Chapter 13
“You know this is a once–in–a–blue–moon opportunity,” Javi continues. “Your old man has rules about visiting pubs and clubs. But that’s where all the fun and girls are.”
“So you need a chaperone,” I comment. Someone has to keep an eye on them now that they’ve decided to break my father’s rules.
Despite the seemingly liberal nature of our lifestyle, there were a few rules. One of them is that we don’t visit clubs. There’s nothing worse than getting drunk in a club. Because of the secrecy that rules our existence, you just couldn’t afford to do or say something that could affect the family negatively. A club is a good place to run your mouth senselessly while inebriated, unaware of those around you. Heck, half the time, you could hardly see the face of the person next to you properly.
An easy way to solve this issue is to go to the VIP lounge. Not entirely better, but less people there. Which leads to problem number two, cops were always cracking down on clubs because of illegal activity by smaller gangs. And problem number three: rival families have targeted many a mafioso in pubs.
“Only the most responsible amongst us to watch us.” I hear Javi laugh again.
“I have a little date with someone special. I will join you soon.” I pull my car windows up.
He’s quiet, contemplating. And then I hear the grin in his voice as he realizes.
“Knock yourself out. Heaven knows what the fucker did to grab your attention. And we all know that once you’re hooked, you don’t let go. You’re a fucking pitbull.”
“Everyone likes to annoy me, as you very well know.” I hang up.
***
Bruni Santos does a double take when he sees me inside his living room three minutes later. He has a plastic cup in his hand and his mouth drops with it.
I get off his couch and dust myself.
“Who are you?”
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“Unimportant,” I say.
“What are you doing in my house?” He demands.
“Now that is important.” I give him a smile. Yet he’s afraid. Probably, that is why he is afraid. His danger senses are working quite well.
His gaze goes to the door again, as if demanding an explanation from the lifeless object. “How did you even get in? All the doors are locked- I-”
The slackard is so exhausting. I fucking want to end this torture for both of us.
“Sit,” I say.
When he does not do as he is told, I begin to fit the silencer on my AR–15. His eyes are wide as saucers as he heads for the closest chair and sits down.
I finally face him.
“You hurt something that is mine,” I say very calmly. “And I am very upset.”
“I don’t even know who you are, how could I have-” He trails off as I cock my gun.
I think he now remembers my threat in his office; realizes that that threat was from me.
And now he begins to plead and it grates on my nerves. He fucking touched my property and now he’s pleading. It’s the entitlement he’d shown while he did that that incenses me the most. He fucking hit her. There is nothing in this world that will save him.
“Do you know Nicole Salvatore?” I ask him almost conversationally.
“That slut-” And then he cuts himself off, noting how dark my countenance becomes. “That woman,” he corrects. “Why would you come to her defense? She’s an arrogant and proud low–life.”
“And you touched her,” I add.
“She deserves it,” he says indignantly and I’m pleasantly happy that he knows just how to dig his own grave. “She slapped me.”
“Because you were touching what isn’t yours,” I answer, making my way to him. He shifts
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on the couch, eyes fixed on me like I’m a hypnotic watch or something. When the gun is level with his face, he bolts, heading for the door.
He reaches the door and tries in vain to pull it open. He must think I would have been gracious enough to leave it open after picking the lock… And have someone interrupt this important date? Of course not.
I let out a laugh as Bruni jiggles the door handle desperately.
When he turns at my laughter, he lets out a shrill scream because I am just behind him. I have my gun under his jaw. He shuts his eyes as the tip bites into his sweaty skin.
“If you touch Nicole Salvatore,” I tell him, “then you have touched me. And I don’t like people I don’t permit to get handsy on me. If you hit Nicole Salvatore, then you have hit
- me. That means you want a fight you won’t walk out from the same.”
Bruni swallows.
“And after tonight, if you look in her direction, I will cut you open.”
Bruni’s mouth hangs open like some dead fish. “Are you- are you- going to kill me?”
“Death? So soon?” I ask him. “Will you feel pain when you’re dead?”
“I–ay–ya–ya–ya–l haven’t been dead before.”
I let out a bark of laughter. “Of course you haven’t. When I’m done with you tonight, you
will see God.”
He stomps on my foot and tries to wriggle free and I crash the edge of my palm in the juncture of his neck and shoulder and he crashes to the floor.
Five minutes later, I throw ice cold water in his face. He wakes up and tries to move, but his hands are tied to the top of the posts on his bed. His legs are tied securely together. He tugs at the ropes holding his hands in place. They’re his own ropes.
I pull out my belt, and roll it in my palm and his eyes widen and he shouts something but there is duct tape on his mouth. Still his.
“Remember that for every hit you landed on her, I will multiply it by thirty.”
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Sweat drips down his face and I can see the fear creep into his eyes.
“Now how many times did you hit her?” I ask, heading closer to him.
He’s screaming something now. Too bad I can’t hear it.
“Two? Three?” I guess. I know. But the fear on his face is addictive. And my anger must be
fed.
When the first lash lands on his body, he screams but it’s muffled. The red belt print appears on his body instantly.
“Four? Five? Times thirty… Isn’t that One–fifty…? You know I have time.” I land another
lash.
Another muffled scream.
“After tonight, you will avoid Nicole Salvatore like she’s the fucking Grim Reaper out for your life.”
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