Emancipation Proclamation - ...

Emancipation Proclamation - outtakes(1), ! do poczytania, ! FF

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Autorka - kharizzmatik
Link do oryginału:
http://kharizzmatik-ep.blogspot.com/
Tłumaczenie: Moniq
Link do tłumaczenia:
http://chomikuj.pl/moniq25/
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Table of contents
I - Blood, Sweat, & Tears
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II - Nonsense
35
III - Expressions of Love
59
IV - The Beginning and the end
96
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Blood, Sweat, & Tears
“It took a lot of blood, sweat and tears to get to where we are today, but
we have just begun. Today we begin in earnest the work of making sure
that the world we leave our children is just a little bit better than the one
we inhabit today.” -- President Barack Obama
Dr. Carlisle Cullen Consigliere POV
I slowed the car as I neared the tall brick house, swinging a sharp right into the
driveway. I parked my 2006 Bentley Continental behind the bright red Mercedes
convertible, putting the car in park and shutting the engine off. I opened the
driver’s side door and stepped out, shutting and locking it. The neighborhood
was decent, thankfully not too much crime in this area of town. I wasn’t worried
about any of the locals messing with the vehicle, as they’d have to be foolish to
even step foot onto the property uninvited, and they’d truly have to have a death
wish to ever lay a finger on anything. Everyone around here was well aware
that the Borgata controlled these streets and had for decades, just as they were
all well aware that the brick house in front of me and the woman who lived inside
of it were off limits.
No, I wasn’t worried about the people in the neighborhood at all. They knew
exactly who I was, they knew my position of authority and the power I held, and
they respected me for it. Most of them probably didn’t like me, but frankly I
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didn’t give a shit about their personal feelings toward me. I didn’t like half of
them as it was. But each and every one of them did fear me, not a single one
would ever cross me, and that was all that truly mattered. As long as they kept
their distance and shut their fucking mouths, we had no problems.
No, none of the locals would ever dare step a foot out of line. The younger
generation may teeter on the boundaries and push a little to see how much they
can get away with, but they still respected my power. When they caught me
watching or when I spoke up, they retreated back to their side. They heard the
stories from their elders, they knew exactly what we were capable of, and it was
because of those stories that we were able to retain so much control without
having to resort to violence often. We would though, if it came down to it. We
wouldn’t hesitate to send them a message using any means necessary, but they
knew that too, which was why it wasn’t often required. They didn’t doubt us at
all.
Like I said, however, it wasn’t the locals that worried me. It was the outsiders;
the ones who invaded our territory and dared touched what didn’t belong to them
that got under my skin. They were Russians, most in the country illegally and
none of them with a respectful bone in their body. The police referred to them as
‘organized crime’ but there was absolutely nothing organized about them. They
had no true hierarchy of power, no system in place to keep people in line. Some
of them were petty criminals, just common thieves that would rob your house
and steal your car, but there were others, like the brothers Vladimir and Stefan,
that were much more dangerous. They were the savages that would bypass your
car and money to burn your house down and violate your woman just for the hell
of it. They feared nothing and no one, had absolutely no respect for our power or
position in this town, and that made them the enemy. They invaded our area
and took what belonged to us, and because of that their days were numbered. If
any one of them stepped foot onto this property or even breathed in the direction
of the Bentley, they’d have a bullet between the eyes before they even knew
what was happening. Before they could even utter a single word or attempt to
beg for their life, they’d be dead.
Because the moment I exit that airplane and step foot into Chicago, I’m not Dr.
C, or Dad, or even Dr. Cullen anymore. I’m none of those things that the people
in Forks, WA call me. I have no compassion, no sympathy, no empathy or
remorse. I barely feel anything at all, in fact, and it’s unfortunate, but it’s the
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only way I’ve found to survive the life I live. I shut my emotions off the moment
the plane lands, and the longer I spend in Chicago the colder I grow. I feel
empty in this town, heartless and alone and often have a hard time remembering
why I even do anything I do. No, I’m not Dr. Cullen when I’m in Chicago. I heal
no one; I care for no one here.
I’m Carlisle Cullen, Consigliere to the Chicago Outfit. I’m a murderer; the person
your parents warned you about. I check my emotions at the door and run purely
on instinct, the most primal need—the need to survive. It’s a ‘kill or be killed’
world I live in and I have no true desire to die right now. I have too much left to
do, too many people relying on me. I won’t hesitate to draw my gun if you
threaten me in any way, and I guarantee if I pull the trigger I won’t miss.
I was one of the most dangerous men in the country and the fact that I was
numb inside only deepened the threat. It was harsh, but even the woman inside
the brick house that stood a few feet away from me was dispensable. I wouldn’t
die for her, I wouldn’t kill for her, I barely gave her a second thought most of the
time and she knew that. She wasn’t stupid enough to believe I’d ever truly care
for her, much less that I’d ever love her. I’ve only ever loved one woman, and
only ever would love one woman. She was the only thing in Chicago that made
me come back alive, the only thing in this revolting part of the country that could
turn my emotions back on. The moment I stepped through the gates of Hillside
Cemetery, my heart awoke again. It was depressing and probably slightly
morbid that the only person that made me feel alive was dead, that the only time
I felt an ounce of anything when I was here, was when I stood in front of her
grave.
I sighed and glanced down at my watch. 8:59 pm. It was the beginning of
summer, a warm but breezy night here in Chicago. Elizabeth always loved the
weather, always enjoyed the days where she could open up all of the windows in
the house, letting the gentle breeze blowing through. She tolerated the heat so
well but I despised it, preferred to have the air conditioning blasting year round.
I used to complain about it constantly, yell at her for how hot she let the house
get some days. I’d walk inside and start sweating, the mugginess ruining my
mood. I was so temperamental back then, always edgy and she endured my
attitude so well. She was so understanding and loving, and I treated her so
wrong sometimes.
Del senno di poi son piene le fosse
. Hindsight is always 20/20.
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