AllFreeNovel
Share Us
"That is not the name of my son, whore of god!"
Salvatore, Anton noted calmly, flicking his eyes to the feral looking teenage boy.
Salvatore was the name his mother had given him when she stole him away.
It meant savior in his mother tongue.
While he rarely agreed with his father, Anton had to admit that the bastard looked more like a Trigger than a Salvatore.
"Orad por sus almas," the bastard's birth whore continued to weep, writhing in agony, as two of the men finished up with her and shifted aside for two new guards to take their places.
The men took her without mercy.
Anton calculated that to be eighteen men in little more than two hours.
Discomfort pooled in the pit of his stomach, making him feel more than he should.
Swiftly closing off all emotion before pain crashed through him like a tsunami – he concentrated on what the nun was chanting to her child.
"No dejes que tu corazón se llene de odio," she continued to sob over and over. "No me vengues, niño!"
At eighteen, Anton was well read, having received a glorious education with a private tutor, and he managed to roughly translate her words in his mind.
"Pray for their souls," she was wailing. "Do not let your heart be filled with hate. Do not avenge me, child."
"¡Nunca rezaré por ellos!" Shaking his head, her bastard boy pulled on the chains that restrained him to the chair and choked out a heartbreaking snarl. "Mamá!"
I will never pray for them, mama.
The sounds of the boy's cries were heard throughout the compound, surprising Anton. Never in his life had he witnessed a male cry for a woman.
It was surprising.
It was…rare.
"Mostrar misericordia. Por favor," the bastard continued to snarl, cutting his flesh from the force he was using to try to free himself. "Muestra tu misericordia!" he cried out, tears dripping down his tanned and bruised face. "Te lo ruego."
Show mercy.
Please.
Show her mercy.
I beg of you.
When mercy didn’t come, the bastard howled in agony, voice breaking, making him sound like a young child.
For a brief moment, Anton debated what would happen if he fulfilled the bastard's wishes.
What would happen if he pulled out his gun and put an end to her suffering with a bullet to the brain?
It would certainly be an act of mercy.
He never could, of course, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t want to.
Though his heart didn’t beat right, Anton wasn't as heartless as his father, and the bastard's pleas were affecting him.
Distraught, the bastard moved to turn his face away, unable to watch his mother's suffering a second longer, but Tony, his father's right-hand man, held his dirty, tear-streaked face firmly between his beefy hands, forcing the boy to watch.
