Prologue: The making of a Demon
Scarlett was just a mere four years old playing with her Barbie’s at her father’s feet under his big wooden desk, popping the heads off was fun for her. It made her father smile in joy at his daughter, whose strawberry blonde hair was in braids that he done for her this morning. She had her mother’s hair, but her father’s eyes which were almost black. Sighing he looked back up at the man who stood on the other side of the desk before him all seriousness was back on his stern face. Angelo Sergiaino was always serious about his family and the business, this week’s shipment of ammo and guns was seized by the cops. Fucking pigs didn’t know how to stay in pens, though they’ve always been on his back since he found his beloved wife dead.
Amelia was the light of his life and apart of him died along with her. It was after he had come back from a business dinner with Donatello from the north, only to find her corpse hanging from the ceiling fan in their room. Her skin was a pale ghastly white and her tongue hanging out of her mouth was a horrid purple color. He hated the color purple because of that day. His Amelia was dead, all he had left of her was pictures, memories, and their sweet angel Scarlett whose hair was once blonde was starting to turn into a red. Coming back to reality the man that stood once before him started to yell at him in profanities.
“You’re wife was nothing, but an American slut you picked up off the streets!” The man had yelled from across the desk spittle flying from his mouth.
That was more than enough to put him in the mood for murder this sorry sack of merda. Amelia was an Irish American, and she was a damn fucking angel too, selling flowers and giving away the left overs from her cart to those in the par. Right when he was about to shoot the man with what he thought was his gun that was hidden under his desk, instead he had grabbed one of Scarlett’s Barbie’s that didn’t have a head on it. She must have moved the gun out of the holster.
Scarlett his sweet little girl had his pistol in her tiny hands she had yelped as she almost felled from the recoil of the gun surprising her, but that isn’t what surprised her father no it was where she shot the man at that surprised him. She shot him in the balls! Covering his own manhood as he stood it was a place that no man would ever think anyone would shoot there. The man was curled up in the fetal position holding what was left of his crotch screaming. She crawled out from under the desk holding the gun still in her tiny hands, she walked up to him pulling the hammer of the pistol making a dangerous and menacing clicking sound as she cocked it.
Putting the gun’s barrel to the man’s temple he looked up at her terror plain she see on his face, her black eyes look down at the man completely emotionless. Her father looked at her watching her in horror and proud as his almost black eyes have the emotion that he had never had or felt. Fear. He was fearful not for a sweet little girl that he thought was sweet, no he was scared of his own child. Never had he thought that his own child will pull out a gun and shoot a man put at four that is what she done before his eyes.
“Bye-bye.” Was all that his four year old daughter said before pulling the trigger with both index fingers and the gun’s recoil almost made her fall backwards again, it was still so shocking to him.
Blood spattered on her face and her clothing along with the wall of his office she slowly turn towards her father.
“Papa can we get ice cream now?” she asked smiling brightly with one of her adorable smiles, but in the future that smile would bring blood and fear. It made his blood run cold as he looked down at his daughter a smile wondered its way to his lips.
“Of course sweetheart. But first you need a bubble bath,” he told her as he laid a hand on her head.
"Yay!" she laughed giggling running out the office. He let a heavy sigh with a smile following after her as she ran.