” I asked politely. I was always polite with my uncle because if he suspected even the slightest bit of rudeness, he would whip me. It was not so with my aunt Bianca. She was too gentle, too soft. She would never hurt me in any way.

“Come, child. It is time that you must know.” He sighed and I followed him curiously from our large training room and down the halls to the den. He sat down the sofa and closed his eyes. I sat on the couch across from him.

“Do you know why your father was killed?” he asked finally. I looked down at the hands in my lap.

“I remember the men who killed him asked him where the assassino dei peccatori, the assassin of sinners.” I said quietly. My uncle nodded and sighed again, then called my aunt to the room. She walked in smiling until she saw my uncles expression, and her smile vanished.

“Is it time to tell her?” she asked quietly.

“Yes, I’m afraid it is, Bianca.” My uncle said.

“While you were living with your father, did he mention any prophecies?” my aunt finally asked. I shook my head.

“Well, long ago the world was full of evil. And hate. And wrath. A priest by the name of Anthony Figoli foresaw a girl with the strength of a lion and more heart and love then several men. This child of prophecy was to take out the evil in the world. An evil that many men have seen, and have not survived to tell the tale. This child of prophecy is you, Valentina.” My uncle said. I stared at him in shock.

“Your mother knew this. She could feel it deep down when she gave birth to you. Do you know why she gave you the name she did? Do you know the meaning of your name?” My aunt asked. I shook my head.

“Valentina means brave one and Salvatore means savior.” My uncle said.

Brave savior.