Morally Blasphemous (Morally Questionable Book 2)

by Veronica Lancet

  How could I defile her like that, even if it's in my mind?

  I curse at myself.

  On shaky legs, I get out of the bathroom, my mind still foggy and disoriented. The amount of self-loathing I'm feeling right now overwhelms me, and I can do nothing but stumble towards my altar. I trip on my legs and fall, but my single-minded focus doesn't let me stop.

  I crawl until I reach the table housing my paraphernalia, and I take my rosary in one hand, and the whip in the other.

  I need to stay away from her...

  The more I'm near her, the more I risk defiling her with my darkness... more than I already have. I angle the whip and I strike, my eyes squeezed shut, my mouth parted as I experience the pain.

  I must pay for my sins.

  I do it again.

  Whip!

  And again.

  Whip!

  Why?

  Whip!

  Why must I want her so badly?

  Whip!

  I'm dirty... vile.

  Whip!

  Tears are running down my face, but I don't stop. My old wounds have probably reopened, but I relish the extra bite of pain.

  Whip!

  I need to suffer.

  Whip!

  I am a sinner...

  The pain brings me down, and I crouch on the ground, bringing my knees to my chest and tightening my fist around the rosary. I slowly rock as I say my prayer.

  I pray that she will be fine.

  I pray for strength to keep myself from her.

  And... I pray for it all to end.

  AGE THIRTEEN,

  I SCRUB AND SCRUB AND scrub. It won't go away.

  I can still feel the cheap perfume, that cloying smell that almost made me gag. I bring my hand to my mouth to stop myself from getting sick. I should probably feel proud that I didn't get sick on that girl. It's not as if she wanted to be there. It's her job.

  I'd never imagined father would go this far, but he's gotten it in his head that I needed to become a man, and that no son of his would be a faggot.

  I'd already learned my lesson, years before, that when dealing with father, it's best to never show emotion. Never show if I hate something and never show if I like something.

  When he'd told me there was somewhere we had to go, I'd kept my poker face in place. I hadn't argued. I'd just followed.

  Worst-case scenario, he'd make me kill someone. Been there, done that. After my very first kill, I'd taught myself to become desensitized to death. It happened to everyone, no? What did it matter how, when death was nevertheless inevitable? That's what I told myself. I was just hurrying along a process that was already in motion. From one kill to another, and another, every new victim became just another face in the sea of myriad of faces. I learned to disassociate from the act.

  It was me who killed them, and yet... it wasn't me.

  Sometimes I felt like I was having an out of body experience, watching myself pull the trigger, or stab the knife deeper in someone's flesh.

  It was me... and it wasn't

  It's also why I never questioned what father had in plan.

  But then we'd pulled up at a brothel. I'd learned it was a brothel because the soldiers started talking. That, and the naked women parading themselves inside the place. And as we walked around, I realized what father had in plan.

  I did not like it.

  My introduction to sex had been the sight of mother being raped by father on the altar in her room. And it had been enough to turn me off the act completely. After that, I'd been exposed to lewd talk, mostly done by father's soldiers. It hadn't impressed me or made me change my stance towards sex. Which was also why the thought of doing anything in that dirty place threatened to make me ill – my poker face be damned.

  Father hadn't cared to ask for my opinion. He'd demanded that the Madame bring in a woman, and then he'd taken me to a room, forcing me to undress. When the girl had arrived, father had pulled a chair and watched as she'd tried and failed to arouse me. Eventually, given the futility of the matter, father had thrown her out.

  I'd really thought the ordeal was about to be over.

  But I was wrong.

  "You're a faggot, aren't you? That's why you can't fucking respond when a woman touches you." He'd sneered at me. "No son of mine will be a faggot, you got me, boy?"

  I could only nod.

  He'd left the room for a minute, before returning with a pill, and forcing me to take it.

  "You'll become a man today." He'd declared, and two more women had come in. Both seemed to be older... twenties, or maybe thirties? What had followed had been the worst experience of my life. Eyes blank, I'd just sat there, letting them do whatever to my body. Father had joined in as well. Bonding. That's what he'd called it.

  Water still pouring on me, I collapse on the tiled floor, shivering from the cold air.

  Please make it go away!

  I wish I could erase the feel of their hands on my body... the way they'd coaxed a reaction where there wasn't any.

  I'd lost more than control over my body that night.

  I'd also lost control over my mind.

  IT CONTINUED.

  Father forced me to accompany him to the brothel every time. I've already lost count of how many times we've been there.

  He also introduced me to his favorite pastime — orgies.

  Every time we went to the brothel, there was an event that entailed a room full of people fucking like rabbits.

  I was there... and I wasn't.

  It slowly became as normal to me as killing.

  It was me, and yet... it wasn't.

  My body complied, but my mind retreated somewhere safe.

  I can never remember the people. It's like I black out after every single event.

  And somehow... I'm glad for it.

  Maybe it's my mind's way of dealing with things. I've been doing a lot of reading into the brain and how it functions... especially how it reacts to traumatic events.

  Why?

  Because I'm afraid. My entire life has been a traumatic event. How much more can one human possibly take? How much more until I snap?

  And I'm afraid... Because what if I just... lose myself? Retreat so deeply in my mind that I never reemerge. Yes... That scares me.

  I COULD HEAR THE SCREAMS all day. Which is odd, given that father is not home. Although I'm fairly certain mother must have lost it again.

  So many years, and she's gotten worse and worse. At this point, I'm not even sure if anything can help her.

  It's a little after six in the evening when the screaming resumes. This time, it doesn't die down. Since I've gotten used to mother, I know that her hysterical fits usually last a couple of hours, until her throat gets sore. Then there is a break in between when she loses her voice.

  The way she's going about it now, I'm pretty sure she won't be able to speak for the coming days.

  I try to mind my business and ignore the permeating noise, but when another voice joins in, I frown. That's not mother. What's happening?

  I reluctantly go downstairs to check what's going on. I'm on the top of the stairs when I see mother on top of one of the cleaning ladies, screaming and kicking.

  Going closer, I notice mother is holding a hammer and nails and she's trying to hold the hand of the cleaning lady and drive a nail through it.

  "Mother!" I call out, reaching out to grab her.

  "No! Impure... you... devil!" She stammers when she sees it's me. Her eyes are wild and unfocused.

  "Mother, stop." I repeat and drag her off the already bleeding woman. I try to loosen her fingers off the hammer, so she can't hurt anyone anymore, but she takes me by surprise by shoving a nail as hard as she can in my thigh.

  "Fuck!" I mutter under my breath, and mother takes advantage of this to shove me back, running up the stairs to her room.

  I take a few stabilizing breaths and without even thinking remove the nail embedded in my flesh. I revel in the pain as it gives me the mental acuit
y necessary to deal with mother.

  I stride determinately towards her room, intent on removing all weapons from her person. She can hurt herself as much as she wants, but she shouldn't abuse the staff. I reach her room, and I kick it open, hoping the display would intimidate her.

  How wrong I am...

  Mother is looking at me with terror in her eyes. She's holding a knife in her hand and as I step inside the room, she keeps on retreating towards the altar.

  "Mother, give me the knife." I tell her, my voice steady.

  "No...no" She shakes her head. "Devil...." She takes a cross from the altar and shoves it in front of me, probably hoping I'd suffer some side effects from the holiness of the cross.

  "Mother, stop this. I'm not a devil and you know it. I'm your son."

  Her eyes widen for a moment before she frowns.

  "My son?" She asks as if this is the first time she's hearing it.

  "Yes, now please drop the knife before you hurt yourself." I take another step forward and she does the same, hitting the altar.

  "No... my son is the devil..." She keeps on shaking her head, her eyes bleak as she looks at me. It's like she's a shell of a person.

  I try to reach out, but she brandishes the knife in front of me, making me retreat a little.

  "Let's drop the knife, ok?" I do my best to keep my voice calm. "God wouldn't want you to hurt yourself, right?" I change tactics, hoping it will somehow make her more receptive.

  "No... You're the devil... You're trying to tempt me, aren't you?" She snickers, an ugly scowl transforming her features. "Yes... I knew you'd come to test my faith. But you won't win."

  She gives me a smug grin before lifting the knife once more. I think she's going to attack me, so I instinctively take a step back.

  She's not.

  She takes the knife, and she positions it close to one ear. My eyes widen in understanding, but it's maybe a second too late. I start towards her at the same time that she cuts through her own flesh and drags the knife from one ear to another, grinning like an idiot as the blood flows down her clothes.

  I stop.

  She's gasping for air as her life's essence leaves her body, and I just watch. The rivulets of blood flow down until there's nothing left. I watch until the last drops of blood have left her body. She's a mess on the floor, her eyes still open and glaring at me defiantly. Her lips still carved in a dark smile.

  And I feel nothing but relief.

  She's gone...

  I turn my back and leave the room, letting the staff know to clean the room.

  Death is everywhere. Why should I care about one person more than the other?

  We all die eventually.

  Mother just precipitated her demise. Like I do to so many others...

  Death is everywhere. And I'm finally at peace with that.

  Chapter Thirteen

  MY PLAN HAD BEEN GOING smoothly. For a few days now, I'd been able to mostly avoid Catalina. And I consider it a feat, seeing that she's been trying to get me alone for another conversation. After the last time, I think I'll pass. Just knowing she's in the house... I'd say that's torture enough.

  Luckily, I've also been busy. Since I've gone through all the financial accounts and had compiled a dossier of all the ventures within the Famiglia, I'd gotten a better understanding of how it operates, or rather, how it should operate to maximize profit. I'd made a few notes and have been working to implement them. I'd hired a few accountants and stock market specialists to revise the portfolio and to suggest further investments.

  I can't afford to be placid, especially when all eyes are on me. I know Nicolo is just biding his time. Francesco has been monitoring the other branches of the Famiglia and he is updating me daily. We've also paid a few people to keep tabs on the suspicious people, and I can't wait to see what they uncover.

  It's a little over five in the afternoon when I reach the house. I'd spent the entire day at the hospital with my friend – former friend that is. Adrian had recovered from his brain injury and I owed it to him to come clean about my reasons for betraying his confidence. I would have never sold him out if the debt I owed hadn't been that big. Ten years ago, Valentino had saved my entire world, and in return I'd agreed to do whatever he asked of me. Who would have thought that my choices would bite me in the ass again? I'd confessed to Adrian my darkest secrets. I didn't want his pity, nor his forgiveness, since I know I don't deserve it. But I wanted him to know that I valued his friendship.

  I step inside, about to go to my room. As I'm passing by the living room I see Venezia standing up, hands on her hips, snickering at someone. I move a little to the right, keeping myself out of sight, and I notice Catalina sitting on the couch opposite Venezia.

  "I'd appreciate it if you at least respected my daughter. She is innocent in this." Catalina's voice is calm, yet determined. From my hiding place, I notice she is looking at Venezia straight in the eyes, challenging her.

  "Why would I do that? She's your responsibility." Venezia counters.

  "Yes, she is my responsibility. But it's also your responsibility to behave like a human being. I don't understand why you always have to throw a fit." Catalina continues, narrowing her eyes at Venezia. "But that's what you want, isn't it? You want to throw child-like tantrums to get attention." She point-blank confronts Venezia, and she pales at the accusation.

  "Shut up!" Venezia screams at her. "You know nothing!"

  "I see..." Catalina says quietly. "You want attention, don't you? From your brother?"

  "Shut up!" Venezia replies, lifting her hands and blocking her ears so she can't hear anything.

  "But he doesn't give you any attention, no matter what you do." Catalina stands up and takes a step towards Venezia.

  "No... I won't hear what you have to say!" Venezia throws her hands in the air and makes to leave the room.

  Catalina moves even faster and in less than a second, her arms come around Venezia and she tugs her forward in a hug.

  "It's ok, Venezia." She says, her voice lower than before and I strain to hear.

  Catalina pats her back, and Venezia stands still for a few moments. Her hands are still frozen in the air, her body stiff. It's as if she doesn't know how to respond. Catalina's hand goes to her head, and she pats her slowly.

  "It's ok to feel that way. But I'm not the enemy. My daughter isn't the enemy. We will not take your brother away from you. I'm your sister now too, you know." Catalina's words seem to be a balm for Venezia because I hear a few stifled sobs. Venezia's hands slowly come down, but still, they're not touching Catalina.

  Catalina, seeing that this is working, continues with her soothing voice. Even I, from the sidelines, feel more relaxed just listening to her melodious tone.

  "I..." Venezia starts, but before she can continue, she lets out a loud wail. She then sobs her heart out, finally returning Catalina's hug. She cries and cries, and Catalina continues to comfort her.

  I feel like I've seen enough, and I try to stealthily leave before I'm seen. I head to my room and close the door. If I didn't already know what Catalina was capable of, now I knew... After how Venezia's treated her these days, I'm amazed she had such patience with her. She's been nothing but lovely. A smile plays on my lips. She's something else... Catalina... Lina.

  Sometimes, in the hidden depths of my thoughts, I like to call her Lina, the familiarity of the nickname warming me up. And once again, I wish things were different. Oh, Lina... in another life... maybe.

  I shake my head, dispelling the hopeless thoughts, and I go back to work.

  THE SUDDEN RATTLING of the doorknob makes me frown. I gave Amelia strict instructions that I am not to be disturbed while I am in my study.

  Then it stops.

  I shake my head and turn my attention back to the documents on the table. Since the entry points of the merchandise had been blocked, we've seen significant losses. I gave my promise that I would fix this issue, and now it seems it's not only a matter of solving the embargo, s
o to say. I have to figure out how to make up for the losses too. Just thinking about this makes me groan. I'm not used to dealing with these kinds of issues, and this is giving me a headache.

  As I zero in on the numbers, the doorknob moves again, but this time it tilts downwards and then the door is pushed open. A small figure peers through the slightly open door.

  She seems uncertain as she looks at me, her eyes wide with curiosity.

  "Come in, Claudia." I say.

  "May I?" She asks politely, and I nod.

  Holding herself tight, she steps inside. She's trying to look confident, but I can tell she's a little unsure of herself, especially by the way she sits down and folds her hands in her lap.

  "What brings you here?" I ask when I see that she's not willing to start the conversation.

  I hadn't really interacted with Claudia until now... Mostly because I don't know how to act with children. But I have noticed that she seems more mature than her age, especially when I hear her talk with Catalina. Looking at her now, so slight, and remembering what Guerra had dared to do...

  I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself.

  "I..." Claudia starts and lifts her green eyes to look at me. She looks exactly like her mother.

  "You don't want us here, do you?" She finally asks and I have to frown.

  "What do you mean?"

  She lowers her eyelashes. "You always avoid us." Her words make me still. I didn't realize she was that observant.

  "I'm not." I reply, the lie flying through my teeth. "I've been busy."

  "Oh," She whispers, her gaze lowering again, her hands fidgeting.

  "I thought..." She starts but shakes her head.

  "You thought what?"

  "I thought you were forced to take us in. I'm not blind... I realize something happened to mamma that made her afraid. Especially after Father Guerra..." Her lip trembles a little, and I feel the sudden need to draw her into my arms; tell her no one is going to hurt her ever again.

  But I can't.

  "Mamma is trying to protect me, isn't she?" She asks and I have a hard time coming up with an answer.

  "You don't have to worry about any of that anymore, Claudia. You're safe here. Your mother is safe here." I try my best to placate her.