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I make my way through the door, holding the jar and gun tightly. I head down the large hallway to his fucking study, where he does all of his ordering around. He sits in his fucking chair and directs the dirty work to everyone else, but out of all of us, his hands are the dirtiest, just in a different way.
I push open his study door with my free hand and walk inside. My Padre sits at his desk, leaning back in his chair while he stares out the full-length window into the garden my Madre loved. She loved it so fucking much. I remember helping her plant all the flowers and trees. She called it her escape, and now it has all died because no one has kept up with it. I tried the first year she was gone, but it was too fucking painful to work in the garden without her.
“Figlio,” he says darkly. He continues looking out the window. Does he miss her at all? Probably not; he isn’t that type of man. He doesn’t feel anything for her after what he has done to her. How could he? After what he put her through for fucking years.
“Padre,”I reply as calmly as I can. My goal by coming here is to get answers, and for once in his fucking life, he will tell me the fucking truth, one way or another.
“Where is she?” I ask softly.
“Who, Figlio?” He asks, looking from the window to me. He leans all the way back in his chair, staring me down.
“Madre,”I reply through gritted teeth. This man makes me see red faster than any other person ever has, him and his fucking games.
“Figliolo sai che se n’è andata.”He says in a calm, chilling voice.
I tighten my grip on my gun as I rush forward, stop directly in front of him, and press the barrel of the gun to his forehead. My heart is beating out of my chest as he looks me in my eyes, his breathing calm and steady, way too fucking calm.
“Per favore,”I beg him, with my tone, with my eyes. He knows how hard I have searched for her, and even though he hasn’t said it, he fucking knows where she is. He has to fucking know.
“She is dead, Figlio,” he replies without a blink of an eye.
My heart drops into my stomach, and my knees go weak. This whole fucking time, he fucking knew, he lied, he fucking lied when he said she was just taken because of who we are. Why the fuck did I believe him at all? I’m so fucking stupid for thinking that a man could trust his fucking father. In our world, trust doesn’t come easily, and it is even fucking harder to keep it. He taught me that. He taught me fucking everything.
My hand is steady as the gun remains against his forehead. “Which house, Padre?”I ask. I will fucking kill them. I will fucking kill all of them.
“It doesn’t matter, Figlio,” he reassures. Of course, it fucking matters.
“It matters to me,” I growl, my voice shaky and unstable.
“It is in the past, and it is time you move on,” he snaps, looking me right in the eyes. He is the reason I am a monster, and he is the reason I am who I am. He is the reason I feel nothing.
“You are no longer in control. I am il fottuto re,”I whisper.
I pull the trigger, and his blood splatters across my face, arms, and hand. He falls forward in his chair as I lower the gun and take several steps back. He would have never told me which ring had her, the ring that used her, and abused her, so I will fucking burn them all.
2 Hours Later
I walk into the bathroom, pull my bloody shirt off, and throw it into the basket. I strip out of the rest of my clothes and start the shower. When I turn around and see Padre’s blood on my face in the mirror, I grip the edge of the counter. I knew the moment I stepped into the mansion that my mind was made up about what I planned to do when I entered his study. At least he fucking told me the truth this time that figlio di puttana. My men and I have been searching for my Madre for so fucking long, and this entire time she was dead. I wanted to torture him so he could see the monster he created, but in the end, a bullet in the head worked. The message has been sent out across New York that I am now the Re.
I look over my face and chest at the tattoos covering my tanned, scarred skin. My hair is usually slicked back, but after visiting Padre, longer pieces are starting to fall into my deep blue eyes. My Padre and I look exactly alike. The main difference between us is he was always clean-shaven, and I have a couple days growth on my face. I was always shaved clean, but there is no fucking way I will do that shit again.
I inhale deeply as I look at my face. I always knew I would end up covered in my Padre’sblood, but I didn’t think it would be because I killed him. I always thought it would be one of our many enemies that would have shot him, and he would die in my arms.
Everything changed when he told me about my Madre, that figlio di puttana. He knew what I was going to do as soon as I was told she was sold to a sex ring. I have been hunting them all down around New York, killing them all. My new mission is to search for the fucking house that had her. I will get my fucking vendetta, even if I have to burn this entire fucking city to the ground. I will find all the figlio di puttanas that put their hands on her.
I am so fucking angry I ball up my hand into a fist and punch the mirror. I watch the glass shatter, leaving behind a distorted image of myself. This is how I see myself right now. This monster has wanted to be released, and now he fucking has.
9
Nicole
2 Years, 3 Months Held Captive
Ikeep my eyes closed as my mind wanders and thinks about what my life was supposed to be like; it was never supposed to be like this. Before this, I was just a normal fucking girl who was enjoying a life of glimmer and fun, ready to hang out with my friends, get drunk, and go to some parties and meet a sexy boy. But that was a long time ago, a long-dead dream, just like I am dead inside. Every day another man uses and abuses me, whispers gross shit into my ear, and kills another piece of the girl I once was.
Right before my father gave me away to Sebastian and brought me to this fucking nightmare, I heard through the grapevine that Jake Moralis was going to ask me to homecoming. I wonder who he asked instead; he probably went with Becka. She would be a good date for him. Her tits are bigger than mine, and she’s not currently covered in the cum of some man who is currently calling himself the puppet master. Jake Moralis probably wondered why I stopped showing up at school and my friends, too. Or maybe everyone just thought me and my father moved away, or the dark thought is that they didn’t even fucking notice or care and just moved on with their lives.
Maybe they think I just changed schools. I had a lot of friends, and I was a normal teenage girl until the night of my sixteenth birthday. I heard one sound, one fucking sound, and it changed everything. Since that day, I have been nothing but a fucking sex puppet. I don’t get time off, I don’t get to take self-care, and I don’t even get to look at myself in the mirror. I probably wouldn’t even recognize myself anymore.
