“Can I have a change of clothes? I pissed myself,” I say, embarrassed.
“There is a bucket in the far corner for you to pee in.” She points to it, before disappearing to the darkness, she trails back with a pair of sweatpants and clean cotton panties. I grab the bucket and set it next to the bed.
Right before she leaves, I offer her a thanks, then the lights go off and I’m stuck in the darkness again. I drag my knees to my chin, cry silent tears. Hoping and praying Devious will make up his mind on what he wants to do with me.
Regret buries in my chest as I think about how I treated freedom and how I thought by living with Papa I didn’t have freedom. I never thought my life couldn’t get any worse until now. Then my mind travels to Tommy and how he died because of me. My brain is scattered as I think about the fond memories we had in high school. I didn’t realize before, but Tommy was into me and he did ask me to hang out a few times and I turned him down. In high school, he was a jock and popular. And I wasn’t, but I hung out with everyone. Even though I was socially awkward it didn’t stop other kids from wanting to hang out with me. I went to a private school with other kids whose parents were rich, and Tommy wasn’t loaded like our famiglia. He used to drive a pickup truck and often told me he wished his parents were rich. I was privileged. He had an autistic brother who he had helped his mother take of and his father owned a small bookstore. He asked me out to go to prom and of course I did. It was a major milestone for me, and I had to beg Papa to let me go. I already knew how my life was going to turn out and I knew the kids I went to school with had a lot more freedom and choices than I had. When Tommy picked me up for prom in his pickup truck, Papa stared at him in disgust and told me not to get attached because I will not be marrying trash. I didn’t care, I wanted to get away and I had no feelings for him. After prom, he wanted to have sex and I declined. God, I was stupid to decline him because he was a good man, and he would have treated me well. But Papa would have killed him. I shake my head at the fond memories and his blood will be on my hand for the rest of my life.
“Tommy, I’m sorry,” I say, as tears stream down my face.
Devious
I need to nip this new obsession with Roselyn in the bud. She’s all I think about and I don’t like it. It’s was the only reason I didn’t kill her. If word got out I spared her life the men in my mafia will say I’m weak and try to kill me.
Even though she’s a spitting image of Shelby she’s nothing like her. Shelby was into fashion and the finer things in life. She wanted to be a chef, so I bought her a restaurant, but I had the business closed after she died. Roselyn doesn’t care about expensive things. She’s into art and has a sassy mouth. Shelby didn’t, she was meek and humble.
Breaking Roselyn will be fun. My dick gets hard from thinking about hurting her. If I’m being honest, I don’t know if I’m going to keep her as my pet or kill her. She surprises me with her stupidity. I would have stopped by the first level of the dungeon and watch her squirm under my stares, but I had to take care of business. Aiden kidnapped one of Cashel’s hitman from his home and dragged him to the second level of my dungeon. I push the glass door open and Aiden beats the hit man in the face with brass knuckles.
Blood flies, splattering his shirt. The hitman’s hands are tied to the arm of the chair, and a sock is stuffed in his mouth. The smell of blood and urine suffocates the air. Normally, I leave the torturing to the underbosses, but I like getting my hands dirty. I hold my hand up to stop Aiden, and he takes a step back. A wicked grin displays on his face. My brother is far worse than I am. He’s got real blood lust. He has a uncontrollable desire to shed blood. Me, I’m bloodthirsty. I like to shed blood. It’s how we both earned our street names. We killed so many people and shed so much blood, my mafia runs the city. Everyone knows not to fuck with us.
“The bastard won’t talk.” Aiden wipes his bloodied hands on his white shirt as the hitman scowls at him. He grabs the hitman by the cheeks. “Look at his face. A face of honor and bravery,” he says sarcastically, tapping his right cheek with the back of his hand.
As I stare at the trash, I wrinkle my lips, balling up my fist. His left eye is purple and swollen shut while his lips are bloody and bruised. Dried up blood clings to the top of his forehead.
I grab a chair from the other cell, sit in front of him, and I take the sock from his mouth. He tries to spit at me, but I move out of the way.
I lean forward, with my elbows on my knees. “Where is Cashel?”
Cashel and I used to be close friends, a few of our business intertwined with each other until he fucked my fiancée. He was fucking her for five years behind my back.
The hitman breathes choppy, and I can smell copper on his breath.
How am I going to
