The phone rings breaking the spell. “We’ve got him.” Alec's dark voice comes through the phone. Everything disappears apart from pure fury.
“I’m on my way.” Most boss’ left their men to do the dirty work, but that isn’t me.
I walk through the main room, turning when I feel my skin burn to see Dante's eyes following me. Instead of crossing the room like I wanted, so used to denying myself everything, I hold his stare for a second before turning to the staircase. Everyone knows where it leads; the pits of hell. Our very own torture chamber. The air is thick and damp. A stale odour soaks the thick bricks, but nothing can hide the dark copper smells. The smell of death. Souls locked forever in this room.
I see Alec, Matteo and Samuel gathered around a man strapped to a chair. Bruises already surrounding his eyes and jaw. I take my tie and jacket off, throwing it on a wooden chair as I roll up my sleeves.
“You dare strike against us?” I snarl baring my teeth. Blood pours from his mouth with nothing but muffled sounds. I frown as Alec scratches the back of his head.
“I cut the bastard’s tongue out.”
I grab Alec by the shirt. “And how the fuck do you think he’s going tell us who sent him now?” I slap his face, the ultimate sign of disrespect. “Get Out! I’ll deal with you later.”
I wanted to prolong his torture, make it last for days, weeks, maybe months. Hold his body in pain for the crimes he committed against my family. Starve him of his human needs, water and food. Turn him insane little by little. Instead, a sickening grin spreads across my lips.
“Lay him down.” The man's eyes widen, fear shining bright. His whole body shaking as sweat pours from his temples. “Matteo, get me a rat.” I don’t take my eyes off the man in front of me as realisation dawns on him. What I’m about to do. It’s an old version of torture, not used much these days. But it is still one of the best. The old ones always are.
Samuel struggles to get him laid down as muffled noise escapes him, blood still pouring from his mouth. Matteo returns, looking paler.
“Boss?” I shake my head, walking deeper in the cellar when I spot the metal bucket and blow torch, other devices we use. I put the blowtorch down beside the bed. Grabbing the rat by the tail, I place it under the bucket. “Rope,” I growl. Matteo passes me the rope, his hands shaking. “If you are not made for this, get out,” I hiss.
Surprised when both stay to help. Tying the rope makes sure it is secure. I take a step back, pushing my hair out of my face, placing on the mask that makes me look calm, my persona as the Don, head of the Russo family.
I click the blowtorch on, its sound filling the silent air. The bright blue flame, lighting up the dim room. “They used to use warm rocks, imagine how long that would last? The pain they must have been in as the rat dug to escape the heat only for it to cool down to start all over again.” My voice sounds dark even to my own ears. The anger I keep buried; I allow to fill my veins. As I place the flame against the metal, it only takes a few minutes for his screams to fill the air, echoing off each wall.
Chapter Seven
X
I walk around the back of the house; this one is the most dangerous. Watching him light a cigar, the puffs of smoke go into the air. I can see he’s distracted by the way he looks off into the distance, not taking in his surroundings, so he doesn’t hear me approaching until it's too late. By the time he’s turned, I’ve stuck the needle into his neck. His mouth opens but nothing comes out as his eyes roll back, and his body becomes dead weight.
I drag him along the ground, against the wall, knowing the guards change over time. A fifteen-minute clear window. By the time I get him to his car, sweat trickles down my back, and my breathing is harsh as I lift him into the boot. Slamming it shut, I don’t waste any time getting out of this place. Seeing the Russo mansion in the rear-view mirror makes my skin crawl. Bringing a fresh wave of anger boiling beneath the surface. My foot goes down heavy on the pedal as I try to fight back the crippling flashbacks.
I pull into the graveyard that Luca, Roberto, and Gianni’s funerals will all be held at tomorrow. The silence and stillness somehow calms the rage within me as I cross the gravel to the family grave. I fall to my knees in front of the marble stone, kissing my fingers before placing them on the coldness. Did they feel cold? Do they have the same gaping hole in their chest as I do from missing them? Will they forgive me my sins for revenging their names? Mama hated the violence of this world. I stoke my fingers over the fresh flowers. I don’t know who places them, but every time I come, they are here. Someone remembers them, hurts that they are gone, misses them.
“I’m nearly done,” I whisper, holding my breath, waiting for a reply even knowing one will never come. My father, mother, sister and little brother all lie here, their lives taken too early. My father was a part of this world; he knew the dangers that hid in the darkness. The evilness of this world. But Mamma, Sienna and Enzo didn't deserve the violent way in which their lives were taken. They were too pure, too good to know that hurt. To feel that sort of pain.
Sometimes I wish I had died
