LORENZO

"Where's the girl?" My voice is cold and sharp.

I have attended plenty of galas to recognize the faces of the old and new. By their eyes, their mouths, the slight wrinkles on their skin, and even by the tips of their fingers.

I could spot a man I've encountered whether it had been within a decade or one simple conversation.

The mask had no effect because I was still able to see right through them. That's what I wanted. She though, completely out of the ordinary.

When I don't receive an answer I look away from the man below me, "idiota, lasciala andare?"

My brother, Sergio is handing out demands to our men to begin collecting the bodies. A cigar already lit in his hand.

"I don't recall a girl."

My dentist has mentioned to stop grinding my teeth but the task is nearly impossible when I have a man like my brother around.

I pinch the bridge of my nose before inhaling a deep breath. I turn and point at the body across from him.

"The woman that killed him." I face him and watch the wheels in his brain begin to function. When I receive no response I call his name, "Sergio."

Bringing the cigar to his lips he takes a long hit and as he exhales the bulb in his head lights up.

"Oh, she left," he rubs his chin. "Though, I'm unsure which exit she took."

Being my brother truly comes in his favor. I'm not a man who enjoys going on killing sprees, especially with the lives of the innocent.

Sergio isn't innocent in the least but he has one thing in common with the average person. Stupidity. A trait I cannot stand. He would be my first pick to kill if he hadn't gotten the privilege of sharing my blood.

"I figured." I give him a tight smile. "Get out of my view and occupy yourself with something beneficial."

I motion my hand to a handful of my men and guide them to check every exit. And I tell another to contact the guards at the gate for any recognition of the woman.

Once that was settled, I returned to my task and bent down to stare at the man below me. Lifting his bloody shirt, I stare at the detailed snake that is formed as a letter V.

"Son of a bitch."

I'm unsure of how long I must've been analyzing his body because Mauricio is next to me. He places two fingers on the man's neck to check his pulse.

"Dead, but you could never be too sure."

"Take him to the cell."

I rise and take one last look at my surroundings before I leave the ballroom.

♥          ♥          ♥

I'm down a hall and my hand is on a panel a few inches away from the elevator doors. A light scans my palm before lighting green and opening my passage.

I am in and out of the elevator. I take a few left and right down the hall to reach the cellar. I had it specifically designed as a maze solely for my entertainment.

Besides the passageway, my playpen is quite bland compared to my rivals. The walls are made of cement, the windows are bulletproof glass, and the lights constantly flicker.

It temporarily gives me migraines whenever I visit. The people trapped within these walls are the ones who suffer from it regularly. They deserve nothing and it pleases me to take them away from their lavish lifestyles.

I couldn't write you a list of who I may have down here. But, they all do share the similarities of starting shit to fuck up my business.

The room is so quiet that the sounds of my heels are potent. I'm incredibly thrilled when I see the pure misery displayed on my prisoner's faces when I make my appearance.

I could feel my heart rate increase rapidly and the rigid pulse reach my ears. I couldn't help the slight grin.

I wouldn't necessarily claim myself as a sociopath but just the delight of tonight made my skin warm. On second thought...

A guard stands at each of the cells, they nod in my regard before I take an abrupt stop at one of the many dozens of doors.

Cell no. 375

I bring a single hand up to dismiss my guard. He steps aside and I enter. The room is as miserable as the outside.

A simple table in the corner with a display of tools. A low-hung lamp lights over a steel chair in the middle with a front-row view of the man who has been drilled into the wall by his hands and feet.

He is spread out like a starfish. His head hangs low and below, are stains of dried crimson trailing from previous captives. The smell consumed of natural minerals and metallic. Overall, the place was a shit-hole.

The man who is heavily bruised with cuts spilling blood gapes at me through swollen eyes when I catch his attention. I ignore him, my steps inching towards the table.

I allow my fingertips to graze over the hammer, a dull knife, and the pliers. So many options. Just a few of the many tools that I favor to help me with these task.

I could hear the low grunts, his heavy breathing, and the thoughts swimming in his mind. He was beaten and helpless in a secluded room. No one can track him and with the chance that they can it will be too late.

We both know how this would end. If he had the slightest hint of intelligence he would know to oblige or his final moments would be hellish.

Picking up the knife, letting my forefinger swipe against the dull tip I turn and smile when he glares at me.

I'm silent and stalk him as my prey. "You're no soldier, only a coward."

The Viperes Don, Francisco Esposito seems to spiraling into a crisis. A man who once based every attack on technique and thorough planning has become sloppy. Truly, a disgrace to this type of business.

"Fuck you."

I take a deep breath, inhaling his fear. I tilt my head, "Now, that's no way to speak to me." I give a lopsided smile.

I trail the dull object down his chest, his body shatters beneath the touch. His body language is the opposite of his words and I stop just above his navel.

Flesh tearing and blood spilling down his abdomen as I stab the tool into him. He grunts and cries when he moves his limbs at my harsh puncture.

My expression is neutral. The first time I got blood that wasn't mine on my hands it had kept me up for days. But, after so many torture and killings I began to realize, it was either me or them. And I chose myself every fucking time.

Only, my anger was different this time. It wasn't my life that was over his but my young Amelia's. The young girl that they had gone after.

I knew Francisco would stoop low but the bar was in hell to attempt to kidnap and possibly kill a child. That was my anger. This torture is solely revenge on her part.

"Tell me, did you believe that taking that young girl to use against me would have me surrender?" I knew the damn plan. Francisco has become quite fucking predictable lately.

"Eravamo vicini la prima volta." He beams with amusement.

I bite down on my jaw and nod my head. Let's do something with that smile. Leaving the knife in him, I trail back to the table before returning with a pair of pliers.

"This can all be so easy."

I push his weak head against the cement wall. I pry his mouth open and he makes an effort to resist me with the last bit of energy he has. I use force and clamp onto his canine with the pliers before twisting and pulling.

My vision is covered with his blood and my ears are filled with his high-pitched cry and the blood gurgling in his mouth.

His words come out scrambled, "Please!"

Already begging? Francisco men have become bitches over the years. I can't help but laugh at his face.

"The shock your family will be in," I look down at my watch, "about thirty minutes and you won't be able to do a damn thing."

So what if I used his family against him? It was a sensitive spot for many people. My skeptical techniques of forcing the truth out weren't always so promising.

His eyes go wide, his green irises become a reflection when tears begin to form.  "I—please. I'll speak. Don't do shit to them." He pleads pathetically.

I'm unsure why but I couldn't bear staring at him as he shivered with a horrid expression. So I take the time to sit on the metal chair and nod for him explain.

"Francisco will not stop until your mafia is burned to the ground," he states. "If you ever thought that taking her was the only damage, it was just the beginning."

He says the last sentence with a thrill. My fingers reach to unbottom my dress shirt to keep calm until he finishes his explanation.

He will pay for the disrespectful tone he used to say "her" even after he is dead.

♥ ♥ ♥

I'm breathing heavily when I'm done. My naked upper half glistens with sweat and blood. The liquids merge and run down my tan skin.

I run my hands through my hair and sigh as I bend and place the square tattooed flesh that I sliced off his body into a thin box.

"Clean this," I say to the guard. "I have a delivery."

♥ ♥ ♥

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