Marcello
When most mafia soldati killed, they wear black. The color hides bloodstains better than any other.
I prefer to wear white. I want the next man to know what happened to the man before. I want to see the fear in his eyes when he realizes what I am capable of.
Right now, my white shirt is soaked in blood. The metallic smell fills the dungeon and my nostrils, the floor sticky under my leather shoes. It has been so long since I let the darkness take over, and I welcome the sensation. I need to kill, to feel life draining out from under my blade, hear their cries as they beg for me to stop.
My heart pounds, my body alive after days of being numb. I have one purpose now and that is to get my woman back. Anyone who stands in my way will regret it.
Two men lay crumpled on the stone floor at my feet, pools of red beneath them. They haven’t talked-but I am betting the third one would.
We captured three of Rossi’s men yesterday, brought them back to Palermo, and tortured them for information on their boss’s beach home. Elsa is being kept there, and I want to know everything I can about the inside. Rooms, security cameras, occupants-even down to the paint colors and carpet patterns.
I smile as I sit down in front of Rossi’s soldier. Though he can’t move, he jerks against his bindings, trying to get away from me.
A waste of time. There is no escape for this man, and the terror in his eyes tells me he knows it.
I set my knife on my thigh, the silver blade dripping red. “Do you think to leave here alive?”
The man, who looks only a few years younger than me. “No, Don Marcello.”
“Correct, but you have a choice. You may hold out on me and suffer, like your brothers”-I gesture to the floor-“or you may help me and die an honorable death. Quick, painless. I’ll see your body returned to your family in Napoli.”
He swallows hard and a bead of sweat rolls down his temple.
“So,” I continue when he doesn’t speak, “you will tell me what I need to know, no?”
“I swore an oath to Don Marco.”
“If you will not help me, that makes us enemies. Are you certain you wish to be my enemy?”
“No, but please. I have a child coming soon.”
Renewed fury has me lunging forward to hold my knife against his throat. “I don’t give a fuck about you or your child. I will peel the skin from your bones until you tell me what I wish to know. See those IV bags?” I pointed to where Gabrielle is standing with the medical equipment. “That is to keep you alive until I get the information I need. You will not bleed out. You will watch as I pull your intestines from your belly and throw them onto the floor.”
My prisoner shakes his head, terrified but silent.
I begin trying to get him to talk. At some point he passes out, and Gabrielle has to rouse the soldier awake with smelling salts. Finally, I order Gabrielle to strip off the young man’s pants while I go to fetch a drill.
The second the metal bit touches his balls, the soldier begins speaking. The words are slow and barely audible, but we eventually receive the information on the house, exactly where they were keeping Elsa. The others inside, the number of soldiers on guard.
When we have what we need, I take pity on him and tell Gabrielle to take care of it, so my son puts a bullet between the soldier’s eyes. As I stand, Gabrielle gives me a long look. “Are you all right?”
“Ask me that one more time and I will slice your tongue out of your mouth.”
“Hard to have a advisor who cannot speak, Marcello.”
“You could still write.” I stride toward the stairs. “Get some men down here and clean up. I need to shower and then make a call.”
“You need to sleep. It’s been too long. Zia is considering putting sleeping tablets in your drinks. You cannot get Elsa back without a clear head.”
I know it, but I can’t sleep. The nightmares are plaguing me, my regret like a tire around my neck. Every time I close my eyes I see her, picture her face the morning i left her behind on the mother-fucking yacht. The sadness, the anger. The regret.
“I will,” I lie as I strip out of my clothes. Zia hates when I track blood in the house. “Do your job.”
Dressed in briefs and dried blood, I make my way out of the dungeon and into the dark kitchen. As soon as I step inside the lights came on, startling me.
Elvira stands there, scowling.
I am in no mood. “Do not start, old woman.”
“Look at you. You look like a monster. ”
She is not wrong. I am a monster, born from a long line of monsters. Molded and shaped to be a killer, a king. Feared and respected around the globe, with wealth greater than most countries. And I will not apologize for it.
Just to annoy her, I grab a glass and the open bottle of ciró on the counter. I filled the glass to the top. “Your husband was a monster. One of the the clan’s best killers. My father bragged that no one tortured better than Zio.”
“And how long did he last?”
I take a long drink of wine, trying to cool the bloodlust and rage inside me.
“Long enough to leave a legacy.”
She makes the sign of the cross and glances heavenward, no doubt saying a prayer on my behalf. “You dare to disrespect me in this house? I should put a curse on you.”
“I am already cursed. What’s one more?” I live a life which is constantly threatened by murders and the woman I love has been kidnapped. Murder and heartache is all I have ever known, outside of my short time with Elsa.
“Never have you spoken to me like this. In all the years I have known you, I said you were a good boy. Now I am ashamed of you, drinking wine when you should be out getting the woman you love.” She claps her hands twice. “Give that man whatever he wishes and bring Elsa home.”
As if it is that simple.
Rossi is dangling Elsa out like a piece of meat, hoping I will bite. The price he quoted me, half my drug operation on the East coast, is ridiculous. I will not bow to blackmail or intimidation. I am the devil; inspires the intimidation, not succumb to it.
I chug the rest of the wine and put the glass on the marble countertop. “I will have my vengeance and bring her home. Marco will pay with his life first.”
“Bah! You men worry so much about your pride that you cannot see what really matters.”
Likely true, but this is all I’d ever known. “I am taking my pride and going to shower. You may chastise me more tomorrow.”
I leave her standing in the kitchen and trudge up the steps. All of a sudden, my body feels exhausted, my muscles heavy. Each step grows increasingly more difficult, like I am walking through quicksand. What the fuck?
I put a hand on the wall as I stumble down the corridor, just trying to remain upright. Something is wrong. I am covered in blood and sweat, but I haven’t been injured. I shouldn’t feel like this.
Once I am in my room, my bed swings up to greet me. As I close my eyes, it hits me what had happened.
Zia and her sleeping tablets. In the wine.
Christo Santo!