I lift my hands and grab his wrist, but he doesn’t tighten his grip on my throat. And I force myself to back down from the urge to kick him in the balls and scratch his eyes out. He’s almost in his fifties, but muscular, bigger than me, and always carrying a weapon. As soon as I form the thought, the gleam from a knife blade catches my eye. I grit my teeth as he moves it near my neck. I squeeze my eyes, terror finding its way into me.
“There’s no greater joy than to push things to their very limit and watch them break under pressure. But you, my beautiful brother, you don’t break, you bleed, but your pieces I haven’t seen them…yet. How much longer are you going to make me wait, dearest? You don’t spoil my fun like those delicate, fragile toys I play with. No. That’s why I can’t cut you loose, you see.”
There’s real sickness lying in him. This cold darkness aimed at me feels like someone walking on my grave. Eerie.
“You are rotten inside and outside,” I hiss, plastering myself against the wall as I feel the tip of the knife pressing against my chest.
He chuckles, loving this. Loving seeing me hurt and hopeless. He’s still the same piece of shit who causes my balls to take cover in my belly. I feel him stroking his groin against me, and all my muscles tense with revulsion at the same time. His twisted affection forced upon me makes me want to throw up. His dickremains flaccid as always, thank fucking God. I don’t think he ever got it up. He threatened me multiple times with rape, but I don’t think he actually meant it.
Sometimes I feel like his obsession with me could swallow me up. Those light blue eyes, the same as my father’s, same as mine, are filled with so much…emptiness. His hand slips around the back of my neck, grabbing it with force.
“After all I’ve done for you, you ran? That’s not very nice.”
“What have you done, you psycho?” I ask, showing him my teeth.
An evil smile kicks his lips up. “I fucking love when you get all feisty with me.” He snaps his teeth near my cheek. I jerk a little and hate myself for that. I don’t want to show him how scared I am. I only want him to see my fury and disgust. I want to water the ground with his blood.
The words are in my mouth, but I can’t bring myself to open it. Fear seals my lips because I know that the moment I speak, something horribly irreversible will happen.
“I knew where you were at all times, my dearest. I always do, and when I noticed that Leone’s rat was spying on you, I tried to get rid of him.”
Is he talking about Luca and his stalking?
“Unfortunately, things didn’t go as I planned.” His fingers sink into the sides of my neck painfully. “The present I left for the police in Bronx Park was found too early and covered by the Leones.”
Doppio’s son, is that the present? So he did kill that boy to frame Luca.
He snarls. “Then they kidnapped you, and I missed that rat again when I shot out the safe house where he kept you.”
“The shooting was you?” His fingers loosen enough for me to form words.
He nods looking all proud of himself. “I started to feel very, very irked, Art. Especially when I received that fake message from you, only to see you at the club later, disappearing with that fucker in the club office. Did he touch you?” His tongue comes out, brushing against my ear, almost making me hurl.
I manage to shake my head in a weak response. My eyes fill with tears. I knew this would probably happen. It’s okay. I just need to remember why I am doing this. For whom. The sharp blade slides down, ripping the collar of my sweater. The clinking of his little charms on his bracelets almost makes me scream. That horrible sound is connected to the agonizing pain that always follows.
My father’s voice cuts through the hideous memories. “Cazzo! Mario. What the hell did you do?”
My half-brother moves back, still keeping his tight hold on my neck.
“The corpse in the park! I told you to wait.” My father’s face has turned red. If only he would have a heart attack…and Mario would get eaten by a bear.
“That scarred fucker from the Leones was stalking Art. I knew he was plotting something. I wanted to stop him.”
“And how did it work out for you? You should have come to me.” My father grabs his bag from the desk.
Mario huffs. “You’re busy.”
“I’m planning a don’s murder. Do you have any idea how hard that is? Spoiled brats.”
Which Don? Coretti? Leone?
“Father, about the bitch?—”
“Fuck, son, we talked about it. You can kill her, but only after the ink is dry on the documents.”
What bitch?
“I have to go,” Jack Enzino states, moving to the door. “Don’t leave signs on his face and let the doctor take care of the wounds when you are done.”