23.1

He walks slowly around me, taking his time, studying every inch of my exposed skin. It makes my skin break out in goosebumps that resemble hives. The feral movements of lips, churning my insides.

“The first answer I’ll give you is that your family was meant to be arrested after the wedding ceremony when you were officially a Romano. You see, I had plans to take the New York territory and expand my horizons. But the inept police department fucked this up. That’s okay, I will take it over once you disappear.” He smiles at me, the evil glint in his eyes serving as a reminder of the monster he truly is.

My gut coils at his words. How the fuck did it all come to this? Why is he doing this to my family? Fuck, I hope someone caught my babies and they didn’t get hit by a car on the busy streets. I’d never fucking forgive myself. His depraved voice startles me from my thoughts.

“Answer number two is, that above all of us Mafia families, there is a little society aptly named La Fratellanza. They’re ruthless fuckers, and you see, my sweet child, they take payment in the form of the lives of female born daughters. They allow the heads of the family to then carry on their business as they please.” He watches me as his sick words sink in. “Every favor earns a consequence. My daughter was sacrificed, as was my sister, and so on, and so forth.” He says this without an ounce of emotion like he’s devoid of humanity.

Staring at him in disgust, my mind reels with this new information. What kind of fucked up organization murders women as payment for their permission to live their lives?

“And my last answer to your non-spoken questions is that your dearest mother sacrificed herself to spare you.” His lips twist into a wry smile.

I nearly faint at his revelation; my mind is in a dizzying confused state. Is he for fucking real? I scream as I try to loosen the ties holding me captive, I thrash against them with all the strength I have, barely loosening them. It’s pointless. I’m fucking stuck here with this fucking vile piece of shit and I can’t do anything about it.

“I’m going to fucking kill you!” I snarl through my gag.

Ignoring me, Tommaso stalks to the closed door and lets in one of his accomplices. I recognize him from my fake engagement party and wonder if Giovanni is in on this too?

This well-dressed man walks straight for me, his face shows no emotion, and he deliberately doesn’t make eye contact. In his grubby fucking hands are duct tape and a switchblade

I stiffen, waiting for whatever this asshole has in store for me, my anger erupting seconds later and I scream from irritation. Both fuckers completely ignore me.

The accomplice proceeds to cut a piece of the duct tape, and I watch his movements carefully, wondering what the hell he’s going to do with it seeing as I’m already gagged and tied up. In one swift motion, he grips my head in his bony fingers, pulling my eyelid painfully up, and presses the duct tape to it, taping my eye wide open.

I jerk out of his touch and my free eye blinks rapidly, as I try to move my taped eye, but it’s hopeless and aggravation settles in my gut. I have a feeling this is only the beginning of my torture, and by the time they’re finished with me, I’ll welcome death with open arms.

His hand moves toward me again and I thrash side to side, the pain in my neck excruciating with my jerky movements. His fist connects with my temple and a flash of light sparks across my eyes, momentarily blinding me. My head drops forward, and as much as I try to move it, my brain doesn’t connect with my thoughts.

His slimy hand pushes at me so my face is upwards, staring at the ceiling. My taped eye stings like a bitch, the dryness feeling like acid is eating away at my eyeball. The fucker tapes my other eye open and stalks behind me, holding my head forward in place in his firm grip.

“Showtime.” Tommaso claps like he’s lost his mind, acting like a deranged asylum escapee. He presses a button on what looks like a projector and the white screen lights up with an image. An image I am all too aware of. It’s this room.

I choke out in agony as my eyes adjust, and I see my mom laying on a filthy mattress, her beaten and swollen face staring at the camera. Her clothes are torn and her body is covered in dried blood.

“Stop!” I scream, the hollow echo vibrating through my pounding head. “Fucking stop!” I try to close my eyes as the tears pour freely over my cheeks in rivers of agony. My saliva drips down my chin, the gag already soaked through, unable to absorb any more moisture.

“See what a mother’s love means?” Tommaso tilts his head at the screen, watching his showpiece like it’s a blockbuster movie.

I try to look away but my eyes are glued to my mom, laying there motionless and battered. A movement on the screen makes me flinch and it’s like I’m seeing double, the same man here in real life and stalking toward my mom. I jerk in the chair, shrieking in agony as Tommaso kicks my mom in the stomach over and over again before he hauls her limp body off the mattress by her matted hair, gripping her throat.

“No,” I growl, as waves of nausea wrack my insides.

I struggle against my constraints, as his firm fingers dig into my scalp and hold me still, so I can’t look away from the screen.

The monster on screen drops my mom onto the concrete floor, her body moves the slightest, and I realize she’s still alive. He looms over her with a hunting knife held firm in his fist and smiles at the camera before he kneels beside her and proceeds to disembowel her.

Choking as vomit pours out of my mouth, I cough as the chunks get stuck in the gag, making me swallow some of the foul vomit. My tears have dried up and my eyeballs are on fire as acid burns my throat. But the bastard behind me holds my head firm.

In a flurry of movement, two men storm the room, one taking down Tommaso and the other racing toward me. The monster behind me is shot dead and his hands fall from my head, allowing me to turn away from the footage.

“Fuck me, baby girl,” Leonardo’s voice fills my head in a sweet melody, pressing against the dark images invading it. He kneels in front of me and grips my shoulder. “I’m here now. I’m fucking here,” he chokes, as he takes in all of me, from my bloodshot eyes to the vomit stains down my front.

Wincing as he pulls the duct tape stuck in my hair, both my eyes close involuntarily, the sandpaper feeling not easing no matter how much I blink. Leonardo stands and as he unties the gag, chunks of vomit continue to pour from my mouth and I hunch over trying not to get any more on me. I feel the ties on my wrists loosen and when they’re finally free, I slump forward, my breasts pressed against my vomit-covered thighs.

A low strangled moan piques my attention and I spot Giovanni restraining his father, tying his wrists behind his back. Confusion overshadows my relief as I watch Giovanni wedge a knee into his father’s back. Giovanni’s eyes catch mine and his face is etched in fury.

Leonardo’s strong arms grip me and he hauls me into him, holding me against his chest. “Are you okay?” he whispers into my neck.

My arms wrap around him, their feeling and strength returning slowly in pins and needles, which feel like fire ants eating away at my flesh. “I’m okay,” I sob and step back from him.

His gaze rakes over me, not convinced with my answer.

“Can I borrow your gun?” I hold out my hand.

Leonardo doesn’t say a word, he hands his gun over to me and watches in curiosity as I stalk my way to Giovanni and his father. Giovanni’s gaze follows me the whole way, never wavering, his apology flashing across his features like a neon beacon.

“Fuck, Valentina, I had no idea.” He struggles to hold his father still while the old mobster whines and shrieks under his weight.

“If you can’t watch this, I suggest you leave the room,” my voice comes out dead. I glance at the fucker pressed into the floor and grip the gun in my hand.

“I’m not leaving.” Giovanni’s eyes flit to Leonardo as he approaches.

I squat down and get up close and personal, ensuring Tommaso can see my face. I spit leftover chunks of vomit at his face. He flinches but says nothing. “Say your prayers, fucker.” I smash the handle of the gun into his cheekbone, gaining a low grunt from him.

Giovanni moves off his father as I stand back up and work out what I’m going to do to This filthy fucker. I had so many plans on how I was going to torture the bastard who murdered my mom. But here I am, ready to lay my wrath on him, and I hesitate.

My mind is blinded by the images of my mom, and my heart is shattered. I’m so fucking exhausted that I can barely move. I think the shock of the video has hit me as I can feel my hand shaking around the gun. I’m not sure who stopped the footage, but the projector lays on its side, smashed to pieces.

“Pull his pants down.” I tighten my grip on the gun.

Giovanni slices his eyes to mine, unsure of where I’m going with this.

“Hey, man, if you need to leave.” Leonardo’s voice cuts through the tension.

Giovanni doesn’t say a word, he rips his father’s pants down until they’re at his knees, and steps back. Tommaso thrashes on the ground, crying his apology in spluttered words.

I turn to Leonardo. “Restrain him.”

Without hesitating, Leonardo squats, his hand firmly yanking Tommaso’s bound wrists upward at an odd angle. Tommaso lets out a shriek of pain and stills.

I crouch down and shove the gun against his ass. “Ready, butt fucker?” I grin like a fucking psycho, as I shove the barrel of the gun into his asshole with extra force.

The only noise that can be heard is Tommaso’s erratic breathing. Giovanni and Leonardo have stilled, waiting for me. Angling the gun downward, I press the trigger, and the bullet slices through his internal organs and exits out his neck. The mess is spectacular, both Leonardo and I are covered in blood as Tommaso writhes in agony for the very last time, finally laying lifeless without a sound.