“Bleeding how?” I asked, wondering what the hell the Padre had done this time.
“The slave with him had cleaned him up, but I still saw blood between his legs and he had damaged nipples while his cock and balls were red and swollen. How could you do that to him?”
“I didn’t.”
“Don’t lie!”
“I’m not. I wouldn’t torture him; that would’ve been Father Michael’s doing.”
“But, Jagger said you hurt him.”
I grimaced, fucked off that Jagger was making me out as the villain. Given, I’d lost my temper and had taken him yesterday without consent, but I didn’t hurt him badly, not to the extent that Bianca was describing.
“Can’t deny it, can you?” Bianca said.
“I didn’t make him bleed.”
“Stop lying! You told me you were working this morning, but you were off over at that disgusting house raping my poor baby.”
“I was working. I was in Frano’s office dealing with all the shit the Donatelli have caused.”
“Why won’t you stop lying? I already know the truth. Jagger said you raped him today.”
I snorted, finally realizing what had happened. Jagger never changed his spots, even in captivity. “He’s the one lying, you idiot. He’s trying to turn you against me.”
“No, he’s not, he was in agony.”
“I don’t deny his pain, but it wasn’t me who caused it, like I just said, it would’ve been the Padre.”
“Stop it, just stop it! Everything that comes out of your mouth is lies. You’re lying to Frano about the Donatelli…” her face hardened, “and not to mention Federico. What you allowed those bastards to do to that poor man was despicable.”
“I had to give the Donatelli a token, and he was FBI, so don’t you dare pity him.”
“And your father?! How could you allow him to be killed?”
I glanced over my shoulder, then looked back at her. “Easy. He was a monster. He murdered my mother, as well as my lover. He beat the shit out of me when the Padre raped Jagger, blaming me for something I had no part in. He gave me no love—just scorn, all because I’m gay. I’m happy Matteo finally sent the devil to where he belongs.”
“But what about Frano? He loved the old man.”
“He loved a man who isn’t even his father. No, worse, he loved a man who had killed his real father.”
Bianca blinked at me. “What?”
I sneered at her. “My father told me all about it as he beat me to a pulp, told me how he loved a child more than me that wasn’t even his own, that he would’ve sacrificed me for Frano in an instant. Frano wasn’t just named after my mother’s lover—he is the man’s son. But I can’t tell him that, because it would tear him apart.”
“But how can that be?”
“My mother loved taking trips to Croatia, and my father found out why.”
“But why would your father treat Frano as his own?”
“Because Frano is everything he wanted in a son: handsome, straight, charismatic. He told me he loved Frano more than his own life, and that I must’ve come from another man, not Frano, because no son of his would be a homosexual.”
“But you look exactly like your father.”
“I know that, but he still denied me, so I feel no remorse over his death. And when I take down the Donatelli, I will tell Frano it was over them killing ‘our’ father. We just need to keep him from going to the rest home for a few weeks, which means you need to make sure he takes his medication.”
She nodded stiffly, although her eyes were still filled with hate. But I didn’t care, just as long as she did what she was told.
Footsteps made me glance to my left. Jagger’s brother appeared at the top of the staircase that led to Mario’s cells, holding a mop and bucket. He stopped in his tracks, his eyes going wide as he saw me. I smiled at him, which sent him scurrying away, something he always did around me. I glanced behind me, noticing him heading for the passage leading to Frano’s office, probably to clean down there too. He didn’t need to do the servants’ jobs, but the boy was hard-working, preferring to pay for his keep than to frivol his time away. Although I knew a much better job he could do, but Thierry didn’t appear to like getting fucked, well, by me anyway, because Jagger’s brother was definitely gay.
I turned back to Bianca with a smile, her expression telling me she knew what I had done to Thierry.
“He’s just a bambino!” she gasped, her expression horrified.
“He’s eighteen, that’s not a baby.”
“You repulse me!”
I rolled my eyes, the woman becoming tiresome. “I couldn’t care less, and if I want to fuck him you don’t have a say.” I grabbed her wrist as she went to slap me. “Try that again and I will bash the shit out of you,” I said, flinging her hand away from me.
She grabbed her wrist and rubbed at it. “Stay away from Thierry,” she ground out, her eyes blazing again. “Or I’ll kill you.”
I laughed. “Empty threats won’t stop me from doing what I like, and I’m not really interested in his sweet bottom. Although it was tasty, he was only tiding me over until I could get to his big brother.” I placed my lips next to her ear. “And even though Jagger lied to you about what I did to him this morning, visit him later: it won’t be a lie then.”
“No!” she yelled, going for me again.
I grabbed her and flung her to the floor. She scrambled backwards, looking terrified, the woman far too small to harm me. I advanced on her, pointing a finger at the worthless bitch. “Do as you’re told and I won’t wipe you completely out of Jagger’s life.”
She pushed to her feet and backed up fast, holding out her hands. “Just don’t hurt him, please. He’s already been hurt enough as it is.”
“I have no intention of hurting my beautiful lover; instead I’m going to make love to him while you stay home and be the good wife.” I rushed her, shoving her to the floor again. She let out a cry, followed by a scream as I kicked her. Noise came from above me, Frano shouting, asking what was happening.
I pointed at Bianca as he appeared at the top of the staircase. “She is reaping what she sowed!” I yelled, faking rage. “I will not stand by and do nothing while being made a cockold!”
He looked at me disapprovingly.
“You told me to take care of things or you would,” I said, “which I am doing now, brother.”
“I meant throw her out.”
“No, you meant kill her, you just forgot.”
Frowning, Frano’s gaze moved to Bianca, then he shook his head and turned away.
I looked down at Bianca and smiled. “I can kill you and he won’t do a thing, so do as you’re told and stay out of my business and my love life.” My smile widened. “Now, I’m off to make Jagger’s lies come true, that is, if I can get there before lunch, because didn’t he say I raped him this morning?” Not waiting for her reply, I spun around and headed for the front door, taking great satisfaction as Bianca started crying.
2
Bianca
I pushed up into a sitting position and covered my face and just cried and cried and cried for all that Jagger had endured, and what he was going to endure for longer unless I did something about it. Without a doubt, I believe Jagger over Alberto, Jagger’s pain confirming it. And Alberto had done nothing but lie to everyone, even to his brother, who he claimed he loved. And now he claimed he loved Jagger, but he couldn’t if he raped him, because rape wasn’t made from love, it was made from a selfish lust, which I had known for a while. Given, I had never raped Jagger, but at times I’d wanted to force myself onto him, to wrap myself around him and to never let go. But I had always stopped myself, because I loved him more than my own selfish desires, and, unlike Alberto, I wasn’t a monster. Normal people who empathized with others would never force someone—which was why I hated this family, because they weren’t normal, they were savages, only Jagger and his brother worth anything. Oh, I didn’t delude myself, I knew
what Jagger did for a living, but like the slaves he wasn’t given a choice. I’d heard him sob when he was in his room, heard it so many times it wrecked my soul and bruised my heart. I’d confronted him over it once and he’d denied it, said I must have imagined it, then he’d put on an arrogant front, hiding his tortured soul behind a beautiful veneer.
A hand touched my shoulder, making me jolt. I looked up at Thierry. Jagger’s half-brother looked like a younger version of him, just skinny and with darker eyes, eyes of which I now knew had experienced far too much, my husband having so much to answer to. Two brothers he was ruining, two beautiful souls I would make him pay for with his life.
“Are you alright?” Thierry asked in that soft French accent of his. I loved his voice, it was so beautiful, and when he sang it was heavenly, like an angel had graced our presence. I had wondered whether it was why he rarely spoke, because people just stared at him—much like I was doing now. He ducked his head, looking embarrassed, the boy very shy.
I pushed to my feet. “Did Alberto rape you?” I asked, needing to hear it from him.
Thierry looked up, his expression horrified, then he quickly looked back down and shook his head.
I placed my hands on his arms, the boy jolting in response. I let go of him, not wanting to make him even more uncomfortable than he already was. “Don’t be scared, you can tell me. Alberto is a monster, so I will believe everything you say in regards to him. So, bambino, did he rape you?”
Thierry kept his gaze down, but nodded ever so slightly, that one small movement tearing me apart. It was bad enough that Alberto raped the slaves, but raping famiglia was pure evil. I had wanted to escape this household for a long time now, had wanted to leave after I found out what a monster Alberto was, but now I wanted to stay so I could make Alberto pay for all the suffering he’d caused.
I wrapped my arms around Thierry, the sweet bambino going stiff. Even though he was only five years younger than Jagger, supposedly a man at eighteen, he was a baby to me, a drop of innocence amongst an ocean of evil. I ran my hand up and down his back. “You can cry if you want to,” I said, “because I want to cry for you. I know how you feel and how you must walk around every day terrified of what Alberto might do next, because he has hurt me in the same way.”
Thierry wrapped his arms around me and hugged me tight, his sob reaching deep inside of me and squeezing my heart. I let him cry, I don’t know for how long, but I didn’t let go, because he needed this as much as I did. And I cried with him, because I knew exactly what it was like to wear the hand of Alberto and have his evil inside of me. But even though I had the same thing happen to me, I knew it was worse for Thierry, because my youth and innocence had been extinguished a long time ago, and for this poor boy to have endured something so vile at an age where every feeling was heightened—it was beyond what even I had experienced.
I had been an ignorant fool to marry Alberto, something I had quickly learned to my detriment. I had been flitting between men before I’d met him, thinking I could stay young and enjoy the single-life forever. But my internal clock had started ticking in my late twenties, growing louder and more insistent as I crossed the line into my thirties. Because of it, I had decided to give up my lifestyle so I could find a man and start a famiglia. But no man wanted to settle down with me. The ones I went out with were eternal bachelors, their needs different from mine. And worse, some of the bastards had mocked me, saying I should find an ugly man if I wanted a husband, because I was up against young women in full bloom, while my petals were withering away. Then I had met Jagger … beautiful, beautiful Jagger. He didn’t treat me as if I was old; he treated me like a young beauty, showering me with attention and love, giving me the happiest moments of my life. But he still left me like all the other men. Yet, unlike those other men he was worth fighting for. But no matter what I did, he continued to reject me. So, in an attempt to make him jealous, I turned my attention to Frano, but the don showed no interest, which led me to consider Alberto, someone who used to stare at me when I was with Jagger. A month later I was married to Alberto and back in Jagger’s arms, the man making love to me barely an hour after I had taken my marriage vows, vows I had wanted to say to him.
I ran a hand over Thierry’s hair. It was a dark brown unlike Jagger’s black, but he had the same soft waves. “Will you help me kill Alberto?” I whispered in his ear.
He stiffened in my arms.
“Will you?” I repeated.
“I can’t,” he said.
“Even for your brother?”
Thierry pulled away from me. His eyes were red and glossy, the pain inside those chocolate brown irises telling me he knew what was happening to Jagger. I’d been visiting my parents on a neighboring island when the Donatelli had taken over the house, kidnapping Jagger, Mario, and all of the slaves. I wondered what would’ve happened to me if I had been here. Probably locked in the House of Whores as well.
“I can’t kill anyone,” Thierry said, his gaze flicking to the top of the staircase. But no one stood up there, no Frano looking down upon us.
“We can’t talk here,” I said, taking a hold of his hand. I pulled him towards the slave cells he’d just cleaned, the ones belonging to Mario. We headed down the staircase and across the space where normally a guard stood. But there were no slaves to guard since all of the six cells were empty, the past sales as well as the Donatelli leaving them empty. I’d heard that Jagger was the best trainer, but he never brought in as many slaves as Mario, even though he had no trouble with bedding every female he could so easily get his hands on. But, although he had numerous opportunities, he rarely brought them back home or to the New York compound. Frano had yelled at him for it, but he continued to do it time and time again, just bringing in the bare minimum to make sure that Frano didn’t kick him out of the house. He probably had saved countless lives in neglecting his duty, making me feel for him even more. Jagger was a beautiful soul brought up in an evil world, one I wanted to help him escape from—along with his brother.
I pulled Thierry into one of Mario’s empty cells and sat him down on the bed. It must’ve been Red’s room, because it had blankets and sheets, even a pillow. Everyone knew that Mario favored her far too much, which had led to run-ins with Frano, who was unhappy with how Mario had a bad habit of falling for his slaves.
I placed a hand on Thierry’s lap. “I need you to help me kill Alberto.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
He turned to me, looking as though the answer was obvious. “He’s a person.”
“No, he’s a monster, and what he did to you and me, and is still doing to your brother proves he doesn’t deserve to live. You will be doing the world a favor helping me, and consider how many people you will save.”
He shook his head. “I can’t, it’s wrong, it’s a sin.”
“According to the brothers, nothing is a sin in this house.”
“God still watches over us.”
I exhaled loudly, not understanding how the boy still believed in God after what he’d experienced. His mother had been his father’s mistress until Jagger’s mother had found out, resulting in Thierry and his mother being banished from the island, which had led to him living a life amongst prostitutes and drug addicts until his mother’s death from a heroin overdose.
I squeezed his knee, not wanting to tell him what I had to say next, but he had to be told. “I went to the Donatelli House of Whores today—where they are keeping your brother. Jagger was on a bed naked, his body swollen in all the sexual areas. He’s being raped by men, and one of those men is Alberto.”
Thierry shook his head, his expression horrified, but nonetheless I could tell he believed me, he just didn’t want to, so I pressed on certain I could change his mind.
“Alberto will keep on doing this until Jagger dies—unless we do something about it.”
“But I can’t kill someone, no matter what, I just can’t. Plus, he’s too big, I can’t fight him.”
“I’m not asking that of you, all I want you to do is to serve him a drink.”
Thierry’s eyebrows pulled together, his expression confused.
“I will poison it,” I added, “you just have to give it to him.”
“Why can’t you give it to him?”
“Because it is a servant’s job, and if I serve him he will be suspicious.”
“I never serve him, so he will be suspicious of me too.”
“Not now that the Donatelli have taken most of our servants. All but you, the gardener, and the two cooks remain.”
“But-but, I can’t murder someone, I will be damned to Hell.”
“You won’t be murdering him, I will. I’m the one who will poison the drink; you just need to make sure he gets it, and if it makes you feel better, I will take full responsibility for his death, so your soul will be clean.”
“No, it won’t.”
I grabbed his face, forcing him to look at me. “Do you want your brother to die?”
“Of course not!”
“But he will if you allow Alberto to live. Jagger will eventually take his own life or he’ll die from the torture, and when that happens, Alberto will turn to you for sex—the only person who resembles his obsession.”
The boy looked horrified.
“So, I ask you one more time, will you give Alberto that drink?”
He stared at me, his eyes so big, so conflicted, but the nod eventually came, that one small movement making me smile.
3
Alberto
I drove down the Donatelli driveway to their bordello—which everyone called the House of Whores. It was where the prostitutes, slaves, and mistresses lived, while the famiglia resided one property away. But although the house was for whores, it wasn’t any less grande. The massive mansion was a reminder of how powerful the Donatelli were, a cream-colored statement decorated with swirling edifices and topped with a terracotta roof, while the five floors inside were filled with riches and whores.
I pulled my Alfa Romeo over to park next to the cream of Italian cars: Ferrari, Maserati, only the top of the range on this side of the driveway. I got out of my car, watching as a portly man exited the front door. He headed in the opposite direction, where the ordinary cars were parked, the man no doubt having just had a few minutes of pleasure with one of the unmoving whores, the vacant creatures who you could fuck without breaking the bank.
My Masters' Nightmare Season 1, Episode 4 Poisoned Page 2