Cyrilo gave a bitter chuckle. “He was always so tightly-wound, but like me, he took real pride in his work. I remember he once said that whatever yo... do, you should make it an art. I admired that about him. His brothel was more than simply a way to make money; it was a way to be creative. The girls, the decorations, and the food were all to create his masterpiece. Unfortunately, his perfectionism made him a pain to work for. The dancer he mentioned told me he would pinch the girls whenever they. "Five and six, your breasts. Seven and eight are your wrists." He pointed the knife at each wrist, and then brought it back around and used the tip to lift up the bottom of her shirt. She let out a wail of terror as he traced the tip around her belly button."Number nine will be your stomach," he continued. "And ten..." he took the knife and mimed slitting his own throat. She looked on in terror as he did so. "You can scream. You can scream and yell as loud as you want. In fact, I want you to. More

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