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“Almost ten years,” he responds.
“What happens to those who betray the Famiglia?” I ask.
“They pay for their sins. But I promise you, Dario, I’ll make this right. I’ll repay every dime I took, and I’ll pay interest.”
“Do you think you’ll be trusted?” I ask, laughing bitterly. “The money you took has already been transferred from your wife’s account back to where it came from, and the remainder of it…” I lift my shoulders and shrug. “It’s really a toss-up. Do we make you pay it back or do we lose half a million dollars and be rid of the traitor in our ranks?”
He shakes his head. “No, please,” he pleads, his eyes wide, his hands shaky as he raises them to a praying position. “Please, Dario, please don’t do this. I have a wife and a child on the way. They need me.”
I tut. “Come on, Gio, you know better than that. You’re aware of what happens to those who betray us. You’ve dished out the punishment enough to know what happens.”
His face pales. “Please, Dario, don’t. Not my wife and child. Please. They’ve got nothing to do with this. They’re innocent.”
“Tell me something, Gio. Had you been heading this up, and you uncovered that the money was in the wife’s account, what would you do?” I ask, but the question is rhetorical. No matter what he says, they’re all fucking dying. I can’t and won’t have a witness, someone who’ll have my ass in jail. No. Besides, I don’t believe Angela is as innocent as these two make out. Fuck that. I have a feeling that Angela knows exactly what her husband has been up to. There’s no way he did this alone. He’s not a fucking mastermind. No, he’s working with someone, and it’s her.
“Dario,” Angela weeps. “Please.”
“Sit down,” I sigh, trying to work out what to do. How do I go about killing these fuckers?
Both Gio and Angela take a seat. I decided that tying them to their chairs would be the best. It doesn’t take me long, and both continue to plead with me to leave them alone. Not fucking happening. They have some gall to fucking ask.
“Gio, you stole from the Famiglia. You should have known that when we uncovered your treachery, you wouldn’t live to see another sunrise.”
He nods tightly. “I know, but I didn’t have any other choice.”
Not fucking good enough. I reach for my knife and move toward Angela. She starts to whimper, moving against the bindings that hold her to the chair. “No,” she cries. “Don’t hurt me. I’m pregnant.”
I stare blankly at her. “Not my problem,” I snarl, a red haze of anger forming over me.
I never begged when my father was teaching me a lesson. I never cried, and I never asked for forgiveness. What gives these two fuckers the right to ask me?
I slice my knife across her collarbone, pushing the blade deep into her flesh. Blood trickles along the cut, dripping like her sins from her body.
“Dario, no,” Gio screams. “Not Angela. Not the baby. Please, I beg you, do not take them from me.”
I can’t help the laughter that slips from my lips. “You should have thought about this before you stole from my father, from the Famiglia. You lost the right to dictate what the fuck I do the moment you siphoned money from our account.”
I cut her loose-fitting tank top from her body and continue to slice along her skin, every cut to her flesh adding to the need for more. I’ve killed before, many times, but I’ve never tortured someone to death. Today, I not only get to do it to Angela, but also Gio. The man deserves everything he gets. He values his wife above all, and for that, he’ll sit and watch as his wife dies before his eyes. His last thought will be that he’s the reason for her suffering.
At least he’ll follow her to the grave.
My knife cuts through her skin like butter. I ignore her screams, her pleads for me to stop, to not harm her. They all fall on deaf ears. There’s no point in pleading. There’s absolutely no reason for her to be begging for her life. There’s no one here who will, or can, help her.
My knife slides deeper into her chest, just above her breast, and the shrill scream that rents the air sets the hair on my arms to stand up.
I slice her chest, then her arms, then her legs. The red haze of anger that has taken over me, darkens. It’s as though I scent the blood in the air and I’m going for the kill. Her screams continue to fill the room, and the sound is like music. It goes on for hours. Dusk has settled and the room has darkened.
“Please,” she whimpers, her body and voice tired. It’s been a hellish few hours for her, but she’s awake. She’s breathing, but it’s shallow. “He’s not moving,” she cries. “My baby, he’s not moving. Something’s wrong,” she cries as she doubles over, the bindings making it impossible for her to do it properly. “Dario, please.”
I turn to Gio. The man who once stood proudly as a Famiglia man is reduced to tears as he witnesses what I’ve done to his wife. “Please, Dario, save my boy.”
I untie Angela. Her body is heavy due to her being tired, but I manage to lie her on the floor. The second I do, she points to a spot under her stomach. It’s a direction as to where to cut. This woman thinks that I care what happens to her, Gio, or the baby? She’s sorely mistaken. I couldn’t give a fuck if they live or die. It’s not my job to.
I slice along the point she indicated to. Seven different layers of fucking skin to cut through. She’s silent as I do this, unmoving, and I know she’s already dead. There was never a chance she would survive this. No fucking way. I slice through a fucking lot of skin, until I see the baby’s head. It’s easy for me to pull him out once I’m through the multiple layers of skin, fat, and muscle.
The baby isn’t crying, nor is he moving. He’s dead. No doubt he has been dead for a while, considering I was torturing his mother.
I get to my feet, the baby in my hands, along with my knife. I pass the baby to Gio, who’s still bound to the chair with rope tied around his chest. His face has gone a deathly gray color. He sobs as he holds his baby boy in his arms. “Oh God,” he cries.
