#Spotlight :: Bloody Passion by @LallaGatta

About the Book:

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There’s a hidden treasure inside everyone. Some show it, but only a few can afford it. Sometimes, you only need to know how to manage other’s treasures, even if self-destructive. But in the end, it’s like seeing yourself in a mirror. So how to explain the violence?

Read an Excerpt from Bloody Passion by Laura Tolomei

“Do you think it’s her?” Rory asked softly.
“What?”
He was kneeling, studying each wound closely, inspecting the measures and depth of each cut. “I said, do you think it’s her?” he repeated.
“Who?”
He turned his head to look at me. I was still standing, unable to bend on my knees to take a closer look as he was doing. “The girl we were with last night. What’s her name?” He frowned in search of a name.
“Beryl,” I supplied, dropping on my ankles next to him.
“Right, Beryl.” He looked at her head. The killer had taken his swings at her face, too, slicing thin red lines on her cheekbones, under her eyes, on her chin and forehead. The final effect though, didn’t convince me at all. At a superficial observation, the killing looked like the consequence of a fit of rage, the murderer striking hard, furious and blind. Yet, despite the dried blood covering the marks, the complicated pattern I glimpsed was hardly casual or random, more similar to a premeditated design than to a madman’s strikes. Anger or cold-blooded murder? I wondered. “It doesn’t look like her,” I said, turning to Rory, “at least as far as I can tell.”
The hunter nodded slowly. “Yeah, doesn’t seem to me either, but she looks a lot like Beryl.”
“Most girls her age look almost the same,” I pointed out tartly.
Rory grinned despite the situation. “I forgot you don’t like women, but I thought you could at least distinguish one from the other.”
“I can’t tell the differences,” I scoffed. “Not my fault they all dress alike and try to look as much like each other as possible.”
Rory sighed. “Maybe you’re right,” he agreed at last, turning his scrutiny back to the lifeless body. “Strange, don’t you think, lover, the way these cuts go?”
“What do you mean?”
“Apparently, they seem to be random, sprung out of a furious rage. But if you study them carefully, there is a sort of—“
“Pattern as if someone was copying a picture from his head.”
Rory nodded. “So you see it, too?”

About the Author:

If you really want to know, I was born in 1965 in Rome, Italy, but soon started my travelling career. At the age of five, my parents took me to Lagos, Nigeria, where I grew up free and hot like I've never been since. I loved it there and still think of it with nostalgia. Anyway, it was also where I learned English.

After my American experience, I moved back to Rome, but still kept living from time to time abroad, spending several months in Mumbay India, a country I always felt very close to me in more ways than one. I recently moved Sitges near Barcelona in Spain.

I was ready to tackle the US. I lived in Atlanta, GA, five teen-age years, attending the Crestwood High School, where I started my writing career by publishing a short story Nostalgia on the Crestwood Journal. Very thrilled about discovering my new talent, I went ahead during college, writing for the Emory University journal The Phoenix. Three articles mark my first-and last-steps in journalism, "The peace Corps", "WAMM, Women Against Military Madness," and "Lesbism".

Today, I write both in Italian and English, mostly fiction of various genres, from fantasy erotica, to mysteries up to plain ordinary life stories.

Feel free to look over my current and future projects by visiting my website www.lauratolomei.com.

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